The Nightmare Begins
Merlyn cantered Sunstrider through the early morning forest. Mist clung heavily to the ground but spun into little whirls with their passage. The sunlight slid through the branches of the canopy like splinters of warmth in the gloom, long strips of light slanting across the ground. The moisture in the air was rich with the scent of nettles and pine, and Merlyn's nose stung with lingering chill even as she breathed in an invigorating lungful. Sunstrider threw up his golden head in exuberance, long flaxen mane lifting with the movement, and let out a neigh that cut through the quiet of the forest, almost as if he were challenging nature itself.
Atop his back, saddleless because it had been much too long since either had felt freedom, Merlyn let out a loud laugh, her own loose hair blowing in the breeze their speed created. Several surprised rabbits and foxes darted back into the underbrush as they thundered past and, off the path, a herd of red deer disappeared into the fog in great, startled leaps.
This was peace. This was freedom.
Merlyn had been stunned when Arthur gave her leave to collect items for Gaius, citing that they needed to restock after winter. She had seen through the weak excuse – since Gaius was able to forage himself if he really had to – and saw that he was extending a branch of trust. She knew not what prompted such a release on her leash, but she didn't look a gift horse in the mouth, throwing her arms around him in thanks before darting off to tell Gaius and ready her mount.
He hadn't even given her a time limit.
Eventually, Merlyn slowed Sunstrider to a relaxed trot, coming up to the shores of Avalon Lake. It had been too long since she had visited Skylark, the poor griffin probably believing she had been abandoned, and the black-haired girl was eager to see the young beast again.
Sunstrider snorted, dropping abruptly into a walk as his ears pricked alertly and Merlyn felt a grin pull at her lips. They were too close to the wards bordering the lake for bandits or brigands to linger so her stallion's unease would be for a different matter; a predicted matter.
"Skylark!" she called into the trees. "Come here, my girl! Let me see you!"
She closed her eyes and pushed her magical awareness out, fighting against the instincts that rebelled the change in sense – but there! To the right!
She halted Sunstrider and called again. After a moment, a quiet chatter of a beak answered her, and she cheered, sliding from her steed's back and tying his reins so he could retreat to a distance he deemed suitable without tangling. From behind a thick hardwood set further off the path, a black, feathered head peered out, golden eye tilted in her direction. She grinned, holding out her arms in welcome. "Hello, gorgeous," she murmured.
Abruptly, the griffin leapt from behind the trunk and let out a shrill chatter, cantering towards her with her wings flapping in excitement. Merlyn was fine with it until she realised Skylark wasn't slowing.
"Whoa, whoa," she scrambled backwards, holding out her hands. Behind her Sunstrider squealed in fright. "Wai – oomph!" she fell backwards as Skylark's head collided with her gut and hit the ground hard, air knocked from her lungs. She wasn't given a moment to recover as the beast skidded to a halt over her downed form and ducked her head to rub her face against Merlyn's cheeks. Much like a cat would do to show affection.
Merlyn laughed a little breathlessly, gut aching from the collision, but she lifted her hands and stroked the griffin's face, the feathers like silk under her fingers. Skylark had grown. Her face was a little longer, her body a little stronger and the wings that were still flared in her excitement were half again what they had been when they'd first met.
"You've grown," she complimented, letting her love seep from the pads of her fingers into Skylark's mind. The beast replied with a soft purr, deeper than a cat's but no less gratifying, before they were interrupted by Sunstrider's displeased scream. Heavy hoofbeats thundered against the earth as the horse charged and Skylark skipped back with her wings twitching in unease, allowing Merlyn to scramble upright to diffuse the situation. She was flattered by Sunstrider's protectiveness – overcoming his own instincts to aid her was sweet – but she didn't particularly want to be trampled by his goodwill.
She threw out her hands and said soothingly, "Easy, boy, easy." Forcing him to slow as she stepped into his path. He snorted in displeasure as he halted, tossing his head, but allowed her to stroke his neck, ears pinned back and nostrils flared as he glared at – in his eyes – the unfortunate addition to their company.
"I know, I know," she said in answer to his annoyance, patting his shoulder fondly. "You were hoping to never see her again but I'm afraid you're going to have to learn to tolerate her once more. She's my friend."
She didn't bother touching him with emotional suggestions as she knew he had enough awareness of Skylark to sort out his own feelings on the matter and surmount his instincts. Instead, she moved away with one last pat and re-joined the griffin, giving her a big cuddle around the neck and reaching out gently with her magic. Skylark accepted her touch eagerly and absorbed her communication technique with her own, less complex, responses.
It had definitely been too long.
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Merlyn returned to the city just past noon as dark clouds rolled over the sky. By early evening, a fierce storm was battering the city and Merlyn decided to cut her time with Gaius short to prepare Arthur's chambers for a damp night. The prince had supped with his father and given Merlyn leave to dine with her uncle, which she had leapt upon eagerly, yet, she didn't want to push his leniency by slacking in her chores.
Arthur returned later to find the fire roaring cheerfully and the rich scent of strong black tea floating lazily in the air. It was a nice change to the ferocious roar of the storm outside and he slowed in his entrance to take a deep, fortifying breath.
Merlyn turned from her spot by the fire at the sound of the door closing and beamed at him, causing his belly to flutter unexpectedly. He put a hand to it, annoyed at his adolescent reaction but he was glad to see she was happy. He knew it was because of her escape from the city that day, having watched her bound down the thoroughfare towards the gate with her steed from his place atop the balustrade. He was filled with a primal smugness to know that it was something he did to bring her such delight, but he was careful to rein it in lest he allow it to influence future decisions. Fool him once, shame on her. Fool him twice…
"Here, sire," she said, rising from her crouch with a cup freshly poured and he accepted it gratefully. She always knew exactly how strong to make his tea and he savoured the potent aroma rising with the steam. It was too hot to sip yet, but he let it warm his palms.
Merlyn returned to her place to add more fodder to the flames, asking, "Did you have a pleasant meal?"
