"Your sister was right when she said everything would change," said the Cailleach.
"What do you mean? Who is Emrys?"
The gatekeeper ignored the question. "You have disturbed the fabric of nature itself, Morgana Pendragon. Now, you must live with it for the rest of your life."
Disturbed, and deeply confused, Morgana stared at the aged woman before her, not a little fearful. Pushing herself up from her vulnerable position on the ground, she turned and fled, not daring to look behind her.
Merlin had rarely seen a girl that looked more terrified. Her voice shook with a sob as she spoke, describing the horrors that she had experienced at her village. The words sent a chill through him, and the ominous feeling that had hung over him since seeing the Cailleach only increased at her explanation of what had terrorized her.
"They had no faces."
The words were barely a whisper, but the silence that followed the statement was a dead weight. Merlin found himself almost unable to breathe, while Arthur's frown (which had become very common since Uther had taken ill) deepened, his brow furrowing in thought. The warlock glanced at the king, knowing that Arthur would be having doubts about whether or not the things that attacked the village were really as horrible as the young woman claimed.
"Gaius," the regent said at last, "What do you make of this?"
Merlin's eyes shifted over to his mentor, noting the more-grim-than-usual look on his face. His heart sank; if Gaius said that the report boded ill, then they were all in stuck in the mud.
"From her description, sire," replied Gaius, taking a few slow steps further, "I believe the creature to be a Dorocha." He paused, noticing that no one in the room seemed to recognize the term. Merlin, like everyone else, was clueless as to what his mentor was talking about, but he found out a moment later.
"They are creatures of the dead- spirits."
If the silence that fell on them before had been heavy, it was nothing to the pregnant one that followed Gaius' proclamation. Merlin felt his gut twist in apprehension, while many of the knights looked visibly disturbed by the news. Arthur, for his part, managed to keep his expression composed, staring down at his feet and visibly thinking hard.
At long last, the prince regent announced, "I will take a group of knights and investigate this village to see if there is any truth to this." To the girl, he added more gently, "You'll be safe here in Camelot. Gaius, for all our sakes, I hope that you're wrong."
Merlin glanced at the physician, wincing at the hard look on his face.
"So do I, sire."
"What does this all mean, Gaius?" asked Merlin once they arrived back at the physician's chambers.
"There's been a tear in the veil, which separates the Underworld from the living one."
"Morgana?"
"I suspect so," replied Gaius, his jumpy eyebrow shooting up seemingly erratically. "She was traveling in the direction of the Isle of the Blessed when the report of her came in. Merlin, you need to be careful." The young warlock didn't think he had ever heard Gaius sound so grave. "The Dorocha are unlike anything we have faced before."
"Is there a way to fight them?"
"Not that I'm aware."
Merlin let the conversation die out, before informing Gaius that he was intending to get an early night so that he (hopefully) wouldn't be late for his Royal Pratness the next morning, when they were to set out for the seemingly massacred village. He found himself instinctively lightning the candles in the room with his magic, not at all eager to try and sleep in the dark, as he usually did.
He was just digging out his magic book from the floorboard when a strange noise came from behind him. Pausing with the book in his grip, he glanced in the direction of it, and yelled out in shock. The book fell from his hands with a heavy thud as he whirled, his eyes flashing gold and a solid wall of power slamming into the cupboard next to the door.
He blinked. A moment later, said door flew open and Gaius appeared, alarmed.
"What is it?" he demanded. "What's wrong?"
Merlin could only shake his head, speechless, and stare at the destroyed furniture. He could feel Gaius' concerned gaze on him but ignored it, waiting for what he had seen to reappear and for the physician to become just as alarmed as he had been. But nothing happened; nothing stirred, and the room seemed as inconspicuous as ever. Shaking his head again, he convinced himself that the stress of the torn veil was merely setting him on edge.
"It's nothing," he told his guardian flatly. Gaius' eyebrow jumped, a clear indication of disbelief, but he only nodded once and backed out of the room, sensing that Merlin wanted to forget the matter.
In his paranoia, he double-checked the candles to make sure they were lit. He slowly climbed onto the bed, drawing his knees up and resting the book on them. He couldn't help having his eyes lift up every now and then to check that he was completely alone. It was merely his overactive imagination playing tricks on him. It had to be.
Because for a moment, he thought he saw Nimueh, the wicked grin that haunted him in his nightmares plastered over her face.
Morgana was not expecting guests. But nevertheless, she had one.
Her heart had been sent racing when she beheld the figure sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, staring moodily into the distance. A blond head that she had seen chopped off long ago turned towards her, giving her a look that said, "Finally!" Still, she almost backed out of the door, wondering if she was going bonkers, or if this was some sort of trick by the so-called Emrys that the Cailleach had mentioned.
