The Same Fear
Reg rose up on his toes and then rocked back on his heels stretching the stiffness in his legs. The cold and damp seemed to enjoy exacerbating his rheumatism. Gods knew he wasn't really even old yet. The crumbling ruins afforded at least some shelter from the whims of the open sky and the miserable winds of early spring. You'd think he'd be used to it; his life had always been one of deprivation. Running, moving, hiding, never stopping to stay in a place offering more safety and comfort than a dank, dark cave. Never a snug, proper home. Never the protection of a village. And all because he had a triskelion marked on his wrist. Curse Uther Pendragon. Curse the bloody tyrant to the depths of whatever hell he'd been consigned to.
After his mother's cruel death at the hands of the tyrant, the elders had foreseen that he would be Destiny's Witness and it had only served to nurture bitterness in his soul. Rowan's ancient eyes had bored into his own youthful ones, "You will make possible the golden turning point of Destiny and you will be witness to it."
Lovely. Great. Fantastic. And not in time to save his mother.
Waiting, waiting, ever waiting to see the end of the Pendragons and magic restored to its place in the world. Waiting to witness the shining moment when the Once and Future King would accept his bond with the Emrys, ushering in the glorious time of Albion. When peace and justice would reign and magic would flourish again in balance and harmony like songbirds returning after deepest winter.
Such a poetic lie.
Waiting and waiting for two myths to get their act together while innocents kept dying, one by one, paying the price for the gods' dawdling. Gram and Diedre, Aran, Finch and Hollis. He'd lost all control when the last of his family was slaughtered in a raid on the camp. On the outskirts of the battle, he'd surprised the knight responsible for his little brother's death and proceeded to vent his rage repeatedly with a heavy rock, forever severing his ties with the sheep and embracing the bloody way of the wolf.
Taking up with bandits hadn't solved the problem of living as an outcast, but it had helped slake his thirst to repay violence for violence. No matter that the victims weren't Pendragons. Any grief in that rotten kingdom was their grief. Any loss, their loss.
This time, one of the victims appeared to be a wealthy young nobleman. Excellent. Although the blonde had little of value on him aside from a silver ring, clothing of excellent quality, and his hunting gear, he could be worth a tidy ransom. The other, a raggedy servant, would be a bit harder to make a profit from. No one would ransom him but he'd done magic before he'd been knocked over the head and that could be worth something in the right circles. The noble had looked very much as though he wanted to strangle the peasant so they had tossed them into separate cells. It wouldn't do to have the merchandise damaged, after all.
The men guarding the decrepit cells weren't gaming when Reg entered the dungeons to check on the newly acquired prisoners and they even shushed him when he began to comment on the absence of the dice.
"These two are entertaining. It's like they're having a lovers' quarrel," the men snickered, gesturing toward the open doorway leading to the cells.
Good. Reg hoped they were very chatty. The rich blonde could be ransomed and, if his stubborn inclination to fight were anything to go by, discovering his identity this way would be far easier than asking. The argument echoing down the short passage certainly wasn't hard to follow.
"..because, despite what Gaius thinks, I have a very healthy lack of death wishes!"
"Shut up, Merlin! I'm not stupid! This is about more than magic and you know it! This is about trust! You should've told me!"
Reg dipped his head around the corner for a quick glance. It was the hot-headed blonde who'd yelled.
"You're really asking why I never told you? You really don't understand?" the servant responded with a measure of disbelief. "You should! Because you and I share the same fear."
Reg's eyebrows lifted in amusement. The peasant had pluck.
"Ha!" snapped the noble derisively.
"It's true, Arthur," the servant ploughed on. "You fear being abandoned and betrayed by those you love and so do I."
"Shut up! All you know of betrayal is how to stick the dagger in deeper!"
OOoh! That must've hurt, the men grinned at each other gleefully. Although it was an odd thought given the difference in their social status, the two young men must be friends -or rather, had been. Good thing they were in separate cells.
There was silence before the younger man spoke softly.
"I understand why you don't believe me. You've been betrayed so many times. But I was there too, remember. I watched and I learned what agony is. I watched you hurt so bad it scared me. But I also saw your courage and strength. You bore the pain and still moved forward. But, Arthur, I'm not as good as you, not as brave or strong." The young man's voice dwindled. "I couldn't face the rejection. I can't bear to live without your friendship or my friends, Gwen and the knights."
