Author's note: If you start noticing that updates come farther between, it's because school's started so I'm afraid I'll have less time over to writing. My aim is still to write this story to the finish, you'll just have to nag at me if I don't update in awhile.
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I Am the Embers of You Fire - You Are the Breaking of My Dawn
Part 9
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The next thing he knows, he's trapped beneath a blanket in a heavy aching body covered with sweat, with sunlight falling across his face. The sharp stirring of a pot is suddenly abandoned, replaced quick footsteps and a mild voice next to his ear. He blinks up at the ceiling blearily.
"Merlin!" Gwen exclaims appearing on the bedside. Her face is worn by worry and fatigue; there are dark rings underneath her eyes. "Oh, we've been so worried."
His tongue feels like lead. "Whaa…? What happened?"
"You were poisoned!" the servant girl continues. She's pale and her fingers curl around the edge of the blanket stiffly, knuckles whitening. "You were right about the goblet. Then Arthur disobeyed his father and rode out for a cure, a flower, and Gaius could make a potion and save you. We barely had time but – but you're all right now. Oh, Merlin! We were all so worried!"
Her arms wrap around his torso in a tight, breathtaking hug - and he's too weary to even worry about her figuring out his secret - before she backs away with an awkward smile, rapidly apologizing for her forwardness. "I'm just so glad you're all right."
Arthur. The light. That woman … Was it real? Unconsciously Merlin snaps his palms shut, like trying to put out any magic that might be there. There's none and if there ever was, Gwen does not seem to have noticed. At least, she doesn't act like it.
Then - the words make impact "Arthur?" There was so much he wants to know: Arthur? He saved my life? Arthur? Is he all right?
"Yes. The King was furious," Gwen says. "He had him locked in the dungeon. It was by a stroke of luck we even got our hands on the flower since everybody was forbidden to see him…"
Merlin wishes the prince was here for him to thank him. He might be a dollophead but he's really a good man inside, even if he won't admit it.
But then the fear comes. If his dream, the vision, the darkness was real … the woman and Arthur climbing was real … then, his magic. He'd used his magic openly for Arthur to see. Had Arthur seen? Had Arthur realized? A tight knot settles at the bottom his stomach, near the spine, painfully. Does Arthur know?
Gwen is oblivious to all of this going through Merlin's mind. She stands, patting down his blankets and telling him not fall asleep even if he wants to. "I'll fetch Gaius and tell him you're awake."
()()()
"King Bayard didn't poison me," is the first proper sentence Merlin tells Gaius, who settles by the bedside.
"I know."
That surprises him. "How?"
The answer is annoyingly vague. "I recognize the mark of the sorcerer's magic. Yes, magic had been used to enhance the potion." He takes one of Merlin's hands, voice softening. "We came very close to losing you, Merlin."
Merlin is still very tired and his head is heavy, but his stomach rumbles loudly in that moment reminding him of how hungry he is. "Food?" he asks hopefully.
"I have some broth here. Sip slowly or you'll be sick."
The substance is thin and hot but soothing on his aching throat and empty stomach, and he eats as much as he can, before the bowl is put away and he settles amongst the pillows again.
"You were lucky, Merlin," Gaius says and pulls an extra blanket over him. "Arthur may give you a hard time, but at heart he's a man of honour. There aren't many men who'd have risk what he did for a servant."
He smiles weakly at his guardian. "It would've been for nothing if you didn't know how to make the antidote."
Something strange comes over Gaius' face, an expression that fleetingly has been there before but Merlin hasn't taken much note of it until now. "It wasn't your destiny to die yet," the old man says cryptically before standing and gathering the dirty dishes.
Destiny. The word rings eerily in Merlin's ears. Why can't I have control of it or even know it all, while others around me seem to know? … Nobody gives me any clear answers!
()()()
It takes two days before he's strong enough to be let out of bed. Arthur still hasn't been released from the dungeons and Merlin's apprehension to meet him only grows. But he doesn't mention it to Gaius. The old man would only worry (more than usual) and if the worst happens, Gaius won't be connected to any crimes. Hopefully.
Gwen visits every day. It's nice to hear her voice, as she retells what's happened during the day, of whatever mishaps there might've been but usually there haven't been any. She says that even the cook who's always so annoyed at Merlin, who is so clumsy and drops things and always is in the way, misses him and his cheerful bumbling ways, and some of the other servants too. Even lady Morgana wonders how he fares. Hearing it makes him smile and feel warm inside for some reason, but it's just a tiny feeling, it's nothing compared to the tight knots at the bottom of his stomach. He still can't stop thinking about Arthur and the magic and what if he'd seen?
