Unravelled
Tender hands brushed over Merlyn's head, fingers sliding through messy black strands and coaxing her gently from slumber. The young woman let out a soft hum and leant into the touch, blinking drowsy eyes open. It took her several long moments to register the familiar face smiling down at her.
"Mama?"
Hunith chuffed a wet laugh, eyelashes sparkling with tears as she continued to stroke Merlyn's hair. "Yes, dear heart, it is me."
Merlyn's brow scrunched as she tried to scrape her thoughts from the quagmire, but her mother gathered her so her face was buried in soft hair, and the effot seemed too much.
"I am so sorry for what you've gone through, my flower," her mother murmured into her crown. "I'm so sorry for what you've suffered."
And, breathing empty air when she sought a scent as familiar as her own, numb where the kisses were being pressed into her scalp, chest aching around the hollow space beneath her ribs, Merlyn felt nothing.
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"Merlyn," someone called, and the girl blinked in instinctive recognition.
"Gaius," she replied then blinked a few more times in an attempt to focus. Her thoughts were muddled, like each idea was wading through mud to reach comprehension. She recognised that she was sitting at the table in the physician's chambers; a place she had often shared meals with her uncle, but she couldn't remember how she had arrived.
No… she could. She had woken in her old room. Hadn't she?
Her eyes tracked slowly from the floor to see sunlight was slanting through the window overlooking the lower town, though she couldn't remember if the angle meant morning or afternoon. It seemed duller, somehow, like the colours had been bleached from the rays, leaving them silver instead of gold.
Was that odd?
Gaius approached from out of sight – and wasn't that a peculiar thought? Merlyn was perfectly capable of turning her head if she wanted to watch his progress, so he wasn't really out of sight if she could follow his path, right?
"Merlyn," he repeated and sat heavily on the bench beside her. She looked over and met his gaze. His craggy features were pinched with something more than concern but less than alarm.
Worry. He was worried.
That revelation sharpened her thoughts enough for her to reach out and smooth his brow with a thumb. "What's wrong, uncle?" she asked, then amended as she connected his response to her person; "What's wrong with me?"
As she said it, memories sloughed themselves from the mud and solidified reluctantly in her mind. Her gaze dropped from Gaius' face to look at her left wrist and the iron cuff that rested tight against her skin.
"What do you remember?" Gaius asked gently, and Merlyn looked up at him again.
"I remember," she said succinctly and lifted her arm to look closer at the metal piece.
It no longer burned like an inferno but there was a constant ember that sparked against her skin. She reached with her other hand to see if it was hot to touch but Gaius captured her fingers and lowered them with a squeeze.
"Best not," he advised. "There are safeguards that prevent the wearer from removing it. I fear how it will react if you attempt to do so."
She looked back at her arm and saw the skin was red along the edge of the silver band, like a mild irritation.
"Am I allergic to iron?" she asked.
"I believe it is a reaction to the initial containment," Gaius explained, though he didn't look too sure of himself. "It should lessen in the next few days."
"It still hurts," she told him. "Like I spilled hot tea."
She scrunched her nose at the analogy, sounding wrong somehow, but Gaius seemed to understand. He took her left hand within both of his own and said in a rough voice, "I know not if that will ease. I didn't… I refused to help in the designs, so I lack the knowledge to help you. You left no notes…"
"The Dragon showed me," she explained, patting his top hand comfortingly. "I didn't need books."
"What can you remember?"
She tilted her head, but reaching for thoughts hurt too much and she winced, tucking her chin. "I'm not allowed," she said, and the old man made an odd noise in his throat, almost like the whine of a puppy, or the mewl of a lonely kitten.
"Gaius?" she asked and reached up to touch his face again. He looked sad.
"I'm so sorry, Merlyn," he rasped, a hitch in his voice sounding thick with tears. "I should have insisted you leave; should have forced Arthur to see reason."
"I'm alright," she assured him, though she wasn't too sure if she was. She felt… floaty. Disconnected.
He shook his head, cradling her hand against his cheek. "Only one of equal or greater power can remove the Cuff from you now," he murmured. "I know of no one with such power."
