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Warnings - Descriptions of torture.
Henceforth, this story is rated an 'M' from now.
Words: 3001
8. Curare
Maybe, every man had a dual personality – one that they put on display for everyone and the other, hidden inside for personal use only. Maybe, Merlin had one too. Maybe, he had one too. The ease with which he left his manservant behind, in a den of sorcerers, the failed mission, his lost men and Knights, Sir Vidor and Sir Caridoc, everything was eating him up. Arthur was ridden with guilt and he didn't know how to quiet it down. They made camp for the night, unable to travel any further with their injuries and lack of horses. Morgana helped with their injuries to the best of her abilities.
Guinevere cooked some dinner for them and Arthur couldn't eat any more than a spoon of it. Not that her cooking was awfully bad, yes, it was a bit on the offside but the act of cooking reminded him of Merlin as he was the one who always cooked stew for him and his Knights, not Guinevere. The distraught look on Guinevere's face as he refused to eat; only added to his piling guilt. He couldn't muster a few words of encouragement for her because he didn't think that he could speak over the lump that was stuck in his throat like a large boulder.
"You did what you thought was right, Arthur," Gwen sat beside him and tried to soothe his grief while the rest slept fitfully except for Morgana, who slept in contentment.
"Do you think it is right, Guinevere? To leave him there, alone," Arthur could clearly picture Merlin's terrorized eyes, as he turned his back on his manservant. They seemed so hollow, so devoid of life.
"It doesn't matter what I think," Gwen stated.
"It matters to me," Arthur looked at Gwen for comfort that only she could offer him.
Understanding what Arthur wanted, she wrapped her arms around Arthur's bulk and rested his head on her shoulder.
"If he really tried to kill the King, as Morgana said, I believe you are right to leave him there," Gwen said. For once, Arthur felt that he wasn't hearing things he wanted to hear just because he was the Prince and defying him or his words apparently meant his disrespect. Gwen wasn't such a person, he knew that. She always spoke her mind and not his', so he trusted her words. She waited patiently for Arthur to reply.
When none came even after a while and felt her shoulder get wet, she understood perfectly. Arthur never shed tears for anyone. His tears now could only mean that Merlin's loss affected the Prince greatly and there was no turning back from his feelings, there was no control over his emotions. She did what she could do then – offered her shoulder for Arthur to cry as much as he wanted and she stayed silent. That was what he needed right now – silence.
"No man is worth your tears," Arthur said to himself as if Gwen was not there and that statement registered heavily in Gwen's heart and her contained sadness burst forth.
They cuddled together in silence, tears dripping down their cheeks… tears in the name of another person – Gwen, for Arthur and Arthur, for Merlin.
The hurting in his head seemed like a permanent resident now, one that he could never get rid of. It kept him in a state of semi-consciousness all the time, never letting up, never letting him glimpse even a fraction of freedom. He felt as if his eyes bled rivers when he tried to open them fully. Halfway, he could tolerate but never full. His shoulders screamed in agony, being tied to the roof or some other contraption, he thought. What he didn't know was that he wasn't tied to anything; he was merely lifted a good few inches off the ground, with his arms stretched beyond limits and painfully above his head – it was magic that held him there, not a rope. The clothes he wore since the day he stepped foot into the Caves were now tattered; his pants wet and his body cold. Occasionally, something that Merlin clearly thought was a whip would lash his back – neck to heel, and he would scream. His mind was never clear enough for him to know that it wasn't a whip but carefully timed magic that would hit him thrice a day, for a half hour each time. As if the pain he was in wasn't enough, his stomach started to complain him of hunger and his throat, of thirst.
His screams now sounded parched to his own ears and he felt his throat burning like hellfire. Yet, whatever presence his brain still had in the darkness that enveloped him ever since, he never felt anybody come and check him up. In the early days, when he felt like he could actually think, he called out for anyone, someone, even the voice of his arch-enemy might have seemed wonderful in the darkness but no one came. No one answered his calls. Eventually, he stopped calling for them even though he didn't know now who 'them' was. He knew not how many days, or nights, passed since 'the incident', he now chose to address it as. The minutes of waiting for Arthur's return had long gone. Now, he just wanted to live and not die. He wanted to feel his magic thrumming through his veins again. Gradually, he was forgetting how his magic felt. At times, he wondered whether he had any because the present he was living now felt more real than the past he once lived. Maybe, he just dreamt it, made it all up, his past in the safe walls of Camelot. There was never Arthur, or Gwen, or Morgana, or Uther; they were just fragments of his tortured imagination. This pain he was feeling now, the blood, the fire, the cold, the mortification, the emptiness, this was real, maybe.