"Hmm," he said. "Father seems relaxed. There haven't been any major incidences or catastrophes since the assassin, though King Odin didn't reply to our invitation of a treaty. Still, he hasn't declared war and there has been no activity on our southern borders, so I can hope he has finally laid his grievance to rest."
"I like your optimism," Merlyn said, smiling at him, and he found himself fighting not to smile back. Damn her captivating eyes.
A loud snap of thunder startled them both, though they were unable to see the lightning since the heavy curtains covered the window. Merlyn laughed lightly.
"I always worried during storms when I was younger," she said out of the blue, moving to the window beside his bed and inching the curtains aside. He followed slowly, wanting to hear her story despite his better judgement warning against it. "Our village is small and our buildings threadbare; it would take only a well-placed gust of wind to tear off our rooves. But I didn't worry about that." With the orange flicker of the fire behind them and the sharp white flashes of the lightning before them, shadows were flickering in peculiar shapes across the floor, grotesque and malformed, like monsters stirred by the weather creeping out to snare their limbs.
"I always worried about the animals forced to endure the storm outside," she continued, drawing Arthur back from his disturbed imaginings. "We had no shelters, nor even proper fencing half the time. Many a time there was a sheep swept away in the river or a steer bogged in a mud pit. I guess I still worry a little, but here, in this immovable stone palace, I find myself entranced more than fearful." She glanced at him, eyes silver and orange as the contrasting lights washed out her natural blue. "Is there not something… hypnotising about the light spearing the sky like a trident? On the play of shadows and light within the clouds, like the gods themselves were at battle…"
She trailed off, gaze drawn outside once more but his eyes were locked on her, entranced in a way that had nothing to do with the storm and everything to do with the girl before him. He treated her like rubbish (for reasonable reasons, he told himself), scolded her, belittled her, accused her, and here she was, after all that, sharing a piece of herself with the full knowledge that he could take that piece and crush it beneath his scorn. But she didn't wait in fear, or trepidation. She let it sit in the air and gave him the time to choose to do what he will. Trusting him not to disdain.
Naïve, a corner of his mind whispered.
Hopeful, a larger part replied.
"To me, storms were merely an inconvenience," he said, and she turned to stare at him, surprise and pleasure illuminating her features. He moved his stare out the window, unwilling to bear her attention. "Something that tethered me indoors or woke me from slumber. I was never afraid – never had a reason to be – but Morgana… she was the first person I knew to cry because of them." A particularly bright fork speared the sky and they watched at it hit one of the towers across the training grounds, causing a deep boom and raising instant static in the air. A crack of thunder snapped through a moment later, loud and abrasive on their eardrums. "I remember the first time she ran into my chambers, two years my senior and still unfamiliar with our castle. She was embarrassed to find herself with me and not my father, but fear stripped her of her usual gumption. That was the first night we spoke as friends and not as strangers." He let out a soft huff of laughter and added, "That was also the first time I realised girls weren't as terrible as they seemed."
Merlyn chuckled, nudging him. "Good to know," she said. "It'd be a shame to burden you with a problem I cannot change."
At that, cold reality settled over the both of them and Merlyn dropped her eyes, letting the curtain fall back into place and block the light show outside.
Arthur felt the urge to speak, to remind her that her… issues weren't unfixable. If only she would help him. "Gaius has not reported any new information on his research," he stated, watching her closely for hints of untruth or defiance. "He tells me that he may never find what I seek."
Merlyn was avoiding his gaze, eyes tracing a pattern on the bedspread behind him. She said, attempting to be nonchalant, "Cuffing one's magic is unnatural. It would make sense that there would be little or no information on it."
Arthur frowned, finding her wording odd and reminding him of something, though he knew not what. "Cuffing?" he asked.
Merlyn appeared equally confused by his parroting. "What?"
"You said cuffing," he said. "Why would you use that word?"
She looked no more enlightened to his train of thought and shrugged. "I don't know, I just did."
"I've heard that before, I think," he said, trying to remember where. He had read it, he knew, but he hadn't thought anything of it until Merlyn repeated the same thing.
Where had he read it?
He caught a minute flash of recognition on Merlyn's features before she tried to hide it, too late. He leant forward like a hound catching a scent. "You know something?" he realised. "That word… You found something in your research, didn't you?"
"No," she said immediately but Merlyn had always been terrible at lying when challenged. Her eyes were wide and shifting, and her breathing had increased.
"Merlyn," he growled. "Do not lie to me. Did you find something?"
She opened her mouth to deny it again but stalled as her eyes landed on his face. He wasn't controlling his expressions so knew he was wearing his anger and interest plainly upon his features.
"Merlyn," he snapped when she said nothing, and she jumped, blurting;
"Yes, I did! I found what you wanted!"
She clapped her hands over her mouth after she said it, but Arthur wasn't paying attention, too caught up in absorbing the revelation.
"Tell me," he demanded, grabbing her wrist and pulling it away from her face. She shook her head, eyes wide and he snarled in frustration. "Merlyn! Tell me!"
"Magical Cuff," she shouted, panting with emotion. "I found a Magical Cuff that contains the wearer's magic – but it's bad, Arthur. It's evil."
"I thought you said that magic wasn't evil," he said snidely, furious that she had found a solution yet kept it from him after he'd expressly forbidden such tactics. "How long have you known of this Cuff?"
She shook her head again, clearly knowing he would be furious. He shook her arm from where he still gripped her wrist. "Do not make me ask again."
She dropped her head and whispered hoarsely, "I read about it long ago, before you demanded this task from me, but I cannot make it, Arthur. It's an abomination of nature. It can trap one's spirit alongside their magic." She shuddered, curling her free arm around her chest. "That would be horrible."
"But it will stop you casting," he said, dropping her arm and stepping away. He was a little stunned at actually finding a solution. The way Gaius and Merlyn had spoken, he'd assumed he'd been chasing ghosts, but to find out now there was a true answer…
"Arthur," Merlyn said, her tone desperate as she reached out with the hand he had released. "I know not how to create it, but it is not meant to be made. Magic is everywhere, in everything – to cut someone off from that… please, Arthur, listen to me."