Merlyn tilted her head, confused. "What of the druids?"
"No," he sighed, closing his eyes. "None of them bear even half of your strength."
She looked down and her eyes caught on the glint of sunlight hitting the dark silver band. Sunlight that appeared shiny but colourless.
She could think of nothing to say and, in the silence, her awareness drifted once more.
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Merlyn, the dragon called, his faint voice resonating like a pickaxe to her skull and dragging her from sleep.
She awoke curled in a ball, clutching her head in agony, pulse thrumming heavily into her ears. Her dreams had been murky, shapeless shadows with clawed fingers scratching fire into her flesh but that phantom burn was better than this building pressure under her skin.
Merlyn, he called again, impatient, and she gave a breathless cry, feeling his voice like a pail of smelting metal had been poured over her left wrist. She clutched at the limb and rolled out of the bed, tangling in the sheets and smacking her shoulder against the bedside table as she fell. It tipped and the objects atop clattered to the floor in a shower of thuds and clangs. She was too busy hunched over, trying to ride out the pain, to think of the commotion she'd made.
Suddenly, her mother was there, calling her name and brushing back her hair to try to see her face.
"What's wrong, my love?" she asked, alarmed. "What hurts?"
"Arm!" she gasped, sobbing and sweating and wishing for unconsciousness. "Mama – please!" she begged, just wanting it to end. It felt like her skin was being peeled from her muscles, her muscles being shredded filament by filament, her tendons being stripped like a frayed rope, her bones cracking from heat.
There was a moment where it held at the precipice of too much and black spots danced in her eyes before it began to ease, sliding away like an uncoiling snake.
Her fingers tingled with pins and needles and ached as she stretched them, stiff from how tight she had clenched her fist. Her hair stuck to her sweaty face, tears still blurring her vision, but she clearly saw her mother's worried features above her own, felt her gentle hands brushing the black strands from her skin.
She flopped back onto the floor and closed her eyes as the cool of the wooden boards soaked through her nightdress. She was exhausted.
"What happened?" Gaius asked, crouching beside her mother and peeling her right hand away from her forearm so he could slide back her sleeve and examine the Cuff in the flickering candlelight.
"Dragon summoned," she sighed. "I could hear but…" explaining was tiring.
She faded, letting the shadows behind her eyelids carry her away. She had a vague awareness of her mother coaxing her from the floor and back onto her bed but otherwise time was swallowed by oblivion.
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Merlyn stood at the basin in the bathhouse, staring at her reflection in the still, cold water. Her face was expressionless and a part of her – a distant, wailing, caged part of her – screamed at the guise.
Feel something, it begged. Feel something!
Instead, she splashed the icy water onto her skin and shivered at the chill on her numb flesh.
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Arthur let his fingertips trail over the smooth, iron band encasing Merlyn's wrist, his touch as light as a feather. He sat beside her bed within the physician's chambers while she stared with her head tilted towards the small window, eyes glassy with vacancy, as they so often were nowadays. Her moments of lucidity were few and far between, seeming to lessen by the day, and he was forced away frequently by his duties to remain by her side as he wished. But there was no absence of people willing to grant her care.
It had spread quickly that Merlyn was ill, though the specifics were kept firmly confidential. An influx of well-wishers were quick to swarm the physician's door, only to be sent away at Gaius' behest as Merlyn was in no state to receive them, well-intentioned or not. Only those in the know were allowed to spend time with the vulnerable girl, Gwen falling into the role of caregiver when Hunith's distress grew too much to keep composure.
This was one of those moments, Hunith sent to the markets to let the sun wash away some of the darkness and Gwen lingering on the main floor to allow the prince a modicum of privacy. It wasn't technically appropriate for a man to be alone with a girl in her room (and she in bed), but the door was open, the others were nearby, and no one who would ruin her reputation was present to see Arthur at her side.