She doesn't talk much about Arthur, though. She's not one of the servants bringing him meals so she's not seen him, except for the time she snuck down to bring the flower to Gaius. Merlin doesn't want to sound too inquiring, Gwen is already giving him these suspicious looks as if she is figuring out what he's thinking and fearing, and he doesn't want to give her more reason to worry.
Between Gwen's visits there's little to do. He can't read his magic book, since he's not allowed to sleep in his own room yet – Gaius wants to keep a close eye on him – and it's too risky in case anyone walks in.
Mostly, Merlin sleeps and sleeps and in-between he eats, or tries to eat (Gaius' cooking is horrible sometimes, well, most of the time actually and mixed with medicine it's rather dreadful) and then he sleeps some more, falling into dream-worlds where the dragon often lies on the rocky outcropping waiting for him, attacking him with riddles and invisible spears, but it answers none of his questions. Sometimes, Arthur is there too, in the dreams, a shadow in the corner, but the dreams make no sense and the Prince never speaks.
()()()
The candles cause long shadows to creep into the cracks in the wood of the table. Outside, the windows the world is dark, and they're sharing an evening meal. Merlin, with a blanket hunched over his shoulders as he sips the warm comforting broth, decides to ask the question which has plagued him for hours - or possibly days and weeks, all since he first heard the name from the dragon. He just hasn't dared asking until now. The woman – Nimueh, Gaius had said – speaking it had startled him so much and he needs to know.
"Gaius, do you know anything about Emrys?"
The old man visibly reacts, dropping the spoon with a clatter, which in turn startles Merlin. He'd of course hoped Gaius would have heard of it; the old man is the wisest person the young warlock knows, but he's usually so tightlipped that he'd just shake his head anyway and tell him not to think of it, pretending not to know (but Merlin is sure he does). This – this is different.
"Wherever have you heard that name?" he demands sharply.
"I – I read it, in my magic book," Merlin says quickly. Gaius probably wouldn't react well at knowing his ward has been having weekly conversations with a dragon beneath the castle. (A dragon which gives no clear answers no matter how much Merlin bothers it with questions.)
He's already tried sneaking down to the libraries to find answers there, a few times before the goblet incident entirely. But the librarian, Geoffrey, has got something against him, or maybe everyone, because he's usually not let in – and he usually doesn't have time to either, busy when working for both Arthur and Gaius and too tired in-between all of his duties. If he is allowed inside, the man would hover on his shoulder making it impossible for him to use his magic to find what he's looking for, or to look for it at all. Emrys sounds like a magic name, maybe druidic and Merlin's not that big an idiot that he'll openly search for magical things in the royal library. (Such books have probably been burned anyway, unless Geoffrey has some hidden stash somewhere, stored away from prying eyes and the King's knowledge.)
"And …" Merlin hesitates for a moment. "When I was unconscious from the poison, I had a sort of dream, or vision, I'm not sure what it was. I saw a woman in red … She mentioned that name."
The old man is silent for a moment, picking up the spoon and settling it on the table. Then he looks at him, brows furrowed. "Well," he says finally. "I guess you'd come across it sooner or later."
When hearing that, Merlin isn't sure whether to be fearful.
"What does it mean? Who are they?"
A dreamy light enters Gaius' eyes, as if he's been sharing these words around a campfire years ago (how many years? How many decades have it been?) when Camelot was a less dangerous place for sorcerers, when the old man was young and full of hope. Merlin feels apprehensive somehow. He leans in, curious to know.
"There is this prophecy - an ancient prophecy. I'm not sure if the druids were the first to begin speaking of it, or if they carried on word from even further back in time, but through them many other sorcerers and also ordinary folk have come to hear of it. No exact name has been put to who spoke it first or wrote it down - albeit guesses have been made – and there are several versions of it. But they all speak of one thing: a great King, the Once and Future, who one day will rise and unite the scattered people of Albion. And on the King's side Emrys will stand, and together they'll bring peace and harmony to the land – and magic."
Gaius pauses, his face darkening.
"That is what King Uther fears so badly. A return of magic, led by someone who might turn out to be his greatest enemy ... the Purge itself would be threatened. There was once several books in the city were the prophecies were written down but the King had them all burned."
"And the owners of those books?" Merlin wants to ask but doesn't because he's sure of the answer already and Gaius look so pain-stricken by old memories. He doesn't want to tear up the scars.
Instead he asks; "Did they say anything more about Emrys?"
"Only vaguely. Among druids and sorcerers, Emrys is said to be the most powerful sorcerer to ever live or have lived: that he can defeat armies with the sweep of a hand; upturn mountains with a word; turn sand to water without spells. