Chapter Two: Never Listen to Authority Figures, No Matter How Many Teeth They Have
Merlin hovered about seven feet in the air above seething magma, cross-legged, and scowling. "I'm glad you think this is funny," he said. When this failed to elicit anything but another peal of laughter, he added, "You great, poncy newt."
"Apologies, young Merlin," snickered the dragon momentarily. "Please. Once more. Explain to me once more your encounter with the young Pendragon."
Merlin heaved a bone-weary sigh and for the third time said, "He pushed me into a wall—"
"No, no," the dragon interrupted. "From the beginning. The beginning is the best part."
Merlin's scowl edged towards a glare. "He caught me doing magic and then pushed me into a wall." The dragon shook with laughter again, but through Herculean effort, managed to contain it. "So I ran away."
"And then?" The dragon prompted, giving Merlin a stern look. That look had enough teeth that Merlin grudgingly admitted,
"He was chasing after me, so I accidentally hit him in the face with a door. And broke his nose."
The dragon fell off of its perch with another explosion of laughter, splashing up magma like the world's largest scaly toddler. Merlin sent up a shield quickly because dream or not, he didn't want to find out what his subconscious believed frying in molten rock would feel like. "Are you done yet?" He called.
The dragon seemed content to lie in its lava bath and giggle. Merlin sighed, running a frantic hand through his hair. So far Kilgharrah had been about as much help as a kick in the shins. And for that matter, at least physical violence didn't get sarcastic. Here Merlin was, worried that any second now he was going to get dragged out of bed and murdered by His Royal Majesty King Prat (in a nose splint), and his sidekick was getting his jollies having a laugh at Merlin's expense.
Honestly, most young heroes got a magical sword or a talking dog or something. Merlin got an imaginary talking dragon.
Kilgharrah paused to breathe, and because this was a dream, he was appraised of Merlin's thoughts. "And what makes you think you're the hero of this story?" He asked, in that eerily serious way that never failed to set Merlin's teeth on edge.
"I'd damn well better be," Merlin grumbled, glaring defensively at the dragon's narrowed eyes. "I've got enough power to destroy the world and absolutely no desire to do it." Well, except for that one time when he was six. But that wasn't up for discussion. "It's not as though anyone else is raring for the job."
Kilgharrah blew out a cloud of smoke and smirked. He didn't say anything. He seemed content to just smile and watch Merlin grow less and less comfortable. Silence and dragons together never boded well. "What?" Merlin finally asked.
Kilgharrah folded his claws in front of him, the action eerily humanlike. "I am simply wondering if coming events will make you change your mind, young Merlin."
"Oh, not this again," Merlin groaned, throwing his hands up. "Can we focus on the crisis at hand? Please? We both know you're never going to tell me whatever it is you claim to know, so enough with the happy enigmatic bullshit!" Kilgharrah raised a scaly eyebrow—how did dragons even have eyebrows?—as Merlin pointed a finger at him. "I only want to know how to deal with Arthur Pendragon. That's it. Hang sacred destiny."
Kilgharrah gave Merlin another long, narrow-eyed look for just long enough to remind him that Kilgharrah was considerably larger, older, and more lethal than a human adolescent. "Please," Merlin ground out, lowering his hand. He raised his eyebrows hopefully. "…You know it's important."
"Very well," Kilgharrah conceded with a nod of its head. "I will grant you this. What do you have in mind?"
Merlin sighed in relief, his levitation spell dipping several inches towards the lava. "I've thought about it already," he told Kilgharrah. Which was true. He'd thought about it a lot after King Prat's impressive list of death threats had faded into the distance. Clearly, Arthur wanted to kill him, but that was only runner up in the list of things pushing Merlin toward a nervous breakdown. First and foremost, Merlin needed Arthur to keep his mouth shut about floating cleaning rags. There were very few honorable ways of accomplishing said silence after you've broken someone's nose. Particularly when that someone was so attached to his face that he'd gladly raze entire third world countries to keep it intact.
Merlin eyed the dragon, who was now swishing his tail back and forth through the magma impatiently. "I need a memory spell," Merlin announced.
"I see," said the dragon. "Do you know how long it takes to master memory spells?"
"Probably not, since I'm asking you, yeah?" Merlin smiled up winningly.
"With your power," the dragon replied rather gently, "Unless you want to give everyone in a three-mile radius fugue amnesia, it's best not to trifle with those spells."
Merlin pressed his lips together. "…Ah." Kilgharrah blew out another cloud of smoke and Merlin winced a bit as he suggested, "Mind control spells?"
"Merlin."
"Come on! I'll only ever use it on Arthur! He's such a prat that I'm sure everyone will thank me!"
"Merlin."
"Fine, but you can't say I didn't try," Merlin huffed, crossing his arms as the dragon stared him down. He stewed in silence for a moment and then groaned, hanging his head. "…Seems I've got no choice."
"Yes," Kilgharrah answered. He was obviously enjoying it too, the git. He leaned closer to Merlin and informed him jovially, "You will actually have to go talk with the young Pendragon—and persuade him to keep your secret."
