The Beast in the Beauty
"I made a mistake."
The statement was shared with certainty, blurted from the depths of Arthur Pendragon's mind to one he trusted. Lancelot halted his update on local affairs – having seen the distance in the prince's gaze while he spoke – and simply waited, observing the furrow between his brows.
After a short silence, Arthur turned his head away from the grand view the parapets offered and met Lancelot's even gaze. "I should never have had her make the Cuff," he said.
Still, the brown-haired knight said nothing, for both knew where his stance on the matter remained.
Arthur heaved a troubled sigh and scrubbed his hands over his face. He slumped forward so his elbows rested against the low wall guarding the area and looked down into the courtyard below.
"Everything I know tells me sorcery is evil. Everything I have seen warns me it is deceptive. I have felt its effects on my mind, twisting logic until madness is sanity and I cannot tell right from wrong; friend from foe." He released another slow breath and continued dryly; "Yet, also it seems, ignorance can do the same." He spared Lancelot another glance and asked, "How can you see to the heart of the matter so easily, my friend? How do you see through the confusion?"
Lancelot moved unhurriedly, drawing alongside the prince and turning his own gaze towards the lower town as he thought on an answer. "I am not without mistakes, sire," he said with a touch of wry humour. "And I have let my own history influence me too many times." He tilted his head to Arthur. "But I did not grow under the same oppression as you, My Lord. I suffered a subjugation of livelihood and safety, and it took me a long time to be able to see clearly that I did deserve that which was taken from me. I do not endure the same prejudice as you because I did not grow under the same conditions. I have not endured sorcery's cruelty, nor had it taught to me it is something to fear. I met Merlyn when she saved me using her gifts, and by that, I judged her."
"And that is how it should be done," Arthur murmured, more to himself than to Lancelot as he stared into the distance once more.
Hope sparked within Lancelot's chest, growing from a small, dying ember to a gentle, steady flame. Merlyn had done so much, sacrificed so much for this man without him even knowing, and then to be turned upon when truth came to light… If she had asked, Lancelot would have forsaken his vows and taken Merlyn from Camelot himself long before she was banished. But… Merlyn would never ask such a thing, and Lancelot was too selfish to push the idea, reluctant to lose his wife and his home so soon after finding them.
"My Lord," a guard interrupted, looking uncomfortable. "His Majesty commands your presence in the Throne Room."
Arthur straightened automatically, reading the discomfort in the older man's posture. "Did he give a reason?"
The guard pressed his lips together before stating, "Regarding city maintenance, sire."
Arthur looked no less confused, but he nodded to the guard in acceptance. He said to Lancelot, "I will speak with you later."
Lancelot simply dipped his head as the prince exited the roof. He had much to think about and discuss with his wife.
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Merlyn wandered towards the Royal Wing when she caught sight of the Lady Catrina hurrying towards her chambers with a disgruntled pout. She was scratching at her arm like it irritated her, and Merlyn thought perhaps she ought to offer her assistance like a proper servant.
The woman disappeared into her rooms before the black-haired girl could decide and the door shut with finality behind her.
Should she knock?
She thought about it for a long minute.
Nah.
Merlyn moved passed the room and continued towards Arthur's, Favian's eyes lingering on the door as they went.
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Higher taxes were imposed on the city, citizens were humiliated on the streets when they couldn't afford to pay, and Arthur rebelled when forced to choose between his compassion and his duty.
He was stripped of his title as Crown Prince in retaliation.
Merlyn followed as he stormed back to his room, his shoulders tight with humiliation. He threw open his door and marched inside, leaving Merlyn to close it gently behind him as Favian took position outside.
Arthur moved to his bed then spun and marched back to the table only to turn and pace anew.
"I can't believe he would –" he cut himself off and jerked a frustrated hand through his hair. "How can he – he just – in front of everyone!" he threw his hands in the air, hurt and anger and confusion warring for dominance in his voice. "And without discussion," he added more quietly, melancholy winning out.
Her chest ached like she'd held her breath for too long and she reached for a response to comfort him. She neared and put her hand on his shoulder, knowing the action was insufficient but lacking any better ideas.
"Perhaps he is right," murmured Arthur, sounding defeated. "I cannot be a friend of the people as well as their ruler. It is not how it is done."
"You are not meant to follow tradition, Arthur," she said, thinking of the prophecy. "You are meant to be the King who paves the way for a new age."
He snorted but turned to meet her eyes with warmth. "I am not meant to be king at all, according to my father," he grumbled.
"Gaius does not trust the Lady Catrina," she shared, not sure why that had come from her mouth.
"What is he basing his suspicion on?" he asked with a frown, but Merlyn shrugged.
He gave a huff of annoyance and strode towards the door. "Come on then," he said over his shoulder, leaving the door wide for her to follow as he marched away. She stepped from the room and Favian closed it behind her, but she hesitated in heading towards the physician's chambers. It wouldn't matter if she was present while Arthur confronted Gaius; she had nothing to contribute.
She cocked her head and put a hand to her belly, contemplating. She thought she might be hungry; it had been a while since she'd last eaten, and her gut was achingly hollow. The kitchens were still working through the vestiges of food gathered for the wedding so there was sure to be scraps to pick over.
"Would you like something to eat, Miss Merlyn?" asked Favian, ever respectful despite their friendship. He took his new role very seriously.