"You look like a bloody fish," Jo commented frankly. She gestured to her surroundings before continuing. "Nice place you've got here. Not exactly what you're used to, is it?"
"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" It came out harsher than she meant it, but that was hardly her fault.
A bark of bitter laughter answered her. "I am dead. Have the dreams made you addled?"
"What am I supposed to think?" snapped Morgana, still standing rigidly in the doorway. "If you're dead, then I should not be talking to you right now."
"No," mused Jo, tapping her chin with her forefinger. "I suppose you shouldn't. But you are." Pause. "And it is me. Most of us aren't exactly lucky enough to move on to Avalon. We tend to wander Albion, often watching people we were attached to when alive."
"That's what a hallucination would say too," Morgana muttered mulishly. "And why me?"
"You're the only one still alive. You knew that. I've seen every one of your spectacular failures, too. I especially liked the one where you tried to get Guinevere killed. Never knew you had it in you."
Morgana's fists clenched and un-clenched in her fury, noting that Jo's brand of criticism was just as biting as ever. She scowled furiously, turning away from her uninvited guest to take stock of the condition of her "home". All of the herbs and strange tools that she had acquired while working with Morgause were neatly organized, and nothing had been moved. This only reaffirmed her belief that Jo was an illusion of some sort, and she was almost convinced that she would turn around to see that the blond woman was gone. Yet when she actually did, she found that Jo had moved to one of her chairs.
"You tore the veil," Jo said unexpectedly- sharply.
Morgana raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that an equivalent to setting you free?"
"Wrong. 'Free' is the expression for the way I am now. What you did- whenever it's nightfall, we can manifest in the world of the living, but we become monsters- shadows of ourselves- in the process. I have no intention of trying to manifest, but you can bet that there are plenty who want to make contact with their relatives again." She smiled. "They don't even realize that anything they try to say comes out as screams. Anything they touch freezes. They move to embrace a relative- well, they just make that relative join them. Those of us who are weaker are actually forced to manifest. So, basically, you really just screwed us over. Whatever makes the great Morgana Pendragon happy."
Morgana opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it again. Jo was staring at her, brown eyes boring into hers. Seeing that she wasn't going to get a response, she stood.
"I'll come back some other time," she said lazily, brushing past Morgana on her way to the door. "Good night. Don't let the Dorocha bite."
Merlin and the others dismounted, finding the village deserted. There was a certain chill in the air that Merlin was sure hadn't been there before their arrival, but Arthur and the knights didn't appear to notice anything wrong. Lancelot's eyes flickered over to him, and Merlin could tell by the way his confidant frowned that he had seen the disquiet on the warlock's face.
Leon moved over to one of the houses, pushing the door open slowly. A sharp intake of breath followed this action, which soon had the other knights crowding behind him to get a glimpse of what lay within. Merlin had a sickening feeling that he already knew, and resolved not to join them.
"They're completely frozen over," breathed Elyan, his eyes going wide. Gwaine nodded wordlessly in agreement, before breaking the silence with a loud crunch as he bit into an apple that he'd packed for the trip, causing all eyes to turn in his direction.
Not looking the slightest bit guilty, he swallowed quickly and whispered, "Sorry."
Arthur rolled his eyes before ordering them to spread out and check the other homes. Lancelot wordlessly assigned himself to Merlin's side, and together they opened the doors to several more huts, grimacing at the sight of the corpses that greeted them. Each villager had an expression of stark terror on their faces, their eyes wide and fearful in death.
"The sun is setting," murmured Lancelot.
Merlin glanced at the west, confirming what the knight said. He gave an involuntary shudder, which Lancelot mimicked as the sense of foreboding washed over the both of them.
They ended up clearing a couple bodies out of one of the huts in order to set up a shelter for the night, and soon had a roaring fire in the fireplace. Torches were passed out, while Arthur ordered several of the knights to keep watch while the rest slept. Merlin found himself wandering out again, despite the magnetic pull that the fire seemed to have on him, a few minutes after the sun had dipped beneath the horizon.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose as a shrieking cry could be heard in the distance. Checking his surroundings to make sure he was alone, he held up his hand, palm up, and whispered, "Leoht."
The light that appeared was a great comfort to him as another scream resounded through the area- this time much closer than before. His breath hitched as he beheld the specter-like thing speeding towards him, the piercing sound resonating horribly in his eardrums. The light he held flickered once, then died.
Panic gripped him, and he faced the Dorocha. "Fleoh nu on moras!"
Nothing happened.
He repeated the spell, nearly yelling with desperation, but a deep cold seemed to constrict his magic, rendering it useless, rendering him useless, and it was only feet away-
A flash of orange. Lancelot was shoving him out of the way, thrusting his torch in front of him to ward off the Dorocha. Almost at once, Merlin was able to breathe again, as he felt the choking grip on him vanish. The knight turned towards him, his face full of concern. No one else had noticed exactly what took place.