Merlin looked up at once, eyebrows rising until his forehead ached. "Talk to him? Where did you pull that one from? He'll crack my head open like a rotten tomato." Oh, ick, poor image choice there. Merlin grimaced. Kilgharrah retreated, looking puzzled as Merlin rubbed his shaking hands together.
"Then I am at a loss as to what you plan to do." Kilgharrah informed Merlin with a tilt of its head, "I do not believe this setback will remove itself. The young Pendragon is no fool."
"I know," Merlin mumbled. "I had something a bit more… permanent in mind." He risked a glance up at Kilgharrah. The dragon returned it with an exceptionally blank look. Merlin fidgeted. "You know… prevent him from inflicting his stupidity on anyone?"
Kilgharrah's nostrils flared. Merlin was all braced for a spectacular round of let's-shatter-our-dream-eardums, but instead the dragon questioned, "You… intend to make the young Pendragon stupid?"
"Oh no, I think he does a fine job of that all on his own," Merlin replied with a straight face. "I couldn't improve on it. Really. His stupidity is a masterpiece, the likes of which I dare not trifle with. It would be a travesty to—"
"Merlin." And there it was! The Shut Up, Merlin voice. Honestly, it seemed like everyone Merlin knew had exactly three speeds: the normal one, the In Trouble one, and the Stop Talking Now, Before I Gut You like a Trout one.
Really, he spent his time with the most impatient people. It's not as though their behavior was a reflection of Merlin's decision-making capabilities. It wasn't his fault that so much of the world was breakable or flammable.
Merlin attempted a grin, which came out horribly mangled. He'd stuffed his hands into his lap to hide the fact that they were shaking like an epileptic's. "I'm going to kill him?"
Hell. That wasn't meant to be a question.
Kilgharrah reared back, eyes flashing—ohh, that wasn't a good sign—and growled. "Absolutely not. That course of action shall not come to pass."
Merlin winced a bit, but forged ahead bravely. "Well… apparently it shall!" Kilgharrah's nostrils were starting to churn out smoke like a furnace. Also not a good sign. "We both know I've got the power to do it. The druids—" Oh wait, that was actually a good point. Merlin brightened. "The druids say all the time that I've got the power of a god! What's to say I can't choose who lives and dies like one?" Little sparks of flame were springing from between the dragon's teeth. Merlin babbled quickly, "Only just the once, of course. And honestly, when you think about it, it's Arthur! Considering the supreme ass that he is, no one should miss him very much. This is practically a public service—"
Kilgharrah cut Merlin off with a snarl. Merlin's mouth froze around the word 'service' and his eyes widened with very, very healthy fear. This was a dream—yeah—try telling that to Kilgharrah.
"Heed my words," the dragon hissed. "Pursue another course of action. I will NOT allow this folly."
But you're a dream.
Merlin swallowed hard and rose to his feet. Kilgharrah let out a long, low growl as he did, which rumbled through the air in a blanket of smoke. "And if I say no?" Merlin asked quietly. "What are you planning to do?" He spread his arms wide. "You're a figment of my imagination—you can't stop me."
Kilgharrah snarled again, the harsh sound echoing through the cavern like a laugh. "Do not test me, warlock."
The fear and defiance in Merlin's gut abruptly boiled into temper. "Nah, you're right," Merlin snapped through gritted teeth. "What's the point? You're like everyone else. Always telling me what I CAN'T do, because I must be restrained—because no one ever bothers to trust me!" Kilgharrah stiffened at his shout, but Merlin couldn't read the dragon's reaction and he was too angry to stop. "Don't you get it?! If Arthur runs his mouth—at best, I'm allowed the choice to die—otherwise I'll be someone's experiment or some mindless weapon or—or something I can't even imagine!"
Kilgharrah's brow knitted together. "Merlin—"
"Well, I won't let that happen!" Merlin's voice rang out shrill and terrified—scared of so much more than the dragon in his head. "I won't let Arthur-bloody-prat-Pendragon wreck everything I've worked to have because of one stupid mistake! I don't care if it dirties my hands or offends you or anyone else! I have NO CHOICE!"
Kilgharrah roared loud enough to make Merlin gasp and clap his hands over his ears. Ah, there it was; dragon vocal chords vs. human eardrums take twelve. As Merlin's knees dumped him back on the ground out of pure shock, the dragon's wings flared out and extending the entire width of the cavern—like a cloak.
Like a red cloak.
"Enough," Merlin snarled wearily. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Time to wake up."
Kilgharrah howled and a glut of flame billowed forth, but it was nowhere near fast enough. The dream crumbled. When Merlin cracked an eye open again, he was staring at the sitting room ceiling and his back was protesting the decision to camp out on the floor. His ears were also ringing. Dreams with Kilgharrah always managed to carry over a bit.
"Sodding newt," Merlin muttered venomously, dragging a hand over his eyes. Hell. He was covered in sweat too, from either the scorching cavern he imagined Kilgharrah in or the suffocating terror. Take your pick. He wiped his hand on his pants and sat up.