Arthur let his gaze trace over her vacant features, catching on the hollowing cheeks and the shadows beneath her eyes. A thought was niggling at him, an idea that refused to budge; the unicorn had awoken Merlyn from her stupor, the kiss upon her brow drawing her mind back to awareness. She had been exhausted, true, but her mind had been clear; she was alert, lucid. If a brush of a unicorn's lips could draw forth her true self, even temporarily, then what would it be if they used their horn, the fabled focal point of their power? Surely the strength of a unicorn outmatched that of a sorceress. Surely, they would be able to break the bindings of a mortal.
Gaius seemed less certain.
"If it was able, or willing, would it not have done so when the opportunity was presented?"
He made a good point, but Arthur wasn't willing to throw such a chance away because of assumption. Perhaps the beast wanted payment of some form; a test of his will, just as had been done when the last time they'd crossed paths. He had to try. Somewhere, someway, he would free Merlyn from the Cuff.
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"I cannot allow it, sire."
Gaius' voice filtered through the door to Merlyn's old room, where she had been staying since bearing the Cuff. The forceful words caught her attention and coaxed her from her stupor.
"She will never recover if she is kept to her room like a prisoner. How many days has it been since she has felt the sun on her face?"
Arthur's familiar tenor woke Merlyn a little more, and she pushed herself from her seated position on her bed to stand in the middle of the room, listening.
"Your concerns are noted, sire, but she is hardly fit to wander the city alone and, as much as it pains me to admit, I do have my responsibilities. I cannot spare enough time to mind her for hours."
"Hunith is available, is she not? And what of Guinevere? She has hardly left Merlyn's side, and she is more than fit to escort her beyond these walls."
"Gwen deserves more than to be forced to spend her days tending to an ill friend. And Hunith…" a heavy sigh followed. "Hunith will need to look for a job if she is to remain in Camelot. Court Physician is a valued position, but it doesn't support three mouths alone."
"That is easily rectified. Hunith shall be paid for her time henceforth, easing the burden on all parties." Arthur paused, and his tone was softer when he spoke again; "Merlyn is languishing here, Gaius. Her condition is worsening, slowly but surely, and I cannot stand by any longer. Routine is good for the traumatised – many a warrior has returned to the battlefield after combat stress when given a schedule to follow. It may work for her also."
"And what of the bounty still weighing over her head? As she is, she is vulnerable, and a mother or Lady is hardly going to deter a hunter."
"Then a guard shall be assigned." Arthur's voice grew pleading: "Merlyn thrives on purpose, Gaius. Perhaps doing this, we can bring her back."
A heavy sigh rent the air and the physician spoke with resignation; "I know of no guard I trust with her safety. She is no Lady, sire. She is a servant, and many a soldier will take advantage of that."
"I know of one who will guard her honestly," he said with certainty. "They are already friends, and he has enough honour that her virtue is not in jeopardy."
"She may never recover enough to return to her duties," warned Gaius. "We are treading uncertain waters, and the stress of serving may be too much."
"I do not do this for future employment; my father has already seen fit to hire another." It was said dismissively. "This is for Merlyn; trust me on that, at least." A deep breath was heaved, and the prince ended with, "I will inform the guard of his new duties promptly. Is Guinevere or Hunith nearby?"
"Gwen is spending time with Lancelot and Hunith is at the markets while I am available. She is due back within the hour if you can wait."
"I will send Favian to you then."
Merlyn listened to the heavy stamp of Arthur's boots head to the door and the click of it shutting. There was a muted sigh from Gaius then the quieter tread of his slippered feet tapping up the few steps to her room. She blinked at him when he opened the door and he stopped short in surprise before releasing another sigh.
"How much did you hear?" he asked.
"Enough," she replied and moved forward to leave her room, but Gaius didn't step aside.
"I would suggest changing before you continue, for propriety's sake," he said, and she looked down to see she was still in her nightdress.
"Thank you," she said and turned from the door and moved to her cupboard. Her clothes and blankets had been returned from the room beside the prince's bedchamber and with a new servant to fill her absence, it seemed she was no longer expected to return.