She glanced to where Arthur had disappeared before eyeing the other direction leading to the kitchens.
"I think so," she deliberated, and turned right towards the staircase leading into the depths of the castle. Food it was.
Favian said nothing about Arthur's command as he fell into step at her back.
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After filling their bellies with food definitely above the station of a peasant and guard – bless Grenda and Jasmyn for spoiling them – Merlyn and Favian made the trip back to the Physician's Chambers in companionable silence. Merlyn did not know if Arthur would still be present, but Gaius and Hunith were sure to grow worried if she did not return soon.
As she approached the door to Gaius' chamber, she overheard the murmur of familiar voices and, without intending, slowed so she could listen. Favian moved to push the ajar door open for her entrance, but she stayed him with a wave of her hand. His brow rose in judgement, but he obeyed, his own head tilting to eavesdrop. "I've already tried to investigate," Gaius' voice filtered out the door. "Her manservant seems to remain as a guard when she is absent. They already know I mistrust them, so anything further will only incite retaliation."
"Then a distraction will be necessary to draw her manservant from the room so I can search more thoroughly. My father is blind to her faults so anything we discover must be indisputably convincing."
"Beware, Arthur, if the King finds you where you do not belong, I cannot guarantee he will not punish you further."
Arthur snorted. "He has already stripped me of my title; what more can he do?"
"We have no idea to the true identity of the Lady Catrina, nor the depths of her authority over the King. You may very well be risking your life, sire."
"You believe she is using sorcery to control my father?"
Favian's own eyes shot up to Merlyn's, shock evident on his face, but the girl was absorbed in her own mind. She was a servant – actively serving, or not – and, as such, was blessed with the encompassing anonymity gracing the lower household. As long as the cup was filled and the bed was made, most nobles cared not for the face of the ones doing their bidding. She could be in and out of the Lady's rooms with none of the suspicion Arthur would face.
Decided, Merlyn turned away from the door and walked away, hearing the faint scuff of boots as Favian scrambled to follow.
"What are you planning, Miss Merlyn?" he asked softly, ever mindful of their surroundings.
"I am a servant, Favian, so I am to do what I was taught."
By the resigned expression that formed upon his features, it was obvious he didn't believe her simple answer, yet, he still followed loyally.
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The room stunk of rotting food and dung. The bed wasn't slept in but there was a pail of horse manure hidden beneath the bed.
"Can I help you?" a raspy voice demanded, and Merlyn jumped, not having heard anyone nearby. She'd sent Favian off on a useless errand, knowing his presence would only hinder her search.
She glanced up and saw Lady Catrina's servant staring at her with unfriendly eyes. His shoulders were hunched, and his hands drawn to his chest like claws.
"Um," she said dumbly. "I'm changing the bedsheets." She smoothed her hands over the untouched covers.
"Queen Catrina has ordered that no one may enter her chambers without her permission," he said, edging around the bedframe to glare at her suspiciously. She pushed herself to her feet and wondered what she could say.
Suddenly, he stiffened, letting out a surprised grunt. His hand snapped out and snagged her left arm, dragging the limb up to eye level despite her struggles to get free. He pulled the trimming of her long sleeve back to reveal the iron band on her wrist. He hissed and released her with a shove.
"Witch," he cursed and backed up several steps, eyes on her cradled arm. "Who is your master?"
"Prince Arthur," she answered, rolling the sleeve gently back over the tender flesh.
"You mean," he rasped, nose twitching like a rabbit when scenting food. "The Prince of Camelot knows you have magic and allows you to live?"
"He believes it is evil and wanted to save me from its influence."
The servant chuffed in laughter and made shooing motions with his hands. "Go on, go on. Go back to serving your master." He chortled again and turned away dismissively.
A green tail swept across the floor between the flaps of his ratty cloak.
Merlyn stared, unsure if it was her mind playing tricks or the servant of the queen actually possessed a tail.
She blinked and retreated from the room, rubbing her forehead and breathing deep clean air even her near-scentless nose appreciated after the stench. Arthur and Gaius should hear what she saw at any rate.
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Neither man was happy with her expedition and Favian was soundly reprimanded when he appeared in the Physician's doorway, breathing heavily from running the whole way after realising the goose chase on which he'd been sent.
"Of course, sire," he said with a bowed head after the prince threatened to lock him in the stocks for failure in his duties, no word of defence slipping passed his lips. Hunith's grip on Merlyn's shoulder was tight with anxiety, letting her know her own scolding wasn't too far away, although, she rather thought they were missing the point of her excursion.
Her mother's hand left her shoulder as the older woman moved to prepare a pot of tea and the loss of the reassuring pressure left her feeling weightless. The roll of the men's voices laved at her consciousness and, behind her eyelids, silver and grey flashed bright amongst the shadows. She herself be carried away on a gentle storm of numbness, and her body went limp.
Someone caught her before she hit the floor, but she couldn't find the energy to open her eyes and thank them. Instead, she released a quiet sigh and left burning reality behind.
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"Gaius?" Arthur barked in alarm, arms full of Merlyn. He lowered himself to the floor so he could check her breathing, fingers sliding under her nose to feel for an exhale, and he sighed in relief as warm air brushed against his skin. She was alive, at least.