"No," he said, shaking off her hesitant touch. His met her eyes, hope and determination firing him up from within. "You have a solution. I will not disregard this gift because you fear change. This is a good thing, Merlyn. You may not see it now, but I'm doing what's best."
"No," she whispered. "You're not. I'm not a monster. I do not deserve to be shackled."
"Merlyn," he barked in an authoritarian tone, her fright eating at his conscience. "I'm ordering you, as your Prince, to make the Magical Cuff. I care not how. This will be done, or I will tell my father of your treachery and you will be burned on the pyre. Do you understand?"
"You wouldn't do that," she croaked, the wildness in her eyes betraying her declaration. "You wouldn't condemn me to the flames."
His ire burned at the inadvertent challenge and he barked, "I will do what is necessary to save your soul. You do not see, but magic will twist your goodness until you no longer know light from dark. I will stop it; however it must be done."
"Arthur…"
"Enough, Merlyn. I'll not hear more excuses. You will begin immediately."
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That night, Merlyn awoke with a scream on her lips and the sound of flames crackling in her ears. She managed to muffle it with a pillow, but the hiss and pop of the pyre echoed in her eardrums persistently, followed closely by the sickly-sweet scent of roasting flesh.
She spent several hours wiping tears from her eyes and swallowing bile in her throat before a door slamming open in the prince's chambers had her bolting upright. Her door flew open with magic as she touched it and she staggered in to Arthur's chambers, ready to do battle.
She found Arthur shoving his legs into trousers and a guard exiting in a rush, clearly the one who had entered in such a hurry.
"What's happened?" she demanded, approaching and knocking his hands away to tie the laces of his trousers. Arthur used the opportunity to pull a tunic over his bare torso, straining as he grew tangled in the sleeves.
"An incident in Morgana's chamber," he said through the fabric over his face. "No more details than that yet."
"Oh," she breathed, worry shooting up at the thought of Morgana being attacked. "Then let's go!"
"I would," he grumbled, writhing as his arms knotted above his head, face still buried beneath the collar. "But this – accursed –"
"Stop!" she ordered with a sigh, untangling his arms and pulling one sleeve straight from where it had been folded in on itself. She tugged the torso down and Arthur's head popped through the neckline, hair mused from his struggles. She would have shaken her head but the matter was too urgent to be exasperated at his inability to dress himself under pressure.
Instead, she grabbed a jacket and they rushed from the room.
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Morgana's curtains had been set aflame and her window shattered as if hit by a very forceful object. The highborn rested in another room while the facts were sorted, and the King wasted no time in blaming it on foul play, strutting from the room with a purposefulness that set Merlyn on edge.
Expectedly, not a minute later, he was crying sorcery and calling for a list of suspected practitioners. Merlyn feared her name would appear, but it seemed Arthur had other ideas. He waited until they were alone then interrogated her by the fireplace.
"Did you have anything to do with this?" he demanded. "Do you know who caused this?"
"Of course not!" she exclaimed, offended that he would accuse her of such unkindness. "Morgana is my friend. How could you believe I would frighten her in such a way! Do you know me at all?"
His face was stern, unmoved as he replied, "I thought I did, but we both know that was a lie."
Her hand moved to her heart without thought, pushing against her skin as if to ease the pain within. "I am not a monster," she said softly. "I am not the one who is acting cruelly."
He drew back, jaw clenched and snapped, "I only act as I do because you cannot seem to grasp the seriousness of your actions. You court darkness and call it light."
"There is no evil in sorcery," she defended on a shaky breath. "Only in the hearts of men."
He glanced away, expression inscrutable, before turning and striding from the room. He hesitated at the doorway for a quick moment before he shook his head and kept going. He didn't look back.
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Citizens under suspicion of sorcery were rounded up and dragged to the dungeons – for questioning or condemning, Merlyn knew not. She watched from a window as two children were led in front of their mother, the guards firm but not rough, which she was thankful for. The youngest, a brown-haired girl of perhaps thirteen, was sobbing in fear.
This is wrong, she thought. They don't deserve this.
The innocent and the peaceful rounded up like cattle for slaughter; little hope left when accused of such a crime. Whether they had magic or not, they had done no evil; they had not attacked the King nor disrupted the peace. So, why then were they being put in prison? And why was no one defending them?
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Merlyn marched to the Physician's Chambers with her mind whirling. Ideas, both realistic and ridiculous were churning in tangled lines of possibility, and she wanted Gaius' opinions to help guide her true. However, when she neared the door, she heard Morgana's lilting tenor within and peered through the crack to see if it was a conversation she could interrupt without being rude.
She overheard Morgana revealing the source of the fire in her room: accidental magic. And the fear in her voice was clear.
Merlyn listened with bated breath as Gaius' struggled to acknowledge her statement. He hesitated, fighting with himself, before he succumbed to his anxiety and placated the highborn with empty words and promises.
Merlyn slunk back into the shadows and gritted her teeth in anger. He said magic wasn't evil, that it wasn't to be feared, yet he seeded doubt and uncertainty within a struggling woman just so he wouldn't have to admit the truth. Why was he not helping her?
When she confronted him later, his answers were unacceptable.
"Morgana knows nothing for certain," he said, as if that should earn her happiness.
"Which makes it even worse! She isn't sure what's happening to her and it's tearing her apart."
He stared at her sternly. "And what would you have me do?"
"Talk to her," she implored. "Tell her she'll be okay. Tell her that her powers are not something to be afraid of."
Gaius shook his head, expression set, if mildly apologetic. "I cannot," he murmured, and Merlyn gritted her teeth to keep her temper. She understood her mentor's struggle; being forced to witness friends and acquaintances be consumed by flame or beheaded by his King would traumatise to the deepest level. Gaining enough confidence to tutor Merlyn had been hard enough and he still reverted sometimes, teaching biology and medicine instead of magic when his nerves got the better of him. Risking everything for the ward of that same biased King would take confidence that clearly, the old man did not yet possess.