Mountains of trash stretched as far as the eye could see. A month's worth of food containers, dirty clothes, miscellaneous plastic scraps, the occasional cutlery, all with books and papers scattered above like newly fallen snow.
The smell was best left without description.
Shower, Merlin decided. Shower. Clothes. Breakfast. Murder.
It was best to keep things like this simple.
Merlin got to his feet and tripped spectacularly over a cushion buried beneath discarded trousers. He managed to dent his head on the one bit of the coffee table that wasn't buried under a mountain of laundry.
Merlin writhed around in agony for a bit while thinking glumly, I'm not going to like today, am I?
0o0o0
Forty-odd minutes later Merlin was clean, wearing something odorless from the wardrobe on the floor, and had determined that there was nothing edible left in the flat. Four rejected spell books were piled to his right—lots of preaching about staying away from foul dark magicks and their corrupting influence. The one on his lap had opened up to an enchantment that melted people's eyeballs.
Seemed promising. Could even improve King Prat's ugly mug, potentially. Give him some color.
And now he was thinking of tomatoes OH GOD get off that train of thought rightnow.
Shuddering, Merlin flipped to the index. Heading: hexes, subheading—ah, there we are. Death curses, page 254. Merlin was greeted with a tasteful depiction of a grinning skull that appeared to be… devouring entrails.
Huh.
He squinted at the text, which was spidery and largely unintelligible in accordance with the laws of magical wanking. Let's see… Lombardini Death Plague? Hm… Ingredients look nice and easy to come by. Makes the victim break out in large painful boils before death—nice… But no; it promises a slow death. King Prat would be able to talk, even if he was dying. The bloke loves the sound of his own voice too much.
Merlin took one look at the Elypsiac Curse's ingredients list and turned the page. He didn't happen to have the finger bones of any infants handy and absolutely no desire to procure any. Ever.
Merlin rejected the Mergian Scirses Hex too. Tempting though it may have been to watch Arthur be skewered by every metal object in the vicinity, Merlin ought to try for something with a bit more subtlety. There needed to be at least one other explanation for Arthur's imminent demise than vengeful hexing.
This is a pain in the arse, Merlin observed as he skimmed the next few pages. The next spell I learn is going to be one that instantly locates the spell I want to use—
He paused at Gelstrepis Emoxius and after a moment, he raised his eyebrows. No ingredients necessary aside from optional accessories to improve one's aim (Merlin's aim was a marvel from God, thanks very much). Only needed thirty minutes to take effect—not bad—was excruciatingly painful—excellent—and was as subtle as a heart attack. Literally. The heart might explode in rare cases, but bugger that, the spell was perfect.
Merlin stood, beaming at the page. "Oh yes," he announced to his captive audience of dirty socks. "This will do nicely."
0o0o0
It was first period. And Merlin was sitting up straight, not using his textbook for a pillow, and not making Professor Bayard's goatee dance for his amusement. He had a rather sweaty piece of paper clenched in one hand (in case he somehow managed to forget the incantation when he was faced with the overwhelming stench of prat), and a death grip on the pen in his other.
The professor took fifteen minutes to address the cause of this. "Absent," he declared.
"WHY!?"
Let's review: not only did Merlin jump out of his seat and loudly demand Arthur's whereabouts; he'd synchronized with the very shrill Vivian, who was now staring at him like gum she'd peeled off of the bottom of her shoe. The rest of the class joined her. That was just what Merlin needed—parallels to be drawn between him and the captain of the Arthur Pendragon Shagging Club.
If there were such a club, anyway Merlin was quite sure that Vivian would be president.
He mustered up an eyes roll and coughed. "I had—er—homework. To give him. From. Class."
He sat down quickly as the giggling began.
"Mr. Pendragon," Professor Bayard warbled, "Has been hospitalized. It seems that he was assaulted."
He was assaulted? Please. Merlin was honestly surprised that the door hadn't taken initiative to tackle Arthur's face all on its own, without magic. He had it coming.
Vivian swooned. "Who could have done such a thing?" Merlin tried not to snort too loudly.
It was at this point that Professor Bayard's words caught up with him.
"Professor!" Merlin jumped to his feet again. Hell! "Er. Do you know what hospital it is?" Professor Bayard blinked. "…For the homework."
"That's confidential information."
Merlin sat down. More giggling.
He was friends with the school headmaster; confidentiality was nothing but a joke.
But all of first period thinking that Merlin was gay for the King of the Prats? His life was over. Merlin buried his head in his arms with a groan.
A/N: OK, I got some jitters last week, wrote utter shyte (ye gods), and well… The belated chapter two! In a less horrendous incarnation. I've also just finished watching the end of Season 4 of Merlin, so I'm going to dedicate this chapter to the sincere hope that Season 5 does not turn out to be a Game of Thrones rip-off. Anyway. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and let me know if you see room for improvement or if you think I'm on the right track. I promise you all lots of Arthur in the next chapter.