Every time he told himself that, he felt liberated from the pain, if not physically, then emotionally. He stored the part of him that loved Arthur – it kept him sane in this unending darkness his half-open eyes could see, even though Arthur could be nothing more than just his imagination. The whip came down on his bruised back again – it was always the back, not the front and he thought that he should be grateful for the reprieve, no matter how little.
As the whip rained down, again and again, he screamed. He could feel his blood pouring down the cuts. He could even see them with utmost clarity in the back of his mind. Such was the intensity of the whip's strike. He could smell his blood along with the putrid smell of his excretions. Tied, he couldn't possibly use a bathroom and shame colored him red whenever he let go to lessen the pressure coiling inside his stomach. Some days, it was intentional while some days, his humiliation occurred involuntarily when the whip hit him hard and he lost all control, not that he had any in the first place.
Yet, he never begged for the humiliation or the pain to stop because begging meant losing another part of himself and he supposed, he lost enough. He could take this pain, scream himself hoarse but at what cost? Was he willing to live like this forever? He had been broken enough. Was he willing to cling onto his stubbornness which could possibly yield nothing but more pain? Or worse, death! If he pleaded, who would listen to him? If they did listen to his pleas, by a long chance, would he be relieved of this incessant pain?
The whipping stopped and he smacked his lips. Water, he wanted it; no, he needed it. He was so deprived of anything that he wanted to beg for what he needed. But his pride, whatever tattered remains were still leftover, wouldn't allow him. Not now. Maybe, he would try tomorrow. Sleep seemed good for now. Yes, he would sleep now and try begging tomorrow.
But, when is tomorrow?
Wondering, his half-lidded eyes fell completely shut.
"I put you in a threat by hiring that boy as your manservant," Uther placed a worried hand over his son's shoulder.
"And, he tried to kill you," Morgana piped in.
"Yes, yes, he did. And thank you, Morgana, you've saved us all from that traitor, the sorcerer in the heart of Camelot," Uther said gratefully which sounded so wrong to Arthur, despite it being true.
Gaius stood to a side, calmly, watching the exchange. On the outside, he was calm yet no one knew of his bereavement for a certain black haired boy. Uther led himself to a wrong notion that Merlin cheated Gaius too, apart from the Royal family but the look Arthur shot at him fleetingly said otherwise about the Prince's thoughts. Well, Gaius didn't care what the Prince thought.
"I am glad you are safe too, Gaius," Uther's eyes crinkled in happiness when he looked at the Physician.
"So am I, Sire. I have some herbs to collect and potions to make. If you will excuse me," Gaius bowed and trotted out at the King's nod. He could stay not a second longer in the place where they were rejoicing Merlin's absence.
What would he tell Hunith about the disappearance of her boy? He didn't even want to think about it.
That night, as he lay down on his own mattress, Gaius felt the loneliness seeping into him from Merlin's room, which was now devoid of the cheerful boy.
"I'm sorry, Merlin. I should never have let you stay here," Gaius whispered to the closed bedroom door and wished for it to open so that he could see Merlin walking out in his usual sleepy steps.
It never opened.
o#*#o
He needed a new manservant. There was no one to run him a hot bath, no one to dress him up, no one to polish his armor or do his laundry, no one to bring him dinner and no one to banter with. He was all alone in his room which seemed bigger and emptier than ever. To his dismay, he realized that he did not want anyone except Merlin as his manservant but that wouldn't do. Merlin's gone! He proved to be a wolf in sheep's clothing and there was nothing Arthur could do to bring the lost man back. He didn't even want him back for God's sake!
"Guards!" he shouted.
"Yes, Sire?" two guards came in moments later and bowed to him in respect.
"Tell George that he will be serving as my manservant from tomorrow and I expect him to see to his duties on time. He's relieved of his present work until I say otherwise," Arthur said.
"Yes, Sire," they echoed in agreement and left to do the said work.
"See? I can replace you and quite easily too," he said to Merlin though the said person can hear neither his words nor the disdain coating them.
He heard a knock on the door.
"Who is it?" he asked irritably.
"It's me. I brought you your dinner," he heard Gwen's voice and let her in immediately.
One look at Arthur and she knew something wasn't right. She needn't ponder to know what was bothering Arthur - the deception of Merlin.
"Will you be all right, Arthur?" she asked in concern, carefully avoiding mentioning Merlin. Yet, Arthur got her message.
"Why won't I be? He was just a servant, wasn't he?" his words sounded so wrong to his own ears once again for the umpteenth time.
o#*#o
Without Merlin, the palace seemed blissfully serene to Morgana as she walked the corridors to greet Morgause. Now wasn't the time to sit still and celebrate the removal of Merlin. It was the time to grab this opportunity and lay claim upon the throne of Camelot which belonged to her. It was time for Uther's execution.
A few yards from the citadel, her sister was waiting for her, away from the patrol groups. They wouldn't venture this close to the citadel because it was a safe area which was visited once a few moons. Morgana hence chose it to be their meeting place. It kept them away from prying eyes and eager ears.
"Congratulations on our success, sister," Morgana chirped happily, pulling back the hood of her cloak.
"To you too, sister but we must be wary. A week is a long time to celebrate one meager success. When Uther dies, we can rejoice more," Morgause said.
"What are you thinking?" Morgana asked for their next course of action.
"Poison, Morgana; we have to use standard means for now. Without Merlin, the sorcerer who saves the day, Uther won't survive it," she said.
"Gaius has antidotes to all poisons available and will administer it in a second. Uther won't die. We have to use magic," Morgana countered.
"You do not understand, sister. Using magic will only endanger your existence now that Merlin is gone. He was the evil sorcerer, remember? Not you in the eyes of Uther, Arthur, and everyone else. Since we cannot kill him with swords, we can only do so using poison," Morgause reasoned.
"Very well, sister. But what about Gaius?" Morgana asked.
"This poison is called Curare, Morgana. I have ventured deep into the South-eastern woods beyond the sea to gather its essence. And believe me when I tell you, Gaius does not have the means I did to get his hands on this poison, let alone study it. Suffice to say, Curare does not have an antidote, sister," Morgause let herself smile, picturing their second triumph. They were so close to capturing Camelot.
"That's great! How much of it is required to kill Uther?" Morgana asked.
"Just a tincture in his dinner every day. Uther will first lose the use of his legs, then his other limbs until he's no more capable of breathing. You will see him suffer gradually, Morgana until the light leaves his eyes. The peculiar thing about Curare is that the heart still beats though the breathing stops. Uther will suffer and shall die in pain," Morgause said. She knew Morgana wanted Uther to feel pain and not just die in a moment. Hence the poison. She had to work for obtaining it but the mirth that decorated her sister's face was worth her grave efforts for the poison.
"I will see to it that Uther gets his dosage every day and I must also find a pitiful one to take the fall for this poison," Morgana took the vial from Morgause's hands.
"Good luck," Morgause wished and Morgana turned around to walk back to the castle when a hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks.
"Anything wrong, sister?" she asked in worry.
"I'm going after the boy, Morgana. I might need to make a deal with the Drihten of the Caves," Morgause said, her voice filled with apprehension.
"Deal? What kind of deal are you going to propose?" Morgana asked, expecting the worst.
"Do not fear. I will not threaten my life for the boy. I have to think of something valuable for his life," and then, like a streak of lightning, an idea struck her.
"What is it that you have in mind?" Morgana asked.
Morgause smirked broadly.
She had something to offer the Drihten would surely not refuse.
"Halt, lady!" Morgause heard a man shout at her as she neared the Caves of Peril and she stopped in her tracks.
"Who are you and what is your purpose?" the man questioned her as he took a couple of cautious steps towards her.
"I am the High Priestess of the Old religion and have come here to see the Drihten," she said.
The man shook visibly when she announced her post but didn't make any move to call for the Drihten.
"You may be the High Priestess, dear lady, but you can have nothing from this place. It is even a wonder your magic is intact," he looked her from top to bottom, wondering why the lady's magic wasn't crumbling to pieces as it happened to the boy in their custody, Emrys.
"Then you must know that we share the same bond of magic and same intentions, do you not now?" she queried with a smile, knowing that she was winning against this nameless man.
"I'm the Keeper of Caves, Bewerigend," he introduced himself rather abruptly.
"I need to meet the Drihten, Keeper," Morgause insisted, shining her eyes to a sinister gold to show the Keeper that the magic of Caves does not affect her magic.
"Wait here," he said curtly but obediently walked inside the Caves.
Within minutes, Morgause found herself standing in front of a tall bulky yet a very old man with hair and eyes as white as the snow, the Drihten. She bowed to him in respect.
"What brings you here, High Priestess?" he asked.
"I come here to deferentially ask for your captive, Drihten. I need the boy," Morgause didn't stall.
"Thirst for revenge, you have come with an exchange," it was the Drihten's way of asking, 'What do we get in exchange for the boy?'
"I have an offer you will not refuse," she simpered as she removed something from her bag and held it out for the Drihten and the Keeper to see.
She was enthralled by their uniquely similar expressions of shock mingled with pleasure.
"That is - ," the Keeper was speechless as he stared darkly at the object in Morgause's hands.
"The Cup of Life," Morgause finished.
So how was the chapter? DO DROP A REVIEW, READERS!
The upcoming chapters will contain graphic descriptions of torture and are not for the fainthearted. I will try my level best to keep them as short as possible because this is my first time writing graphic torture with seriousness. I hope I will be strong while penning them down.
Until next time, bye!
~ Wheezy.