"Perhaps I could speak with her," she began, to take the burden of responsibility from him but Gaius looked horrified.
"No, Merlyn, you cannot!"
She frowned at him. "Why not?" she asked. "I understand what she is going through."
"You must never reveal your secret," he lectured, starting to pace in his agitation. "Not to anyone."
"Gwen and Lancelot know," she argued, watching him move back and forth. "And Knight Ewan, and Tom, and Arthur! Things changed with their knowing, there was uncertainty and hesitance –" she ignored the echo of Arthur's voice demanding she sever her magic, "– but it is better to be truthful when possible than dishonest when there is no need. If not me, then who else is there?"
"There is me," Gaius retorted, turning to her with a deep frown. "I will care for her as I have always done, as I have done since before you arrived."
She ignored the pointedness of the barb and replied as evenly as she could, "Then you need to be honest with her."
"What makes you so certain that you know better than me?" he questioned, and she put a hand to her heart, imploring as she spoke.
"I went through the same thing," she reminded him. "I was afraid and tormented, misunderstanding my gifts. You, Gaius, you showed me that it was not to be feared. You gave me my control back, my light, my ability to help others. The Dragon may have given me a purpose, but you, Uncle, guided me true. Please, do the same for my friend."
The old man softened at her words, it was clear on his craggy features, but the moment passed, and he fortified himself. "You cannot get involved in this. No good can come of it. I mean it, Merlyn. Stay out of it."
"But –"
"No!" he growled, and she drew back in surprise at the vehemence in his tone. "I have told you this before, Merlyn. If you tell the Lady Morgana of her abilities then you are forcing her onto a path of your own design, not hers. I know you must be lonely, but it does not give you leave to manipulate those around you for your own benefit!"
Merlyn stared at him, stunned. "I…" she didn't know what to say, completely sideswiped by his attack. "I didn't…"
His expression softened, and he moved closer to take her hand. "You must not tell Morgana your secret," he murmured. "You may live within the King's city but Morgana lives in his pocket. Do you think she would be safe if she were to know the truth?"
Belatedly, hurt and anger rolled through her body and she jerked her hand away from Gaius. "How can you accuse me of thinking only for myself?" she demanded, hating the tears that sprang to her eyes. "How can you deem me so selfish?"
Instead of firing up in response, her mentor appeared exhausted. "Merlyn…" he began but she didn't want to hear his platitudes or excuses.
"Am I lonely?" she hissed. "Of course I am! Do I wish for a friend who knows exactly what it is like to live in fear every day of my life, to have nightmares and wonder about what it feels like to be touched by the flames? Yes, if only so that I may have someone who can give me strength! But how dare you," her voice wavered, and she retreated a few steps to regather herself. "How dare you presume to think that is why I would condemn another to that suffering!"
"Merlyn," Gaius said, reaching out but she sliced a hand through the air in agitation.
"No!" she shouted. "I share everything with you! You should know me – trust me – enough to know I would never act so selfishly! Morgana needs support. She needs to be told the truth, shown that her abilities are not a curse or a darkness to fear. She needs someone like I needed you. Someone to show her that it is a gift, and can be used to help and heal. I can't…" she shook her head, still shocked by his accusations. "I can't believe you think I would act for my own needs first."
Gaius dropped his head, brow furrowed. He sighed. "I do not think you would," he admitted softly. "I only hoped to protect you from yourself." He lifted his gaze to meet hers, sadness etched among his wrinkles. "You try so hard to help everyone that often, you do not stop to think of yourself. Morgana's gift is rare, so rare even I do not know much on how it works. It is clear that it is hard to control, nigh impossible without training, and I know that you would not allow her to suffer alone were she caught by the King. Merlyn," he whispered. "I could not see you burn."
"Gaius," she sighed, moving close to him and resting her hands on his shoulders, begging for him to hear her. "You must stop thinking the worst of things. Yes, I know," she added when his mouth opened to argue. "Preparing for the worst is a good strategy, but not moving forward in fear of it will get you nothing but stomach ulcers and lost time. I know you suffered during the Purge, I see it every day in your eyes, but the future is coming, and I must greet it with the intention of improvement or else we will stagnate and decay."
The old man's smile was tremulous, and his hands shook slightly as they came to rest upon her shoulders, mirroring her position. He asked rhetorically, "When did you become so wise?"
She grinned back, a tear spilling over with the movement and darting swiftly down her cheek. "I learned from the best," she replied. "But sometimes he forgets and needs reminding."
Gaius sucked in a deep, shaky breath. "Be careful, Merlyn," he murmured. "Morgana may be a friend, but her heart is not as pure as your own. Remember that she is capable of attempting murder."
Merlyn tucked her chin, not liking to think of the time when Morgana tried to kill the King – her own, unknown father – after she believed he had executed Gwen's. She still did not know what exactly had changed the highborn's mind, but she hoped it was remorse and realisation. To kill another human in cold blood had to be one of the darkest forms of evil, particularly such a close betrayal as father and daughter.
"I have not forgotten," she said then peered up through her eyelashes to meet Gaius' worried gaze. "But I also know the truth of her heart; she is so fierce in her defense of those incapable of defending themselves. She believes in equality and compassion… Just… sometimes she needs reminding that that path does not intersect with vengeance."
"Nothing I say will change your decision, will it?" he asked, though his tone indicated it was more of a statement. Her lips quirked sheepishly at his resignation. He knew her too well.
"I'm sorry," she said, a mite contritely. "I understand your caution, and I will be careful, but Morgana needs to know she is not crazy and she is not cursed. I can tell her of the future that beckons us, of Albion, show her that our paths are not bleak and fraught with fire and fear."
"One misstep, Merlyn, and Albion may not be at all," warned Gaius. "Morgana's gift is rare and her budding abilities with magic make her unique, like yourself. In all the ages of our land, never has there been recordings of such innate talents. It cannot be coincidence that the two of you are so closely intertwined. Beware the destiny that awaits you both."