"Worry not," Gaius instructed, stooping at his side to check her pupil response, gums and heartbeat. Hunith crouched on her other side, brushing stray hair from her face, her expression drawn in resignation. "She is merely disassociated."
"But it's so sudden." He glanced from Merlyn's peaceful countenance to stare at Gaius. The old man looked sad, and it made Arthur swallow in apprehension. Behind the old man, Favian hovered in fretful silence, worried eyes locked on the unconscious girl on the ground.
"It is the same, to a different degree. Her mind is struggling, and sometimes, it decides enough is enough. She will rest and awaken recuperated."
"This shouldn't be happening," the prince stated, looking down at the vulnerable girl. "There has to be a way to fix it."
"There is," Gaius said as his eyebrow crept up his forehead pointedly. "And we both know what it is."
Blue met blue and Arthur understood his meaning. Remove the Cuff.
How could a piece of enchanted metal affect her so? It was only designed to stop sorcery, not make someone half of what they were; not-not strip them of themselves. It was wrong. This was wrong.
"Put her within her chambers," Gaius ordered, breaking Arthur from his thoughts. The physician pushed himself to his feet with a crack of old joints and shuffled off towards his work bench as he added; "We can continue to discuss our options while she sleeps."
"Of course," Arthur complied, securing his servant more solidly against him before rising to his feet, turning towards the small room at the back of the chamber. Favian moved forward as if to take the burden from him, but the prince jutted his chin and said sharply; "You are dismissed until tomorrow."
The other man seemed to deflate, and Arthur swept any sympathy from his mind. He, out of anyone, knew how wily Merlyn could be if she so desired – and, it appeared, mentally lacking hadn't made her any less devious. Still, it wouldn't do for a prince to apologise to a guard.
"Yes, sire," the older man obeyed, and Arthur turned his attention back to the mass in his arms.
Merlyn didn't so much as twitch with the change of position, breath steady and heartbeat regular while her body refused to stir. He tried not to think of all the horrible things that could happen if she fainted somewhere less hospitable than the physician's chambers. Of the pigs who could take advantage of her vulnerability. He was not naïve enough to believe such people did not reside within Camelot despite his best efforts to stamp them out, and he was ever grateful for his forethought in assigning a trusted guard at all.
Perhaps an apology was not needed. Instead, a reward for good effort could be granted once the situation with the imposter queen was resolved. Yes… that sounded fine enough.
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Hunith liked to believe herself a good mother. Though she had been young, alone, and penniless, she had tried her hardest to raise her daughter to be kind and courageous in the harsh and, sometimes, cruel world they lived. Her success could be measured in the way Merlyn considered others, in her caring nature, how she never hesitated to help her neighbours. Hunith's failures, however, could be gauged the same way.
Merlyn did not know how to stop giving. Despite Hunith's best efforts, her daughter had grown into the knowledge that different was dangerous, and, to some, inferior. The realisation seemed to twist in her innocent mind so she began to see herself as lesser, when all Hunith wanted was for her to be safe.
She had hoped – hoped beyond reasoning – that Gaius could keep her safe. He was wiser than she, wise long before he was old, and the desperate mother had hoped his wisdom would guide her brave, foolish, selfless, naïve daughter to a healthy path.
It seemed, instead, she had pushed Merlyn towards her own destruction.
Hunith brushed loose strands of hair from her daughter's face, gaining no response from the sedate girl, and absently listened to the quiet murmur of the men beyond the door of the room. She did not much care for the situation within the kingdom, courtly deceit and aristocratic squabbles bore little weight in her mind, but her family lived at its heart, and if she wished to keep them safe, she needed to understand the threats. So, with reluctance, she dropped a kiss onto Merlyn's brow and pushed herself from the bed. Perhaps in protecting the kingdom, she could equalise the failures in her own mind, protect her daughter in the only way she was able, as a good mother should.
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Arthur brought Sirs Leon and Lancelot into the fold to help spy on Lady Catrina and they soon discovered the beautiful woman the King had married was little more than a façade. The true creature lay beneath: a giant, grey, stinking troll.
The King of Camelot had married a troll.
Naturally, the men went to Gaius as the resident magical encyclopaedia, but he had little knowledge on the repulsive beasts save they were powerful, vicious and greedy.
"But why come here now?" Arthur asked, hands braced on his hips as he tried to work through their conundrum. Merlyn watched them all from her place at the dining table, too tired to stand when there was a perfectly good seat available. Hunith sat at her side, stitching up a tear in some fabric while she listened. "Camelot's been more bountiful in the past than it is presently."
Gaius pursed his lips in an equivalent of a shrug. "The mind of a troll is as much as mystery to me as it is to you."
It also appeared he had no information on how to release the King from her – its? – bewitchment.
"It's still a creature of flesh and blood," Arthur determined. "A sword to the heart will stop it as much as any man."
"But it may not break the enchantment," Gaius reminded him. "Troll magic is different to that of a sorcerer's, and unfamiliar to me. Besides, do you wish your people to see you stab their queen through the chest?"
Arthur thought for longer than he should have before conceding grudgingly, "I suppose not."
Merlyn almost felt exasperated with his childish response, but the emotion slipped away as fast as it tickled her senses.
Instead, she had a thought.
"Kilgarrah," she said to Gaius and the old man turned to her in alarm. Hunith twitched, stabbing herself with the needle.
"Ouch!" she hissed, sticking the finger in her mouth.