She stared at the three work dresses for a long moment before grabbing the closest to her right hand and pulling it off its hanger. It might've been blue but her ability to see colours had leeched away until everything was muted shades of tinted grey. Despite it only being a short while, she had already almost forgotten what colours looked like. How bright was yellow? Was lavender really as soft to see as her memory warranted? Did Camelot red really liken to fire?
She dressed mechanically and moved from her room to the main chamber, sitting at the table at Gaius' urging while he prepared their breakfast. She felt like she should help but her feet remained firmly planted and she soon drifted in the quiet.
"Here you go," Gaius said, drawing her back to present as he placed a plate with a freshly warmed roll before her, melted cheese spilling from the fluffy bread. She closed her eyes and inhaled but smelled nothing but air. Her eyes hadn't been the only sense dulled by the Cuff.
"Eat up," he urged, sitting across from her with a bowl of gluey porridge. Merlyn cocked her head since, usually, that's what she would also be eating.
"You brought this from the kitchens," she realised, looking down at the softly steaming bun. The bread was made of the special dough usually reserved for the royal family; the one that fluffed on the inside but maintained a crisp, crunchy shell on the outside.
"I thought something with a bit more appeal might awaken your appetite," he explained, and she reached for an emotion that remained elusive, her insides hollow and aching.
"I won't enjoy it like you will," she said and pushed it towards him. "I'll eat the porridge."
"No," he refused, lifting the bowl away from her reaching fingers. "I'll not hear it. Now eat."
He spooned a lump into his mouth, and she withdrew obediently, picking up the roll.
She didn't taste a thing as she ate but the texture was nice against her gums.
Gaius pushed himself to his feet with a soft groan of old joints and moved to wash his bowl in the sink. Merlyn stared at the glints of light on her tarnished silver plate before picking it up to stare at herself in the reflection, heedless to the crumbs that fell into her lap. Her image wasn't very clear, the wear and tear of old metal causing her shape to distort in the dings and scratches, but she could see her sallow features and large eyes, made larger by the exhausted bruises shadowing the sockets. Her lank, black hair dusted passed her shoulders now, able to be tied at the back of her head without strands falling loose. She remembered decorating it with flowers and braids, enjoying the pretty embellishments in her otherwise colourless mane, but now…
She picked up a clump of hair and let it fall back to her head, tangled together and messy from the night.
"Would you like me to brush your hair?" Gaius asked from behind her and Merlyn tilted her head in thought, lowering the plate back to the table.
"Please," she answered, not sure if that was what she wanted – or if she wanted anything at all.
He was gentle with the brush; exceedingly so. She closed her eyes and let her focus centre on the sensation of the bristles moving over her scalp; the light tugs of a knot snagged, the pause as Gaius worked it free with careful fingers.
She opened her eyes when her uncle wiped a tear from her cheek, the softness of his aged skin soothing her cold face. She stared at the droplet and grappled for the emotion that caused it, desperate to feel something. But it slipped from her grasp like smoke between her fingers and she was left in the darkness beyond, cracked and empty.
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Hunith returned a little while later bearing a small bouquet of bright flowers that she placed in a brass vase upon the table. Merlyn ran the pad of her forefinger over the petals while Gaius updated her mother on Arthur's new proposal. She seemed willing, perhaps hoping the change would bring Merlyn back, as the desperate grief oozing from her body was as potent as if Merlyn had already died.
A short while later, Merlyn's new escort announced himself: "Favian, at your service, madam," he greeted Hunith with a small dip.
Hunith quickly learned of his friendship with her daughter and his genuine care for her wellbeing, silently praising the prince for finally doing something right. She just hoped Favian would take it well if he were to discover the true reason Merlyn was out of sorts.
"To where would you like to venture?" the guard asked as Hunith wrapped Merlyn's shoulders in a sturdy shawl.
The younger girl tilted her head as if in thought, but no expression made its way onto her face. She stared at him expectantly, and Hunith watched him fumble a moment before he suggested, "Let us visit Sunstrider. He has been a right menace without you; it would do him well to see you again."