"What happened?" he asked, his tone low.
Try as he might, Merlin could not force the tremor from his voice. "My magic... my magic is useless against them."
Lancelot accompanied him back inside, where the fire was leaping cheerfully, a welcome sight for the shaken Merlin. He was left alone, suspecting that the rest of the knights were all out, unable to sleep themselves. He doubted he would be getting any sleep, either, and instead contented himself with staring into the fire, unable to tear his gaze away from the only source of light.
"So tell me," came a quiet murmur by his ear. "How does it feel to be helpless?"
His reaction wasn't quite as bad as it had been back in Camelot; his magic didn't lash out and blow the entire house apart. He did, however, fall off of his seat, getting the wind knocked out of him in the process. There she was again- Nimueh, standing there with the same dark grin on her face. She was wearing the same dress that he had seen her in on the Isle of the Blessed, and her blue eyes seemed to pierce his own.
Merlin shut his eyes, praying to the spirits that he was seeing things. Considering that the spirits were now just screaming wraiths, though, that might not have been the best course of action. When he opened them again, she was still there, this time with her arms folded and almost pouting.
"You didn't miss me?"
He shook his head violently. "No. No, you're not really here, you're dead, I..."
"...killed me." She sighed somewhat impatiently. "You're the one who did it. You shouldn't have any trouble saying it." She paused, scrutinizing him while Merlin avoided her gaze. "Unless you feel guilty, of course?"
Disregarding that, he decided to answer her earlier question. "It feels like I'm suffocating. Like I'm trapped in ice but can still think."
With a dramatic sigh, she plopped down next to him. "So, now you know how I felt when you killed me. In that one instant just before I... exploded... that was the feeling I had. I'm glad that you know it now."
"Doesn't matter," he muttered, trying not so subtly to shift away from her. "'Cause you're not real."
"Merlin, Merlin, Merlin," sighed Nimueh, carefully placing a hand on- or not on- or whatever it was- his shoulder, making him feel like someone just poured ice water over his head. "I've been here this whole time. You just haven't been able to see me."
It didn't make him feel any better.
Despair incarnate.
That was what he was. Would it never end? Would the agony of helplessness never leave him again? He was blind, he was deaf- deaf to all but his own screams in his ears. He crashed into multitudes of objects, catching sight of what he thought could be another person, but they were always beyond his reach. Exhausted, but pressing on inexorably, he moved, longing only for a warm embrace.
It wasn't to be.
Where was his mother? His father? His best friend? All the people he had known- and lost- over the years of his life? Why had the witch seen fit to do this to him- to all who were weakened, like him? The warmth of the living was just inches away, yet when he actively sought it, it was as though he simply snuffed out the candle.
Help me. Help me. Helpme. Helpmehelpmehelpme...
Jo watched the ensuing, hopeless fight with a resigned air. She sat in the brightly lit throne room, next to an old friend of hers who she became fond of after death. The knights of Camelot ran amok, keeping the fires going and fending off the lesser spirits, who tried to take them for their own. Beside her, Ygraine observed the proceedings with a look of sickened concern on her beautiful face.
"It saddens me," she said softly, "To see innocent souls reduced to this."
Jo nodded wordlessly in agreement, unable to find anything to say in response to the former queen's words. It didn't sadden her; she was almost certain that grief was an emotion that she was incapable of feeling. Wrath was prevalent among her feelings, mainly for a certain witch living in the forest. She understood exactly why Morgana could see her: it was her punishment for meddling with the natural order- to be forever haunted by the consequences, quite literally.
Ygraine stood restlessly, walking over to one of those struck down by the Dorocha. She gently whispered some soft words for the man, whose soul had not quite left him yet, but was on the brink of doing so. With a sigh, she sat beside him, barely acknowledging Jo joining her.
"Have you visited Uther today?" An edge came into her voice as she said this, and she ignored the admonishing look that Ygraine sent her. She held no particular hatred for the king, but she cared nothing for him. She looked at him and saw only a broken man- a weak man. He had always been weak at heart, she knew.
"I did earlier. Guinevere was looking after him." A large smile broke out on her features, the one sight of joy among the tired and/or horrified faces in the room. "She's an absolute wonder, that girl. I should hope that my son proposes to her soon."
"He has other problems," muttered Jo.
"That's exactly why he should," Ygraine insisted. "She is already one of the most important pillars holding him up. All he needs to do is make it public. Besides," and here her voice took on a mischievous tone, "I would be honored if she bore my grandchildren."
"And if she needs to resort to your method?" Jo asked, aware of the thoughtlessness of the question, but finding it beyond herself to care.