"What?" asked Arthur, catching the old man's reaction. "What are you talking about?"
Oh… right.
"Um…" Merlyn searched her brain for an excuse, but she was bad at lies at the best of time. They were too exhausting. "The dragon imprisoned under the castle has knowledge on a great many things. He may help."
Arthur's jaw was clenched, and he asked slowly, "And you know this how?"
Merlyn didn't reply; by the prince's tone, he already knew. Behind him, Lancelot glanced worriedly at Leon; the curly-haired knight staring with wide eyes.
"How can you be so stupid!" the prince exclaimed. "The dragon is down there for a reason! You're lucky you weren't turned to ash the second you stepped foot in its cage."
Thankfully, Gaius came to her rescue, snapping sternly, "The dragon is a prisoner because Uther fears his power, like he fears all things he cannot control."
Arthur blinked in surprise at the rebuke, the uncompromising words snapping him from his righteousness. Usually, Gaius was careful about his accusations of the King, promoting suggestions and ideas instead of speaking brashly, but it seemed his conviction in his words was strong enough to dismiss the habit. Unexpectedly, Hunith pushed herself from the table and walked up the stairs to the back room, closing the door behind her with nary a word.
A glance at Gaius showed old sadness, but the warning in his eyes kept Arthur from asking. Instead, he focused on the new information. "You say this… dragon… speaks?"
"Dragons are not mindless beasts," Gaius explained. "They are fierce, noble creatures with long lives and longer memories."
"If that is so, then why would he help us? My father imprisoned him, instigated the genocide of his kin. He should wish for us all to suffer as he has."
"He longs for freedom," Merlyn said, thinking of the proud creature made for the sky trapped beneath the earth.
Arthur scoffed. "There is no way he is being freed. A magical beast with a thirst for vengeance – does no one remember the ancient city of Daobeth? Greatest city in the Five Kingdoms until it was decimated by dragons."
"That same kingdom tried to turn them into little more than brainless steeds," Gaius commented. "Dragons are solitary creatures but even they group to defend their young."
"And you think the same will not happen to Camelot if that dragon is released?" the prince pushed pointedly.
Gaius was silent, but Merlyn said, "The dragon knows of a prophecy depicting a time of unity and peace. He wishes it to bear fruit just as much as you or I. He will not sabotage it."
"I will not risk everything on the words of a magical beast. Such creatures cannot be trusted."
Merlyn shrugged, unconcerned with his judgement. Believe what he may, his opinion was not truth.
After a long silence, Arthur groaned in concession, sounding much like a petulant child. "We will go tonight. You had better be right about this, Merlyn…"
Behind him, Sir Leon was watching her in dawning realisation.
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Kilgarrah sensed the witch's approach long before she staggered out of the gate and into sight. He also sensed the Cuff, stringent and sharp against his senses like a serrated blade dragged along the insides of his nostrils. He had known the moment the abomination bound itself to the witch's magic, the flaming star of her power blinking out of his awareness like an inferno smothered in dirt. It was still there, flickering and sputtering like a dying ember, but it was useless to him, and harmful to the girl.
And it was the fault of the Once and Future King. The boy who would trust his tyrannical sire over his future; the boy who would march through the gate to the cave behind his slave with an arrogance to match his patriarch.
"Arthur Pendragon," he rumbled deeply, drawing himself up to glare at the prince. His chest burned with pressure, but he did not cast fire. This human had cost him – possibly everything.
To his merit, the boy did not shy, though his hand was clenched tight around the hilt of his sheathed sword, seemingly more for comfort than aggression. He approached the edge of the stone shelf while the young witch in his shadow lurched towards the wall to balance herself. He knew it was because of her proximity to him, but his anger overrode any empathy. She had not needed to create the abomination; there had been many alternatives, but she had folded to the prince's wishes like a lovesick doe and now he was trapped on the cusp of when he should be free.
"Why have you come here?" he demanded imperiously, baring his teeth and revelling in the tangy scent of fear-sweat.
Arthur showed no sign of his nerves, however, setting his shoulders and speaking formally, "I have come to ask for your aid, Dragon. My Father has succumbed to a terrible enchantment by a wicked beast. I would know how to slay it and free my father's mind."
Kilgarrah settled more firmly on his perch and asked scathingly, "Why would I help you or Uther? He is deserving of every punishment the fates will grant him."
The prince's teeth visibly clenched but he reined in his temper in a surprising show of maturity. Perhaps, the witch had not failed completely in her duties.
"It is not mere sorcery that has beguiled him," Arthur explained. "A troll has ensnared his wits and uses him as a puppet."
"A troll?" Kilgarrah repeated, drawing back in his surprise. That was unexpected; trolls despised humans to the point where they had coordinated with dragons in the past to wreak havoc against their mortal enemies. Why would one choose to surround itself with them now?
"She has… glamoured herself into a beautiful woman and bewitched my father's mind."
The prince paused so Merlyn spoke in his silence, hand covering her eyes while her elbow braced against her knees, the wall the only thing keeping her on her feet; "He married her," she said bluntly. "And she is now heir to the throne."
Kilgarrah's brain stalled for a moment, the image of a warty, grey troll on the arm of the arrogant, tyrant king – one who fashioned himself as above the laws of nature – too much for his composure.
He burst into laughter.