Obviously not averse but showing none of the usual joy at visiting her steed, Merlyn moved to the exit. Hunith shared a sad smile with the concerned man before hooking her arm through Merlyn's for both companionship and supervision. It would take but a moment for her to be lost in the crowds; one step too far ahead at the wrong time, and Hunith refused to take such a risk. Favian fell into step at their back, eyes vigilant as he assessed the area for dangers, and the mother let herself be reassured by his dedication. Merlyn was a kind and generous girl, and many people liked and respected her, but there were always the seedy few who would take advantage of unprotected women in the city.
They reached the stables and could clearly hear the steady thump of a horse repeatedly kicking the wall. By the relief on several faces when Merlyn was spotted, the culprit was obvious, though the younger girl was oblivious as she meandered her way to the back of the block where two stalls had been converted into a single large box that connected to a long yard at its back. There, Sunstrider caught sight of her and pierced the air with an overly exuberant whinny, twitching from foot to foot in excitement and no longer destroying the wall.
Merlyn was quiet as she crept to the door, gentle hands reaching out for the fiery stallion to dip his head. And, despite his agitation and impatience, the temperamental beast came to her softly, calming almost immediately under her ministrations. Hunith would always marvel at the bond between the two, never having seen its like before.
"Shh, boy, shh," the girl whispered, fingers dancing up his jaw and between his eyes to rub his brow. It was the most animated she had been since her return, and Hunith graced Favian with a tender smile for his good advice.
The three of them spent the next hour in the stables, Merlyn lavishing the now placid Sunstrider with attention while brave stable hands edged close enough to wish the girl a speedy recovery. It hurt Hunith every time their attentions were dismissed, the pain in their eyes a reflection of what she knew lingered upon her own face.
Eventually, however, Merlyn's stamina wore out, her brushes growing softer and more infrequent until she was gazing into space with a vacant expression.
It was then Sunstrider grew a little agitated, as if he could sense her distance, ears flattening in displeasure when he turned to nip Merlyn's arm. His lead was the only thing that stopped him making contact, and both Hunith and Favian decided it was time to take her home. Merlyn didn't protest, letting herself be led like an absent-minded toddler back to the safe containment of her room. Hunith tried not to let resentment stain her hope.
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It had been an accident. She'd knocked the cup over and reacted instinctively to stop its fall. Now, she was curled in a ball, rocking as her arm seared like it was buried in a pail of hot coals.
Please, she begged the ether. Please, make it stop. Please, please, please, please.
It took time but, eventually, the burning eased. Her hand prickled with echoes of pain, and she cradled it to her chest with the delicacy of one nursing a newborn.
Exhausted, she lowered herself until she was hugging the ground, not caring where she was or what she was supposed to be doing. The ground was cool on her skin, chilling the sweat dotting her flesh. Slowly, too slowly, the throbbing in her wrist quieted, but it did not disappear, the iron scorching her magic like a brand.
It would be a few minutes before Hunith returned to find her upon the floor, panic erupting in her heart before she saw her chest still rising with breath. It would be a few minutes longer before Gaius returned, summoned by a guard as the girl remained unresponsive.
Merlyn was oblivious to all of this until something sharp and acidic was shoved under her nostrils.
She snorted and jerked away as the pungent scent burnt her sinuses, awareness snapping into focus like the backlash from an overwrought rope. Her heart leapt into a gallop as harsh breaths burst from her mouth, blood pumping with heat.
She blinked dumbly at Gaius, who still held the flask of smelling salts as he observed her reaction, then turned her head to stare at Hunith, whose wide eyes and tight lips betrayed her worry.
Merlyn swallowed tightly and gathered her frayed composure, pushing herself upright with ginger movements. Her thoughts were a little frazzled, clarity leaving her on the edge of overwhelmed and tears spang, unbidden, to her eyes.
She lifted her wrist and pulled back the narrow sleeve of her dress to stare at the abomination burning her skin. The scorch was more noticeable than ever, but she withheld the urge to claw at it until it was removed, knowing such an attempt would only incite the safeguards wrought into the runes and leave her incapacitated. Still… the sight of the iron band firmly in place sent shivers of nausea through her belly.
"It felt like a dream," she said, lowering her arm and replacing the sleeve. Indeed, the past few days – weeks? What day was it? – lingered in her mind with the distant surreality of a daydream, already fading in clarity. Despair welled up her throat and she clenched her other hand around the medallion that still hung from her neck. She hadn't removed it even after Arthur had stripped it of worth when she was banished, the heavy piece providing reassurance when her thoughts grew dark. It was a reminder of her value, of her right to exist, even when others thought her lesser. At that moment, she squeezed it tight enough for the ridged edge to dig into her skin, hoping the sharp pain would distract her from the burning and her own raw emotions.
"How are you feeling?" Gaius asked, brow furrowed in concentration. He set the flask of salts down, seeming satisfied with the result. "Can you tell me why you were on the floor? Did something happen?"
Merlyn blinked as she thought back, and her eyes were drawn to the overturned cup and the water that was steadily dripping from the tabletop. "I tried to stop the water from spilling after I knocked the cup, but the Cuff didn't like it."
Seeing the mess as if for the first time, Hunith moved to clean it up while Gaius followed up with various questions, drilling her until she had shared every detail of the incident. She felt like she was repeating herself a lot when he finally drew back to contemplate the information.
"Of all the ideas I attempted, smelling salts was one I hadn't considered," he mused as an aside.
"Will this last?" Merlyn asked, a spur of anxiety working itself into her spine. She didn't want to return to the numb creature she'd become, unable to feel, unable to think, unable to function.
"I cannot say," he admitted. "Everything so far has been educated guesses and logical reasoning. There is too much I do not know."
Merlyn thought of the dragon. Kilgarrah would know, Kilgarrah would be able to expand their knowledge, but would he? He had to know by now that she was bound, breaking her promise to free him beforehand. When Arthur had banished her, she'd thought she'd had more time. Time to return – sneak if she must – and release him from his chains. Such an assumption had been an arrogant one, and Fate had wasted no time in making her a liar.
Nevertheless… she knew she would have to visit him soon. To apologise, if nothing else.
Another thought occurred to her, and she met the old man's gaze with a frown. "Why am I here?" she asked, and Gaius' eyebrow lifted up his forehead with confusion. She swept her arm out to indicate her surroundings. "Am I not… banished?"
"Arthur reneged his claim," Gaius admitted, and his eyebrow lifted pointedly. "The order had not yet become official so the few informed were easily corrected."
Of course, she thought sourly to herself. I'm magicless now; why wouldn't he welcome me back?
"There is something changed within Arthur," the old man said into the silence, seeming to sense where her thoughts had lingered. "I believe his prejudice is finally at its end."
Merlyn's eyes tracked back to her arm and the Cuff hidden beneath her sleeve. Was it truly, or was he simply relieved he didn't have to think about it any longer?
Bitterness rose stringent and raw up her throat before she forced it away on a breath. She was too weary to let something as draining as anger dominate her mind. It was hard enough to keep the despair from curling its fingers into her thoughts, sucking away her spirit like a strangler vine around a tree.
"Let us hope," was all she said. Let us hope this suffering means something.
In her mind, grains of sand fell through an hourglass, counting down the seconds before she faded back into a shadow.
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Arthur bowed over his knees as he sat upon the stool beside Merlyn's bed, a place that was becoming quite familiar. Merlyn herself was prone atop the blankets, head tilted towards the window, though it was clear her vacant gaze saw nothing of the overcast day outside.
Only after his return to the physician's chamber post training, did he learn that Merlyn had been coherent for a short while, brought on by – of all things – smelling salts.
"Why do you not have her smell them again?" he asked as excitement shot up his spine.
"I wish to see if there are any adverse effects before committing to it as a treatment. I cannot guarantee her health with guesswork."
Arthur understood, he did, but he missed her so much it ached. It was a pain worse than her absence in banishment, for he knew then, at least, she was safe and somewhat well. Now the grief was like poison through his veins, a burning in his blood accumulating in the space of his left wrist as if in sympathetic suffering. He just wished she could return to how she had been; fiery, kind, defiant, alive.
There was a tentative clearing of a throat, drawing him back to the present.
"Sire," said the prim and proper voice of his new manservant, George. A bore if ever there was one. "The feast will begin soon, and the King expressly commanded your timely arrival."
"Yes, I know, I was there," he replied drolly but, nevertheless, straightened up, preparing himself mentally for the long night ahead. If he was lucky, his father would be so distracted by his new beau, The Lady Catrina, that Arthur would be able to bow out early, but even mustering the energy to stand was a chore.
"Alright, George," he said decisively, shoving himself upright before he decided to snub the event entirely and insult the guest of honour and his father alongside. "Prepare me."
He marched from the room with all the purpose of a man heading to the gallows, passing Gaius with the usual instruction to inform him of any changes – though it would be Hunith who cared for the girl tonight, as the Court Physician was to attend the feast as well. He'd appeared as pleased as Arthur by those instructions.
Arthur figured, as long as his father was having fun, nobody was harmed, and the kingdom was safe, the nauseating lovesick displays he was forced to observe were harmless. As long as the King didn't lose his head and make any drastic announcements, everything was fine.
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The dragon didn't call again, but Merlyn understood she was required to see him soon. When on one of her mandatory walks with her mother and her guard, she guided them towards the staircase wherein the entrance to the cave tunnel was guarded. However, once at the top of the landing, having no plan beyond this point, she realised she could go no further regardless of if she was alone. Without her magic, there was no sufficient way to distract the guards, meaning there was no way in which she wouldn't be caught in an attempt to meet the dragon.
Kilgarrah had to be furious – his chance at freedom had been stripped away. Perhaps indefinitely – but for her not to tell him in person (though he would know by now) was only going to build his ire.
"Come, flower," Hunith's voice coaxed, disturbing her from her ruminations. She turned her head away from the stairwell and met her mother's concerned eyes. The woman graced her with a worried smile as she said gently, as if speaking to an upset child, "We shouldn't be here. It's almost lunch; Morgana will be waiting for you."
There was something in Merlyn's chest – a tight knot of pressure beneath her sternum, hurting her heart and her throat – but she couldn't identify it and it wouldn't be removed.
The girl relented as Hunith steered her back onto the correct path, hollow where her frustration should have lived. Favian followed faithfully at their backs.
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Gaius didn't like the Lady Catrina, though he refused to explain why.
"You should be worrying about yourself, Merlyn," he said in his typical brash tone when he wanted a matter dropped. "Don't go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."
For now, she couldn't summon the will to be offended.
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When Merlyn heard of the King's sudden engagement to the new Lady, she let her feet carry her out the door and to Arthur's chamber. She didn't respond to Favian's gentle query as to their destination, nor his subsequent request to wait for Hunith to return, and he soon fell into step at her back with a resigned sigh. When it became clear as to where she was headed, Favian's relief was obvious, but he still held her back when she went to march into Arthur's room.
"Ah – perhaps…" in lieu of explaining, he raised a fist and knocked, shooting her a pointed look when a sharp, "What?" was heard from within the room.
"Miss Merlyn to see you, My Lord," he said through the wood and there was a thud before the door was wrenched open and the prince himself stared in surprise.
"Merlyn," he said, barely sparing Favian a glance – not that the lowly guard was insulted. Safer it was to be unnameable among nobles when one had no title with which to defend themselves.
The black-haired girl said nothing, merely gazed at the prince with unfathomable eyes, and the royal knight was similarly silent when he stepped aside to allow her inside. Favian took up his post outside the door, numbing his ears to any sounds within.
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"I mean – it's not like I'd object," Arthur declared loudly, allowing his mouth to be free now he was with one he trusted. In his early agitation, he had returned to his room instead of heading down to the training grounds and had since paced his room still clad in his armour. Now he stripped it from his person as he ranted, throwing his gloves from his hands with fervour.
"Whatever makes him happy. But I'm his son – I would have liked to have been informed I'm getting a stepmother before the rest of the city."
He fell silent, rolling his hands over the back of his chair as he dropped his head forward with a sigh. Merlyn quietly picked up his belt and scabbard from the floor to place by the door.