"You think I should speak with the dragon," Merlyn realised, and the old man dipped his pale head.
"I believe it would be wiser than charging into a situation that cannot be undone. Listen to his warnings and heed his words, Merlyn. He knows more than any other of the intricacies of prophecy and the unreliable persistence of our fates."
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Merlyn's visit with the dragon was less than ideal. As soon as she shared her intent to reveal herself to Morgana, the golden beast rose up with a roar of disapproval.
"That enchantress must never discover your magic, Merlyn!" he thundered, the intensity of his ire causing his breath to wash hotly over her skin, her eyes watering against the burning temperature. "She must never know your secrets."
Merlyn was stunned by the strength of his denial, momentarily speechless before she regathered her wits. "Morgana is my friend," she argued. "And she is need of guidance. Why should I not help her?"
"That seer is not your friend," the dragon growled. "Just as the druid boy is Arthur's doom, she may very well be yours. It would be best if the enchantress never knows her full potential."
"How can Morgana be my downfall?" Merlyn demanded, taken aback by such a concept. "She struggles with darker temptations, just as many do, but she is not evil, and she would not hurt me."
"You are but one part of a greater puzzle, young witch," the dragon intoned, voice heavy with knowledge. "And you cannot know the true image until it is complete. Heed my words; if the enchantress learns of your powers then you condemn Albion to fall."
Slowly, the black-haired girl shook her head, shaken by the promise in his words. He sounded so certain, so resolute that there was only one path. But Merlyn couldn't live like that. She couldn't go through her days believing that their road was already paved, their stories already written. If that was so, then what did choices matter? What did that mean for free will?
"I cannot believe that," she said firmly. "Whatever you think she may be, whatever you fear she will become, Morgana is not that person yet. I must believe in the freedom of choice, in laying our own paths, or my life does not matter; none of our lives matter."
"And yet, you work so hard for the future that is written in prophecy," he retorted. "If you do not believe in Albion, why do you work so hard for its fruition?"
"I believe in the efforts of hard work!" she shouted, angry he would try to twist her mind. "And I believe that one's destiny does not take away our right to choose our future. Morgana is troubled, and without guidance, she may fall to darkness, but I will not live as if that is her only road. I will guide her and teach her. I will show her the promise of tomorrow; the union of a land ruled by a just and kind king, where magic is not feared but accepted."
"You do not understand the risks you are taking, Merlyn," the dragon warned, nostrils puffing a bit of smoke to mark his displeasure. "Your decisions do not affect only you. If you choose to do this, you force every creature in this land to deal with the consequences. I did not know you were so selfish."
"You know what?" Merlyn snapped, jabbing an irritated finger at the golden reptile. "I am so sick of everyone accusing me of one thing or another when all I'm trying to do is help my friend. What about you, Dragon, huh? What about your selfishness? Would you care for me at all if I did not further your ends? Would you care about what happened to Arthur if he was not the one to build Albion? Do not accuse me of selfishness when you have no right to do so!"
Two golden eyes glared at her in anger and the dragon pushed himself to his clawed feet. He flared his wings and snapped, "If you will not listen to reason then I cannot help you." And he leapt into the air, massive wings carrying him away with a feeling of finality.
Merlyn watched him go, a little contrite with her temper but not regretting her words, even if it could have been phrased better. The dragon had a lot of pride and being scolded by a creature one hundredth of his size, and who knew how many hundredths of his age had to sting. But what was done was done, and Merlyn's decision was made.
She was going to tell Morgana she had magic.
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Merlyn spent the rest of the day preparing herself for her approach. In the safety of her room, doors locked, she cleaned Arthur's armour with magic while she browsed her special book for information that might help Morgana, or that she might be curious about. She also practiced a speech, reciting phrases that she wanted to share with the highborn, trying to capture the heart of what she wanted to express, but the nerves fraying at her composure tripped her words into inarticulate rubbish. Her belly felt liable to explode from the butterflies assaulting her insides.
She whiled away hours in her small room and was only interrupted when the faint sounds of disturbances in the courtyard grew too loud to ignore. She stepped into Arthur's bedchambers and approached the window facing the courtyard to peer out to see lines of citizens being escorted into the castle by guards. Some were struggling, others were numb with shock, yet more were crying and shouting, cursing and denying. They had the most guards, physically dragged into the bowels of the citadel to face a trial that would do them no favours.
One of the quiet ones, a brown-haired, pale-skinned man, looked up and his gaze found hers.
Instantly, she knew he, at least, was affiliated with magic, for his eyes recognised her as more than Arthur's servant. The whisper of Emrys caressed her ear before the moment was broken and the brown-haired man was nudged out of sight, through a door to the right of the grand staircase that led directly into the dungeons.
Merlyn turned away, breath heavy. There was no maliciousness on his face, no expectation in his stare, but she knew she could not let him and all those people suffer a fate not of their own doing. None of them had tried to attack Camelot, even if they were magical. These were the people who needed to live; the ones who only wanted peace, only wanted to go about their day without censure. These people were what would make Albion.
Merlyn thumped her head back against the window frame and let out a deep sigh. Arthur was going to hate her even more.
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"Hello," Merlyn said softly when Morgana opened her chamber door. She looked exhausted, skin pale, eyes bruised, hair untended and purple nightdress rumpled. Farah, her new maidservant, was not present. "How are you feeling?"
The highborn gave a weary smile and leant against the door as she granted Merlyn access, shutting it quietly behind her. "I feel as if visions linger behind my eyelids, waiting to terrorise me the moment I rest."
"I'm sorry you feel that way," Merlyn murmured, clutching a cloth-covered parcel to her chest. "Not understanding what is happening is a terrible type of fear. But," she added, meeting Morgana's anxious eyes. "I hope I may ease some of your troubles."