Knights? Had he heard that right? Reg eyed his scruffy companions uneasily. They looked similarly discomposed. The boy had called the young nobleman "Arthur". Wasn't that the name of the Pendragon? There were more Arthurs in the world than just the royal one but if it really were the king... He began to suspect that their ragtag band may have bitten off more than they could chew. This was a dangerous game, indeed, risking death for wealth. However, the temptation to strike an actual Pendragon dead had him itching to take up the club leaning against the wall, hefty ransom or no.
"Every time you were betrayed, I watched you question yourself. You always wondered why! Why were you rejected by those you loved, and your kinship and affection cast aside? I know you were afraid of some kind of wrongness inside yourself or that there was some unrecognized personal flaw, even though you were truly blameless. But, Arthur, I know my 'flaw'. I know exactly what it is about me that would cause the ones I love to turn their backs on me forever. I know what it is about me that makes me a monster in your eyes."
"Then why did you choose it? Why!"
"Magic was never my choice."
"It certainly looks like it was!" the noble spat.
"Well, it wasn't! I was born this way!" the sorcerer spat back.
Reg's blood froze. Born this way?
"And now you deem everything I've ever done, every service, every sacrifice, every moment of friendship, worthless. And I'll never be free because now you know and now you hate me and now.. now I have nothing."
Ugly, angry sobs echoed against the cold, crumbling stone walls. The eavesdroppers shifted uncomfortably.
"It hurts!" he screamed. "Don't tell me you don't understand! Don't tell me you don't get it! You know why I lied! You know more than anyone!"
"No, Merlin. I just.." the other blustered, "I mean.. What are you talking about! Magic is a choice!"
"For others maybe but not for me," the warlock responded raggedly, struggling to regain control. "I was made this way, born this way. Some are born with an affinity for magic but they have to learn spells to really use it. But me? I'm different. From my first breath, I never had a choice. It comes to me as easily as breathing and obeys my very thoughts and instincts. I am magic, Arthur. Born to protect the great king, made to secure the future of Albion."
Oh gods above and beneath. It couldn't be.
"I.. you.. You're lying."
The skinny one snorted.
"You wish I were. It would ease your conscience considerably, wouldn't it, Sire. I guess you and the gods, the Druids and your thrice-damned father agree on one thing: only my magic matters. Merlin the vessel, though, the idiot," he huffed bitterly, "Merlin himself is worthless."
"Feel sorry for yourself much?" the king sniped at the boy.
Reg would have gladly broken the man's nose for that unfeeling jab. He knew just how Emrys felt. Once Destiny had a job for you, you were stuck. He'd never managed to leave Camelot's cursed lands for long, no matter how he'd tried, always dragged back by circumstance as if his own choices and desires meant nothing in the face of Destiny's plan.
Reg glanced around at the downcast expressions of his companions. Somehow, listening to the young man's misery wasn't funny anymore to any of them.
After a long, cold moment of silence, the warlock spoke hollowly.
"See, you do agree."
The other didn't contradict him.
"So, it's over then." He sounded so lifeless as he continued, "I guess it doesn't really matter now whether you believe me or not. Everything is ruined. The only thing that matters is that we get you back to Camelot, Your Majesty. The kingdom's instability.. if people find out you've been captured.." The bandits' eyes could get no wider. "I should be able to work past these ..restraints.." Grunted sounds of effort accompanied that declaration.
"Merlin, stop talking like that. It sounds stupid when you use my title. And quit trying to be a hero. Hurting yourself won't do any good."
"No. I can do this, Sire. There's a weakness in the binding spell. If I just…"
Oh hells.. Bit off more than we can chew? Yes! Reg grabbed the keys and fumbled with them as though they were molten metal.
"Get the supplies!" he hissed at the others. "We're clearing out!"
As he drew back to toss the keys toward the prisoners as a sort of peace offering, one of the others grabbed his arm.
"Clearing out!" They hissed back, outraged.
"Yes, you dolts! Don't you get it? That's Arthur Pendragon, we've got caged in there. And it probably won't be long before his bloody knights are on our doorstep!"
"Go on, Reg! When did you lose your nerve! They won't find us! And this is the biggest opportunity of our lives; he's a king! Just imagine! A king's ransom! And the boy has magic! Cenred or Alined would pay.."