"Aren't you going to say something?" Arthur asked, causing Merlyn to glance up. He flapped a hand at her. "This is the part where you agree with me and make me feel better."
Merlyn thought back to their previous interactions and corrected, "I don't think I agree with you often."
Arthur snorted and turned away. "Now that is true," he agreed, moving towards his writing desk. "So you don't think I should be annoyed my father didn't tell me?"
Merlyn thought again, trying desperately to empathise. "It would have been polite," she stated. "His decisions affect you most of all."
"Exactly!" he grumbled, pulling off his doublet and dropping it onto the floor carelessly, searching instead for his shirt. Now he had calmed, he knew he would need to go out and act the dutiful son, hastening the overworked servants to prep for a wedding in less than twenty-four hours.
"This could be a good thing," she threw out there, stepping closer to pick up his tunic from where it was folded neatly at the end of his bed – no doubt by George. "Lady Catrina might be exactly what he needs."
Arthur scoffed. "He needs something alright," he muttered, and she let the statement hang in the silence. The Lady Catrina would be good, or she would not; Merlyn could do nothing either way.
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Gaius was stomping around his chambers with a scowl on his face, muttering unsavoury things under his breath. Merlyn watched him with placid interest, feeling more alert than she had in days.
"Is something the matter?" she asked and was proud she had managed to ask the question with honest feeling.
"Everything is fine, Merlyn," he replied in a placating tone, the grumpy pinch to his craggy features ruining his dismissal.
She thought about his distaste for the Lady Catrina and decided his temper was connected to the marriage proposal. "You still do not trust her?" she asked, and Gaius turned to her in confusion, taking a moment to understand the 'her' in the question.
He pursed his lips but gave in to the silent query, his desire to rant overriding his attempt to keep her from his investigation. "I do not believe the Lady Catrina is all that she seems," he began ominously. "She was diagnosed with an incurable and degenerative bone disease when she was a child. Yet now, she appears the paragon of health."
Merlyn thought about it for a long minute then asked, "Magic?"
Gaius shook his head. "Her disease was hereditary; no cure, even with sorcery."
"There are ways," Merlyn insisted, thinking of Gwen's 'incurable' barrenness.
"There are none powerful enough who would pay such a price," Gaius refuted. "And she did not know what I was offering when I prepared her concoction on her first night here."
Merlyn hummed and found her gaze drawn to the patterns the rays of sunlight were drawing on the floor.
"I attempted to caution Uther, but he is besotted," Gaius continued. "I fear this imposter's agenda may harm us all."
He kept talking but Merlyn had drifted, sounds muffling into a warbling hum, and then into nothing at all.
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The wedding went ahead as planned. It was a private event, but Merlyn was lucky enough to be Gaius' plus one. She didn't know why the old man wanted her present, but she wasn't going to argue.
From her vantage point in the second row, Merlyn observed the soon-to-be-queen's approach on the arm of the King. She was very beautiful, her long, auburn hair twisted into a thick bun with a section draping over her shoulder in a glossy waterfall. Her elegant neck was bracketed by the high collar of the wedding gown and her slim figure encased by silky layers of cream and white. Her features were classical; sharp cheekbones, defined jaw, wide mouth, button nose and her skin was lightly bronzed – Merlyn assumed from her hometown upon the water.
She walked with the languid grace of a noblewoman and, if she was an imposter, she played her part very well.
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Um... hi.
Long time it's been, and what a hell of a ride the last two and whatever years have been huh. Just to be clear, I've always been working on this story, just... kinda less intensely for a long time as life flipped its lid. Don't even know if people will read this anymore as it's been so bloody long but I've fallen in love with it again and I'm going to keep writing regardless.
I hope you've all been safe and I hope you're all healthy, mentally as much as physically cause shit people, life just keeps crapping on us all.
Let me know if you enjoyed the chapter, I guess lol. And tell me if there are any glaring mistakes. I've read through everything I've written so far and damn there are some stupid mistakes and cringy stuff in there. Fingers crossed my writing is better now haha
TBC...