"This isn't a laughing matter," Arthur growled but Kilgarrah cared not for his affront.
"Oh, it is, it is," he guffawed. "The thought of Uther marrying a troll! Was it a very public affair?"
The witch said softly, unmoved from her position, "Public enough."
He lost himself to laughter once more, not having felt amusement like this for too long. Finally, Uther was getting what he deserved.
"Are you to help or not?" the young prince demanded and Kilgarrah took a moment to shake off the vestiges of his humour, though the image of Uther bedding a troll would be treasured forever.
He looked down at the angry knight and quashed the urge to dismiss him for his demands. "Why should I?" he challenged, curious to know what he would be willing to bargain.
The prince hesitated, appearing to shore up his argument before he began slowly; "Merlyn told me that you know of a prophecy depicting a land of peace." Kilgarrah stared at him, taken aback by his path of incentive. "If Catrina is allowed to rule, our people will starve, and our lands perish. That time of prophecy will never come to pass."
Anger swelled beneath his scales, heating the coal that lived in his chest. How dare this impudent little mortal think he understood the weight of guiding the future. That he knew the sacrifices required for Albion to be born.
He lowered his head to glare at the prince levelly. "Tell me, Arthur Pendragon," he rumbled, white smoke trickling from his nostrils as he withheld the urge to melt the boy's flesh from his bones. "Do you know what this time of prophecy entails?"
The boy blinked, glancing back towards the witch, though she would be of little help, incarcerated by pain as she was.
He continued when Arthur didn't answer; "The future beholds the land of Albion, united by a great king, one who joins the Old Ways with the New." He paused to let that sit before he added, "One who will return magic to the land."
"No," snapped Arthur immediately. "Magic was eradicated for a reason –"
"Magic can never be eradicated!" Kilgarrah growled. "It is a part of everything; it is balance, of life and death and everything between. You do not know the arrogance of your king in his war against forces beyond his comprehension."
"Magic corrupts," the boy argued, brave in his ignorance just as his sire had been ruthless in his fear.
"Absolute power corrupts absolutely," Kilgarrah retorted, voice heavy with the knowledge of ages past. "As Uther well knows. He has sowed more pain during his rule than a Priest of the Catha could inflict in a lifetime."
"My father protects his people," he defended. "Everything he does is in their interests."
"Just as your enslavement of Merlyn was done in her best interests?" he challenged, jutting his muzzle towards the immobile girl.
Arthur glanced behind him and finally saw the young witch barely upright, head buried in her hand while her other was tucked to her chest. Kilgarrah wondered how the metal must burn.
"Merlyn?" the boy questioned, hurrying to her side. He clapped her shoulder and shook her gently, ducking down to catch her eyes. "What's wrong?"
"She is suffering because she is near me," Kilgarrah revealed, vindictively satisfied at his alarm. "Your shackle was incomplete when it was bound to her flesh, so she is punished whether the magic is her own or not."
"What does that mean?" the prince demanded, bracing as she listed into his frame and brushing her hair off her face with surprising tenderness. But how he acted now did not negate the cruelty of his previous behaviour, nor of what his hastiness had cost Kilgarrah.
"It means, young prince," he dragged out imperiously. "That you may have single-handedly destroyed the hope of a peaceful kingdom. Merlyn was a catalyst to a golden age where both magic and mortal were treated equally with care, a time that would be revered long into the future. And you, Pendragon," he spat the surname with disgust, "May have cost us everything."
The prince's teeth were gritted at the accusations but, instead of defending himself, he clarified; "What is wrong with Merlyn? That Cuff was only supposed to stop her sorcery. It's not meant to cause pain, or-or any of the other things she's been suffering."
Kilgarrah laughed without humour, the boy's presumptuousness unbelievable. "Merlyn is magic," he roared. "You cannot separate one from the other, you can only torture. In your arrogance, you forced her to strip herself into layers and bind part of herself away." He lowered his head, letting his superheated breath wash over the prince and witch, wanting to see him sweat. "Every breath, every heartbeat, every second is torment. There is pressure building within her and unless you find a way to release her from your prison, she will break beyond repair and take any hope of salvation from us all."
"How can I trust a word you say?" he argued, holding up fairly well when faced with rows of Kilgarrah's sharp teeth. "You hate my father and our kingdom. You could be spewing lies to undermine my trust in my King."
"Believe what you will!" he snapped, pulling away so he wasn't tempted to crush his mortal body in his maw. "You will see soon enough! Pray it is before the witch dies!"
"What of my father?" Arthur asked and Kilgarrah glowered at him. His audacity was astounding. "How can I free him from the troll's influence?"
"The only way to free Uther from the enchantment would be for him to cry tears of true remorse."
"How do we make him do that?" the prince asked, and Kilgarrah snorted white smoke in his temper.
"That I cannot answer. Uther's heart is cold as stone. He's never been sorry for anything."
Arthur ducked his head and didn't defend his sire; a move the dragon thought very wise. He did not want to be tested on what he would do to anyone trying to defend the tyrant's actions.
"Heed my words, Arthur Pendragon," Kilgarrah concluded, pushing himself to his feet in preparation to fly away. He was done with these creatures. "Free Merlyn from her shackle or watch your future burn."
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Merlyn missed much of the strategizing between Gaius and Arthur the next morning. She missed much of everything from the moment she entered the dragon's cavern to when Gaius was shaking her shoulder and sticking the smelling salts beneath her nose.