"Idiots! He's even more powerful than the Pendragon! He's Emrys, you fools!" he seethed above the sounds of the imprisoned warlock's increasing strain.
"So?"
"So that boy is the most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth and those restraints won't hold him long. I never bargained for this. I'm leaving. And if you're stupid enough to stick around, then I won't be seeing you." Their argument was interrupted.
"Merlin! What're you- Stop! I thought you said magic was easy for you. Why's your nose bleeding!"
"Magic is easy but using it to break out of magical restraints is ..hard, you ..absolute clotpole."
"Oh. Yes, well, I guess that would be quite.. Listen, you don't have to hurt yourself. I'm sure they'll just ransom me and.."
"..and drug me or bash me until I'm really messed up then sell me off to some charmer like Alined. You'll forgive me, Sire, if I don't fancy ending up like Trickler."
At the continued sounds of painful effort from the sorcerer in the cell, one of the other men picked up the handy club and started for the doorway.
Reg caught him by the arm.
"What are you doing?"
"If he really is powerful, then we have to stop him while we can."
Reg pulled the club away.
"You don't understand. This is.. This is.." How was he to explain a prophecy he'd given up on to the likes of his accomplices? He was saved from answering by a cry of desperation from the cells.
"Merlin, STOP! Your ears are bleeding! Just stop. Look.. We can wait for a chance to escape together. You shouldn't .."
"Doesn't -doesn't matter. I don't matter, remember?" chuffed the young man determinedly.
"You're wrong. I never agreed with my father about you. You're not worthless..not worth less.. Not to me."
"It's okay, Sire" he panted, resting for a moment from his efforts, "It was nice to have a purpose. You're going to be a great king, the greatest king ever. Even if you can't forgive me, I know you'll rule justly and mercifully. You've always been the one that matters and I'm going to make sure you get the chance to create a better kingdom. I'll get you out. I swear it. I c-can unlock.. after.. after.. just hold on.. it's going to take s-some.."
"Stop it, Merlin!"
"It'll be okay, Arthur," he ground out, "Don't be afraid."
An odd glow was building visibly.
"No! STOP! DON'T!"
Reg's crony made a swipe for the club.
"NO!"
An anguished roar of pain met their ears and the sound of metal restraints clanging against rough stone rang through the rotting ruins. A mangled and blackened manacle cuff came skittering across the floor to land in front of the doorway. The glow was gone like a candle had been snuffed.
"Merlin! Merlin? Wake up! You'd better be alive, you idiot!"
An answering groan easily reached their ears in the tense silence.
His fellows stared wide-eyed at him. The club dropped and hit the ground with a dull thud.
"Run," Reg urged.
With the sound of their hastily retreating steps behind him, he edged cautiously around the doorway. The apparent Once and Future King sat pressed as close to the bars nearest the warlock as he could be. He didn't look so much like a noble and powerful king as he did a desperately worried young man. He jumped up, wrathfully eyeing Reg. As he straightened, a small stream of light escaping through a gap in the ceiling crowned his golden hair. His icy blue eyes telegraphed a promise of heavy retribution.
Ah. There was the king he'd expected.
"The prophesied Once and Future King of Legend is a Pendragon." Reg shook his head. "I guess the only thing that makes me feel better about that is the fact that your father would feel even worse about it than I do."
The royal's expression changed from anger to utter confusion.
Emrys stirred weakly on his cell floor, drawing both their gaze and their pity. Reg glanced between the king glowing in the strengthening light and, in contrast, the sorcerer almost hidden in the deep shadows. There was that damnable poetry again. "Tell him I said I'm sorry," he muttered and tossed the keys into the nonplussed king's cell. "Despite what he says, he is important. He matters. A lot. I don't know if a king -especially a Pendragon- can look beyond his own self-importance to see the truth of it but I'll tell you this: People have been waiting too long for peace and you won't manage it without him. Don't mess it up."
He turned his back on the moment of Destiny with its two figures of prophecy and hastily fled the ruins. The flashes of silver mail and red cloaks amongst the trees behind him coaxed more speed out of his stiff legs than he'd managed in years.
He'd lived his prophesied moment and was now free. Destiny had no more claim on him, unlike the two poor sods he'd left behind in the cells. Good luck to them.
There had to be a warm, sunny place far far away and he was going to find it.