She held out the object in her arms and, quizzically, the older woman took it from her. With prompting, she unwrapped the faded red cloth and stared at the roughly bound manuscript in her arms. Merlyn had duplicated pages of information from her magic book and sewed the parchment together after a quick study on bookbinding. It was very basic with no hardcover or heading, but the black-haired girl suspected her friend would be more interested in its contents than its appearance once she understood its significance.
Merlyn swallowed her nerves and said, "Fear is a powerful emotion. It can strip us of our control and our strength. When we face it alone, we are just as likely to succumb to it as to conquer. I would not wish for you to become its prey, Morgana." The noblewoman lifted her eyes from the parchment to stare at Merlyn, wariness evident in her hesitant features. The black-haired girl smiled, a mite nervously.
"I have been keeping something from you," she continued, rubbing her hands together and letting the repetitive motion across her palms soothe her anxiousness. "To protect myself as much as to protect you, but I feel it is now harming more than helping. I would not see you suffer alone, believing yourself mad, or possessed."
"Gaius told you of our conversation," Morgana stated, a trickle of betrayal layering her words. Merlyn was quick to shake her head.
"No," she denied. "He would never…. No… I'm afraid I eavesdropped." She ducked her head, rueful. "It was rude and invasive, but I do not come to judge or seek apology; I come to help you."
"How can you help me?" Morgana demanded. "Gaius has tried every remedy he knows to save me from this affliction and all of them fail!"
"That is true," Merlyn agreed, stepping closer. "There is no remedy he or I know that will stop these nightmares from occurring. But I do not come to stop them. I come with knowledge."
She touched the top of the booklet and said, "This is information on magic and spells." Morgana's eyes widened, stunned. "It has information on how to cast, on the laws of magic, and some basics on the Old Religion. It… also has a page or two dedicated to what little knowledge there is about Seers: people who can foresee events not yet passed."
"Like… like the Romani fortune tellers?" the woman asked in a tentative tone, as if she was couldn't believe there might be others like herself.
"Similar," agreed Merlyn. "But Seers do not need a vessel to carry their visions. I'm afraid there is not enough information to sate your curiosity or help you control your gifts, but it is a starting point. And it means you aren't alone."
"Merlyn," Morgana breathed, shaking her head in disbelief. "This is… how came you by this?"
"It was given to me by a trusted friend, to help me understand myself and defeat the fear that plagued my mind."
The black-haired girl watched a variety of emotions flit across the noblewoman's strained features: confusion, disbelief, fear, hope, uncertainty.
"You… you have…?"
She appeared too afraid to say it so Merlyn finished softly, "Magic, yes." She smiled reassuringly. "Like you, I did not choose my gifts. I was born with the ability to do impossible things, and for that, I was forced to live in secrecy. My mother reminded me that my abilities were not to be feared, even if others might fear them. Will, my first friend, showed me that even if some might fear, not all would, and acceptance could be found through trust. I was lucky; I had love, friendship, guidance… I know many are taught to suppress. To hate. To condemn…"
Morgana's lovely green orbs were filled with tears, though a none yet escaped her lashes. "You believe I have magic?" she asked, sounding terrified.
"Whether you do or you do not, you have a gift beyond the understanding of science. But, Morgana," she gripped the woman's hand where it held the booklet. "It is not to be feared or hated. Just because people can use it to do evil does not mean it itself is evil. Magic is a tool and must be wielded with the upmost care, with the upmost vigilance. It cannot be used selfishly for it can corrupt. Such power so easily grasped, so easily directed, makes it easy to abuse. It is so tempting… if I do this, or I do that, I can save all this heartache, all this suffering. But you must give people the freedom to make their own decisions. If we take that away, then we become the very monsters they fear us to be. And that does nothing but feed the cycle of hate and oppression that plagues this land." She kept her gaze locked on Morgana's, purposeful with her intent. If she was to save the troubled woman from her fate, then she needed to impress upon her the dangers that existed.
"Do you understand, Morgana?" she asked, knowing she was unnerving the highborn. "To keep the goodness in your heart, you must think only of helping others. You must use it with respect and love; that is the only way you can be sure you won't fall to darkness."
The green-eyed woman nodded quickly. "I understand," she said. "I don't want to become the monster that Uther thinks they are. I want to prove to him that he's wrong."
"He cannot know," she said, fear spiking through her chest. "He can never know what we are."
Morgana's features scrunched in frustration. "How can we change things if we cannot show Uther that he is wrong about us? I am tired of this fear and this-this insanity! I want to live in peace!"
"There is hope," Merlyn assured her, not liking how quickly she grew aggravated. When Morgana grew angry, she grew impulsive. "There is a prophecy written long ago that depicts a land of unity and freedom, where sorcerers and kings live in harmony."
"Prophecy?" Morgana parroted, distracted from her temper. "Like what I see?"
"I think so," she replied, hating that she lacked the knowledge to answer her queries properly.
"But my visions are so confusing. I can barely make sense of them, let alone interpret them for others to understand."
Merlyn shrugged. "If sorcery can be trained and cultivated then why not divination?"
"Then there must be someone out there who can help me stop this," Morgana realised, hope brightening her features. "Someone who understands my powers. You must tell me where!"
Merlyn shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I do not know."
"But I will find out," the highborn declared. "Another sorcerer might know. Those people in the dungeons – they are magical or are in contact with sorcerers. They can give me answers."
She stepped towards the door as if to head to the dungeons immediately, but Merlyn quickly grabbed her arm. "You can't go down there," she said. "You are the King's ward."
"They have answers I seek," Morgana argued, shaking her arm loose. "You have no idea what it is like, night after night, wondering if this time, when I sleep, my dreams will be a web of terrible things that I cannot escape until I have seen what I must. You do not know the madness I battle and the darkness that chokes me. You may be magical, Merlyn, but you are not cursed as I am."
"You are right," Merlyn agreed, holding up her hands as she stepped into Morgana's path. "I don't know the struggles you are tormented by, for everyone lives with different demons. But comparing troubles like they are a thing to be measured is wrong. I cannot know how you suffer, Morgana, because I am not you. But remember; you are fighting your demons. And you are winning. Every moment you beat back that despair and that loneliness is a victory to be celebrated. That, more than anything else, gives credence to your character. You are strong, and you are smart. And I need you to employ those traits and temper your impulsiveness. The King cannot know the truth about us."
The older woman deflated, fingers tightening around the manuscript she still cradled. "I hunger for answers, Merlyn," she said, her tone pleading. "For so long, I thought I was going mad, prescribed drug after drug that failed to work. Besieged by these horrible images, wondering how my imagination could conjure such awful things. Now you tell me there are people out there like me, who can help me? Please, please, let me find them."
"I will," soothed Merlyn, heart aching for the pain the other woman was weathering. "And I will help you, but charging down to a restricted area will gain you nothing but suspicion."
"But they are to be executed tomorrow," Morgana whispered hoarsely. "They are all to be executed for a crime they did not commit."
"No, they're not," murmured Merlyn. "Tonight, after shift change at midnight, there is going to be a fire in the Embassy Wing, large enough that it will require the attention of many people. During that fire, the dungeon is going to be breached and the prisoners escape. They will flee the city and not be seen by the King again. If there is time, during that escape, I will ask questions. But only if there is time."
Morgana was stunned, disbelief and awe slackening her features. Merlyn grinned crookedly at the expression; though she was not a scholar or a wisewoman, she would try to teach and guide Morgana as Gaius did to her. It was the least she could do for a friend tormented by the cruelty of an unwanted destiny.
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That night, thirty minutes after the midnight toll, smoke began pouring along the empty corridors of the Embassy Wing. The patrol that stumbled upon it was quick to sound the alarm and soon, the castle was in a frenzy trying to quench the flames. Meanwhile, a red-cloaked figure descended the staircase to the dungeons and blew sleeping powder into the faces of the two men that guarded the cells. They collapsed, not expected to rise until dawn, and the figure ghosted to the bars. She wasted no time unlocking the gates, watching as the frightened people inside rose to their feet warily, hesitant to approach the unknown addition.
"My name is Emrys," she intoned in her spelled voice. "I have come to take you to safety."
The brown-haired man from earlier that day stepped forward, bowing low. "It is an honour, Emrys," he said. "But you put yourself at great risk to be here."
"As did you all to remain in Camelot," she replied. "Yet you lingered, living your lives without hostility. How can you expect me to stand aside and allow you to perish?"
"And just who are you, Emrys?" demanded a woman in a cutting tone. Merlyn glanced to her left to see a blonde woman with full lips and fiery blue eyes glaring at her mistrustfully.
Another spoke up, an adolescent boy, and Merlyn's heart ached for his youth. "She is the prophesised one," he defended, stepping forward from behind the blonde. "She is the one who will help the Once and Future King unite our land and free magic."
"Albion," someone breathed and there was an exhale of awe from many people within the cells. Merlyn was surprised that so many knew of the future written but it gave her a new appreciation of the power of hope. Why would these people grow bitter and angry when they understood a new age was coming? Why would they act to end a reign of terror when they knew it was to be done in a way that would have magic understood, not hated?
"Albion may be a land of unity and tolerance," she said. "But it is not yet come to pass. In this land still ruled by fear, I will not stand by and watch my kin burn. Come with me now," she urged, turning towards to the hallway. "I will show you the way from the city."
"What about our homes? Our livelihoods?" asked the mother of the two children, crouched together in a sad little huddle.
"I'm sorry," she apologised softly. "You must find a new home. You cannot return here while Uther is still king."
The woman gave a quiet sob and her son, perhaps fourteen, wrapped his arms around her in a hug.
"Come," Merlyn urged and moved away, hoping they would follow. There was a discordant scrape of people climbing to their feet and the faint groan of hinges moving against metal. Quickly, the patter of two dozen feet could be heard trailing in her wake.
Her heart swelled at the show of trust, though, admittedly, they had little other option than to await execution. But it warmed her nonetheless.
She led them faithfully through the same route Arthur used when liberating Mordred, though it was a little more difficult with so many people. Thankfully, with the fire drawing all the guards' attentions to the far side of the castle, she managed to lead them with only a handful of interruptions; namely, three unconscious guards and two unwitting servants. Merlyn was never more grateful for spells than during those confrontations, as it gave her an edge over her opponents without needing to harm them unduly. Unfortunately, her ability to slow time was still misbehaving from when she saved Gwen's father, Tom, and she had to rely on quick reflexes instead.
Alwyn, the brown-haired druid, and Forridel, the mistrusting blonde, were great companions in keeping the group moving and quiet. Forridel was a bit blunt, hissing at them to shut up when they whispered to each other, but once she decided to follow Merlyn, she did so without question.
They made it through the burial vaults and out of the tunnel that led beyond the city walls. Merlyn melted the concrete holding the bars in place and pushed it off its frame quietly, not wanting to draw attention from the parapet sentries over the rise. There, several sacks of food were waiting, spelled to ward off pests, and she passed them off to Forridel and Alwyn before turning to the group at large.
"I can't take you all the way to safety," she said sadly. "I will be missed if I am absent too long. But I know some of you must know the druid hideaways. Go there if you want, they are kind people who will guide you true. Alternatively, my home village, Ealdor, lies east of here, on the other side of the border to Essetir. It is a small place and you will have to work to earn your keep, but it is safe. Ask for Hunith when you arrive and she will care for you."
Forridel handed out a couple of sacks and said, "I will guide those who wish to go to Ealdor. I have been to Cenred's kingdom before and know the quickest route."
Alwyn offered to take the rest to the druids and the group split into their preferred groups. Forridel turned to Merlyn and said, "I would like to see the one who saved us."
After a second's hesitation, Merlyn pulled back her hood and bared her face to the people.
"You're a woman," the blonde said in surprise and the black-haired girl smiled sheepishly then blushed as the druid-friends bowed like she was some great queen.
"Don't bow," she muttered. "I am not royalty."
"But you are," said the adolescent boy, awe clear in his brown gaze. "You are our álísend."
"Saviour," Merlyn translated quietly, honoured by his faith. "You give me too much credit."
"No," denied Alwyn, placing his hand over his heart in respect. "We give you just enough."
Well. What could she say to that?
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Merlyn waited until the last figure was out of sight before she disguised their tracks in the dirt, wanting to give them as much of a head start as possible. Once satisfied she had done all she could, she ducked back into the tunnel and melded the metal grate with its concrete home once more, leaving no evidence that anyone had passed through this way.
She left her red cloak in the burial vaults to collect when the castle wasn't on such high alert then dashed up the stairs and through the corridors to Arthur's chambers. She whispered a spell to unlock the little room beside his bedchamber and slipped inside, realising too late that the room was too bright.
She winced from where she faced the door, shoulders rising to her ears before she quietly pushed it closed. She turned with a sheepish smile and her eyes landed on Arthur, who was leaning against the open door to his own chambers, arms crossed in annoyance. A candelabra sat burning brightly on her bedside table, illuminating his displeased expression.
"Sire!" she cried, holding out her hands in welcome. "What brings you here so late? Or early as it may be? Shouldn't you be asleep?"
"I was," he said slowly, evenly. "Up until the warning bell signalled a fire in the castle. Then I, and every able body, set out to extinguish it. Where were you, Merlyn?"
"Me?" she said, trying to think of a valid excuse. "Well. I was, er… I was…"
"You were what?" his eyebrow was raised pointedly, as if he knew he wouldn't like what she said. She mentally cursed herself for not preparing for such an occurrence; she'd been waiting for when he discovered the prisoners missing and rightly assumed her interference. Somehow, being found out seemed easier than telling him herself what she'd done.
But when had anything she'd done ever been easy?
"I… was doing something you are not going to like," she admitted, scrunching her nose in trepidation.
His frown deepened but he did not appear surprised. "You were practicing magic," he stated, and, by his tone, she knew he'd already suspected.
She winced again. "Um, yes," she said. "But that isn't what will anger you."
Arthur's nostrils flared. "Then what," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Did you do?"
"Um," she squeaked. "I might have, er, freed the prisoners. From the dungeons. And led them out of Camelot." She closed her eyes. "And gave them provisions to help them on their way."
There was a long silence but Merlyn didn't open her eyes. The fury crackling in the air was as potent as the spark of magic.
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"Oh, Merlyn," Gwen sighed, cautiously stepping up beside the black-haired girl. Said girl was spattered in rotten fruit and vegetables, unable to defend herself while her hands and head were locked into the stocks. Thankfully, she was given a reprieve as the children had run off to find more ammo, which was why the curly-haired woman was approaching her at all.
"Hello, Gwen," she replied with a grin, twisting her head awkwardly to meet the woman's eyes. "We have to stop meeting like this."
"This wouldn't have anything to do with the mass breakout from the dungeons during the fire last night, would it?" Gwen asked lightly, seeming to already suspect her answer. Merlyn sighed.
"He caught me returning to my room," she admitted glumly, pouting. "And I knew he would find out soon enough anyway. I was simply hoping for a good night's sleep beforehand."
"Did you think, perhaps, not doing it at all? I'm sure he'd have no cause to be mad then."
Merlyn glared at her. "I wasn't going to leave those people to die for a crime they didn't commit. Their only blame lies in the fact that they do not cow to the King's bias."
Gwen glanced around, ever-cautious of such treasonous words then ducked closer to Merlyn with worry stressing her features. "You are pushing the prince beyond his tolerance, Merlyn. If you keep disregarding his rules, you will leave him no choice but to turn you over for execution."
Merlyn looked away, anxiety rising at her mention. "He has already given me an ultimatum," she murmured, not wanting to see Gwen's reaction. "He has ordered me to produce something that will trap my magic, or he will reveal my abilities to the King."
The curly-haired woman gasped and squatted to force the black-haired girl to meet her eyes, uncaring of the lovely dress that was dirtying in the juices of rotten fruit. "Merlyn," she whispered. "What are you going to do?"
"I'll have to concede," she said softly. "There is a Magical Cuff that traps one's magic. It is… it is horrible, but they are the only thing that might ease his temper." She stared at Gwen imploringly. "You understand why I had to help those people, don't you? They were all innocent; they had done no wrong. There were children, Gwen."
"I understand," Gwen soothed, touching Merlyn's grotty hair kindly. "I admire your bravery and your dedication, as will all those people you saved. You are a hero, Merlyn. But I do not want to see you die."
The black-haired girl sniffled, emotional at her friend's acceptance – so different to the hours of scolding and belittling she'd just received. "I will not die, Gwen. I will just…" not have magic. Possibly trap my spirit within a metal band.
She swallowed hard, wondering what that would be like. Would she be emotionless? Stupefied? Comatose?
Goodness, she hoped it didn't hurt.
A gaggle of chuckling children reappeared down the path, trotting up with a basket laden with withered produce. Merlyn would have to trust there were no potatoes.
"You'd better escape before you dirty your lovely dress any further," she warned, and Gwen obediently backed away. "Give Morgana my love – and tell her that I have information for her whenever we can meet."
Gwen looked curious but said nothing as she lifted a hand in acknowledgement. Merlyn was distracted by a thud against wood and the spray of mushy tomato, reminding her that she had more immediate concerns than the words of the druid-friends.
"Almost had me," she shouted to the little girl with brown pigtails. She giggled and an older preteen, who might have been her sister, threw with better aim. Merlyn tucked her head and felt the wet spatter over her crown. She suppressed a disgusted shudder and gave an encouraging laugh. She still had four more days to go.
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TBC…
So sorry for the long delay. No real excuses other than the difficulty of proof reading so far back when I'm neck deep in the finale – sorry guys!
Thanks so much to those who reviewed, followed and favourited. The appreciation is wonderful!
B