She jerked away with a breathless cough, feeling the ammonia stick in her chest, but, just as last time, awareness settles into her limbs like she'd been dunked in cold water. She blinked at Gaius, who still held the flask as he observed her reaction, then turned her head to stare at Arthur, who had his arms crossed as he watched. Poorly concealed worry was present in the tightness of his lips. A gentle hand brushed over her back, and she leaned into the solid weight of her mother, wanting nothing more than to bury her nose in her collar and breathe her comforting scent. But there was an air of expectation over the trio, so she dismissed her urges and asked, "What did I miss?"
"Gaius seems to think that my death will cause my father to cry tears of remorse, so we've devised a plan to imitate such an event," said Arthur bluntly.
"What?" Merlyn gasped with a baffled frown. "What do you mean by imitate?"
"I have a potion that will slow his heartbeat and breathing to give the illusion of death," explained Gaius. "Once Uther has broken free of his enchantment, the antidote will be administered, and Arthur will awaken."
The prince looked a little queasy at needing an antidote, but he stared at Merlyn expectantly, though for what, she didn't know.
"We'll need someone present to give the antidote," he explained when he realised Merlyn wasn't understanding the weighted stare.
"No," she refused, shaking her head. "No way! My head is screwy enough right now. I refuse to risk your life because I drift at the wrong moment."
"Keep the smelling salts with you," Arthur countered. "Gaius will be obligated to leave the King to his privacy but you, he will barely notice. One drop is all I need and there is no one else I trust with this."
"How are you so keen to die?" she demanded. "Usually I have to talk you into plans kicking and screaming."
"Your plans are usually done in moments of desperation and are riddled with risks," Arthur defended.
"And dying isn't a risk?" she cried, throwing up her hands.
"I liked you better when you were emotionless," the prince muttered, turning away, and Merlyn glared at his back. She knew that was a lie. At her side, her mother scoffed softly, clearly in agreement.
Merlyn rubbed at her forehead in agitation, feeling raw and overwhelmed, heart still cantering in her chest. "Alright. So we're poisoning Arthur, telling his father he's killed himself, letting his tears of remorse break the troll's spell, then… we're killing the Lady Catrina?"
"Trolls are vicious at the best of times," Gaius explained. "This one will be cornered and angry. Best to arm yourselves lest she attack instead of flee; trolls possess heightened strength alongside their tempers."
"Wonderful," Arthur quipped and reached out for the vial of poison only for Gaius to jerk it out of reach.
"Best to drink it when you are in your chambers," he said. "It's potent."
"Right," the prince agreed, looking a little green, and the three of them trotted off to the Royal Wing while Hunith reluctantly stayed behind at Gaius' behest. On the way, the aged physician slipped Merlyn the small flask of smelling salts to tie off her girdle and she sighed, knowing she was going to be using the ammonia crystals often for the foreseeable future.
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The plan went without a hitch. They lowered a lifeless Arthur to the floor and Merlyn positioned his limbs into something respectable while Gaius hurried away to inform the King. Merlyn clutched the antidote to her chest while she sat on the floor by the bed and stared at his pale visage.
The King came charging in, saw Arthur in all his ashen glory and broke into grief-ridden sobs, falling to his knees beside his son. Though Merlyn knew Arthur's condition was a farce, the bleak emotion expressed by the usually iron-faced monarch had tears pouring down her own cheeks, her chest a tight, aching knot. Why had she longed to feel again?
Lady Catrina flew in shortly after him, beautiful features twisted in panic, and tried to pull the King away. Her efforts were in vain so, in a fit of desperation, she started to incant, "Nu meaht thú begalan. Nu meaht thú –"
No.
The troll's words cut off with a gurgling grunt and Merlyn retreated from behind her back, staring at the green blood on her hands in horror. She looked up at the hilt of the long knife she'd stabbed into the troll's flesh, under her left shoulder blade where the heart should be, and felt bile rise in her throat.
"C-Catrina?" the King's voice stuttered just as the queen collapsed to the ground, grunting and farting as she died, still wearing the face of a noblewoman. A horrid aroma wafted up from her body – like that of rotted fish – but Merlyn refused to cover her mouth with her green-blooded hands.
"What?" King Uther breathed in horror, eyes tracking to Merlyn with her stained hands. "You killed her. You… you killed her!"
"Sh-she isn't what she seems," Merlyn stuttered, unsure if the enchantment had been broken. Even if it had… "Look –" she held out her hands, the moss-green fluid clearly not from a human. "She was a troll."
"What?" he choked out, blinking tears from his eyes and frowning in bafflement. His wits were clearly stunted by events, shock and grief overwhelming his reason.
"You were under her spell," she said quickly, anxious to treat Arthur but unwilling to leave herself at his father's mercy. "I need –" she pointed at the prince but silenced herself instead of trying to explain. Such a task would prove too long for the time. Instead, she took a risk and moved closer, dropping to her knees and unstoppering her vial with slippery fingers. Thankfully, the King was too stunned to stop her or call for guards, mouth working uselessly as he stared between his son and his wife.
She poured a few drops onto Arthur's pale lips, holding her breath as she watched his throat, heart pounding in her chest. After a long, tense pause, she saw his swallow reflex take hold and slumped in relief. She was well within the timeframe required.
"What was that?" the King demanded breathlessly, confusion and anger starting to burn through the last of his shock. "What did you give him?"
She put the stopper back into the top of the vial and eyed the older man nervously. "H-he needed to break your spell. This is the antidote to awaken him."
"What?" he snapped, shaking his head in bewilderment. "What do you mean?"
Thankfully, Arthur's eyes fluttered, and he shifted in his father's arms, drawing the monarch's attention to his son.
"Arthur?" the King whispered, and the blonde pulled his eyelids apart slowly, expression twisting with discomfort. He probably had a pounding headache.
"Father," he replied on a tired sigh and the older man laughed in joy, clutching his son to his chest while Arthur struggled weakly.
Merlyn backed away gratefully, leaving the explaining to Arthur. It was well known King Uther grew more ruthless when he felt his pride had been impinged, and the black-haired girl shuddered to imagine the fallout to something as embarrassing as marrying a troll.
"What on earth is that?"
The King's voice carried clearly down the hallway as Merlyn ducked her head and fled. By his disgusted tone, Merlyn could assume the troll's glamour had worn off and she didn't want to be nearby when he realised just what had happened. She avoided the confused glances of the few guards present, knowing they would find out soon enough.
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The King tried to sweep the entire affair under the rug, even as rumours and whispers spread through the castle like a plague. The guards and diggers who had been forced to deal with the grotesque body had recognised its clothes as Lady Catrina's, and her sudden absence in conjunction with the King's proclamation of her using magic to beguile him… people put two and two together.
By the vein throbbing often in the King's temple, he knew it too. He stormed around the castle with angry eyes, daring servants and guards to meet his glare, daring them to mention his wife or the wedding. Thankfully, no one was that stupid. Except Arthur, but he had special leeway given he was his son. And also… had to kill himself to free the man from the troll's bewitchment.
But the King wasn't the one to cause Merlyn the most grief. Her mother, her kind, determined, protective mother had been in Camelot for nigh on a fortnight now, caring for her ailing daughter and refusing to leave her to suffer the unknown alone. Yet, harvest had come and Hunith was not in Ealdor to contribute. It was true the small, isolated village had expanded with the integration of refugees, willing and able workers gifted in a myriad of disciplines easing the strain on time-sensitive projects, but Hunith had grown into a respected member of the town and her presence would be missed.
She knew her mother was stressed, often seeing her looking out the window with a tense line between her brow, but she hadn't realised why until she overheard an argument between her and Gaius in the Physician's Chamber.
"I can't leave, Gaius!" the words were hissed; an attempt to be quiet that only piqued Merlyn's interest more. She crept to the closed door of her bedroom, turning her ear towards the cracks to better listen.
"You said it yourself, they will be shorthanded in the fields. The second storehouse has yet to be built and three families are still homeless. They need you, Hunith."
"Merlyn needs me," the woman refuted angrily. "She still wears the Cuff, and no one has found a solution. I won't leave her like this."
"The smelling salts have helped a great deal," Gaius refuted. "And it is only a matter of time until someone with more knowledge than I will provide answers. Ealdor needs their wisewoman back, Hunith; they wouldn't have sent a missive if they didn't."
"Gaius…" the word was breathed out on a sigh, heavy with denial. "Don't make me choose. You know who will win."
Merlyn decided it was time to announce her presence. For one, she hadn't known her mother had moved so high within the hierarchy of the village. For another, she refused to allow her status to be compromised once more because of her daughter.
She opened the door and carefully descended the stairs to the main room "Mama," she said softly, gaining the woman's attention. There was guilt on her mother's face, as if ashamed for having been caught, but Merlyn graced her with a small, resigned smile. "Ealdor needs you more than I do right now. If they took the time and spent the money to send a letter, then I can't ask you to stay here, no matter how much I would like to. Go home, mama. Look after your people."
"Darling," Hunith sighed, leaving the table on which she'd been bracing her hands and approaching swiftly. She brushed her fingers down Merlyn's cheeks, the pinch between her brows deeper than ever. "You may feel better for now, but the salts are no solution. I love Ealdor, and I care for my people, but I will always put your health first. You are still unwell."
"I may not be as I was before, but what I am is something you can't fix by being here. I will be ill or well by rules that care not for my company. I love you too, mama, but Ealdor needs you right now. You can always come back once harvest is done, can you not?"
Hunith's lips pressed together but didn't argue, and Merlyn was gratified with the yield. She pushed her advantage; "I'll be alright while you're gone, mama. Gaius has looked after me thus far; he can continue until you return."
And with great reluctance, her mother conceded. By the next day, she had a mule, supplies, and two guards available to escort her to the border. Arthur was generous with his resources once he realised what was planned, and the older woman was gone by midday.
Merlyn had been honest with the fact her mother's presence bore no significance on the Cuff's effects, but it had been nice to be near her again. The knowledge her mother was so available had been comforting, and she could admit that she would miss the constant support during the uncertainty of her illness.
Still… when she found herself wallowing in the Physician's Chambers instead of doing anything productive – tying herb bundles as Gaius had asked for one – she decided indoors was not a place she should be. After leaving a short note for Gaius, she descended the staircase that led to the courtyard only to find several carts loaded with servants and guards heading out to clear the forests around Camelot of fallen debris. It took but a moment to leap aboard. The task was usually reserved for the general keepers of the castle, but some personal servants assisted at their master's behest – and none of the regulars argued when the black-haired girl made herself a spot amongst them, probably just as keen to escape the oppressive air of a castle under siege by their King's foul mood.
At that moment in time, she had an armful of scrap logs and was traipsing over a small hillock overlooking the long valley of trees before the castle, heading towards the nearest bonfire tended by guards. Her immediate surroundings were void of people, having wandered away from her gossiping companions to seek the solitude she so craved, and she smiled up at the canopy contentedly, rustling leaves and birdsong twining together in a natural melody she could enjoy for hours.
She hoped Skylark was faring well, Merlyn still unable to understand how the griffin knew where to find her and why she felt the need to take Merlyn back to her home at Avalon Lake. Never mind exactly how she had carried the black-haired girl. That time was void of memories, but there were no scars on her skin from talons so she could only conclude that she had been astride Skylark while she flew, which was… so disappointing not to remember.
"Mind if I join you?"
Merlyn yelped, and her armful of kindling went tumbling to the ground when she spun on the one who spoke.
"Sweet – Fates!" she exclaimed, heart racing against her palm as Morgana stepped out from behind a tree, lip upturned in a smirk. "You almost scared me half to death!"
Morgana chuffed a small giggle but put an apologetic hand on Merlyn's shoulder. "You're not normally this jumpy," she observed with a smile.
The black-haired girl took a steadying breath as her pulse slowly returned to normal and explained, "I've been feeling a little frazzled recently, that's all." And it wasn't a lie. Sucking the smelling salts every couple of hours was keeping her lucid and present, but it left her on a taut string of emotion, ready to react at twice the normal expectancy at any given time.
"What are you doing out here?" she asked instead.
Morgana dusted off her spotless cloak with an unusual amount of focus. "I heard you were out clearing the roads with the household servants, so I decided to find you." She said it nonchalantly, but something in her tone hinted at its forced nature. Merlyn's brow furrowed in concern. "I wanted to get out of the city for a little while and I haven't spoken with you since you were ill. How are you?"
Ill. The excuse Gaius had fed any visitors who came to Merlyn's bedside, including Morgana. Merlyn's relief at her ignorance was shared with guilt, as she hated lying to her friend, but had no idea how to broach the topic without both frightening and infuriating her fiery friend. And the highborn was fragile enough without knowing such things as the Cuff existed.
"I am much better now," she appeased with a grateful smile. "Gaius treated me with the upmost care. And having my mother nearby helped."
"That is good. I am glad," the woman replied, almost absent-mindedly as she stared out over the treetops, watching the smoke from the burn-off down the hill rise through the air, thick and white from wet kindling. Merlyn cocked her head, curious at her odd behaviour.
"Are you alright, Morgana?"
The noblewoman folded her hands in front demurely then turned to Merlyn with a resolute set to her jaw. "Our lessons have stalled," she said bluntly. "And my dreams are worse than ever. I want… I need a reminder that this isn't a curse. The things I have seen… I fear for the future. For Camelot's future."
Merlyn withheld the desire to drill her with questions, knowing it would do neither of them any good. Instead, she apologised, ashamed that she hadn't given much thought to the other woman during recent events; "I'm so sorry, Morgana. I've been so caught up in myself I spared no thought for my promise to you."
"I understand," Morgana said earnestly. "I do. I just… our lessons are so short and clandestine, hidden away like some dark secret. I… I want – I want to experience the feeling I had when I saw that butterfly for the first time. It was created from magic, but it was harmless and innocent. It was just… there. A part of nature. Something no one would question or accuse and… I want to know how to create something beautiful like that."
"And you will," Merlyn assured, biting her lip as she searched through her memory for an appropriate spell. "The butterfly might be a bit advanced yet, but…" her eyes landed on the thick smoke swirling upwards with the air currents. "Here," she took Morgana's hand and lifted it up until her palm was facing out. "Keep your eyes on the smoke and picture in your mind, a horse. When you feel comfortable with the image, say, 'hors, beride thá heofonum'."
Morgana repeated the spell and Merlyn quickly stepped back, retreating behind the woman in fear her Cuff would react to the sorcery. To her relief, it did not and for a scant few seconds, the smoke twisted into the ghostly silhouette of a steed, trotting through the air towards the sky.
"I did it!" Morgana breathed once the illusion had dissipated back into smoke. She turned to Merlyn, awe on her noble features. "Merlyn, I did it!"
Merlyn moved closer and threw her arms around the exuberant woman. Her joy was infectious. "You did," she praised. "That was brilliant!"
They were startled apart by the rapid approach of footsteps and turned to face a panicked servant as she staggered to a halt before them. "Did you see it?" she gasped, panting like she had been chased by wild dogs. "My Lady," she wheezed when she spotted the highborn, her curtsy clumsy and rushed. "Did you see? The smoke!"
Morgana's eyes widened like a deer caught in a trap and Merlyn blurted to cover her alarm, "No. I saw nothing."
"Are you blind?" the woman demanded of her, agitation robbing her of manners. "You were right here! It was magic, I tell you. There's sorcery here. We must tell the King!"
She spun away and dashed down the hill, leaving Morgana rasping for air and Merlyn holding out a useless hand to stop her.
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TBC…
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