Ygraine winced. "We can only pray that it doesn't come to that. Did you...?"
"This morning. She was surprised to see me, and mostly denied what I had to say." Jo paused. "You should hate her. I don't understand your concern."
"How could I hate a child for the sins of their parents?"
"And yet you don't hate Uther either."
Ygraine smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Perhaps I am incapable of hatred. I was not trained to hate from a young age."
"You should hate something," Jo insisted, still not quite understanding. She never had been able to comprehend the tireless compassion that Ygraine carried.
"If I had to hate anything, it would be fate itself," said Ygraine. "For laying such a heavy burden upon my son's shoulders. For pushing Morgana down such a dark path. For leading my husband to Vivienne. But I cannot hate the people themselves."
Once again, Jo struggled to say something, and after a few moments gave up trying. There were other, stronger spirits here, but they didn't interact with one another as Ygraine and herself did.
"When he joins you- and it will be soon," added Jo, "Will you stay with him?"
Ygraine's hand went to the ring finger of her other hand, where a beautiful gemstone sat, glinting in the firelight. She let out her breath in a soft sigh.
"How could I not?"
"And if he does not stay with you? We both know where he'll go."
"Then I will wait for him," declared Ygraine. "Forever, if I must."
Merlin was having trouble.
Arthur was giving directions as they prepared to depart from the village, and Merlin was almost in pain from keeping the laugh out of his face. He had a feeling that he looked like he was constipated, because Nimueh was standing right next to Arthur, silently mimicking his speech and movements. The sight was funnier than it should have been- she probably wanted to embarrass him, and briefly sent him a disappointed look when he managed (barely) to keep a straight expression.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Lancelot asked him for what seemed to be the millionth time. He only nodded in reply, still coming to terms with the fact that he was seeing spirits- a multitude of them, most of them the recently dead, wandering about the village and conversing with one another familiarly as though they were still alive. Many sent suspicious looks in the direction of the sorceress, but none of the living noticed apart from him.
Nimueh sauntered over as Lancelot moved away to prepare his horse, huffing in exasperation.
"Your sense of humor needs improvement."
"Why are you following me, again?" Merlin muttered as quietly as possible, glancing around discreetly in the hopes that no one would take any notice. It was a question that had been on his mind since his ability 'solidified' (as Nimueh called it) the previous night.
"I'm bored," she said breezily, as though that explained everything. "There's nothing to do in the afterlife. I no longer have magic. Your life is far more entertaining."
Nimueh had explained that she suspected it was his immense power levels that allowed him to see the dead, now that the veil had been torn and produced instability between the two worlds. Whether or not he would still be capable of it after it was sealed was another question entirely, one that either she didn't know or refused to divulge.
"Move out," called Arthur, once they were all on their horses. Nimueh seemed to glide alongside him, as though the ground beneath her feet was obsolete. She stared at the prince, before commenting.
"He really is rather good looking, isn't he? I'm starting to wonder why I wanted to kill him."
If he hadn't been occupied by the reins, Merlin would have massaged his temples.
Morgana was being followed.
All she wanted was to collect some herbs, but there was no doubt in her mind that someone was dogging her steps. Her mind fearfully turned to Emrys, and fear had always made her irrational. Before she really thought about what she was doing, she whipped around, drawing her dagger and glaring at the area behind her.
"Show yourself!"
A slim figure emerged, and she felt her face whiten.
"...sister?"
And... that's all for now folks! Don't worry, more is on its way. I just don't want my chapters to be too long- then I'll start boring you!
Reason for the title(s): 'Allusion' is a reference to an outside source... or something like that. Correct me if I'm wrong. The reason I called it this is because the scenario (the whole veil thing, the dead killing people, blah blah blah) is VERY reminiscent of season 2 of Legend of the Seeker. By the way, the creation of Jo was partially inspired by Cara- who is the epitome of leather-wearing badassness. No, Jo will not be wearing leather. Ever. Then there's also the fact that the Dorocha are practically dementors. As for 'In Media Res', that simply means in the middle- which is where the story begins.
Reason for the writing style: At first, I was going to rewatch the episode and model most of the conversations off of it, but then I decided that I would fill the gaps in my memory myself. I would feel like a robot if I just copied the episode dialogue, and I don't want to fall into the habit of doing so. Therefore, I apologize for any plot errors I've made, if you have the episode memorized somehow.
...would you call that ending a cliffhanger? I'm not sure... if so, then please feel free to pelt me with tomatoes. I still won't feel guilty. My conscience is absent right now, since it's Friday and I'm feeling very happy.
One more thing: OHMAGAWD THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! This is honestly the most reception I have EVER gotten for ANY of my stories. I've had more alerts and favorites than I could count, and for me four reviews is a lot! So thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh, and if you have time, review again! Ciao!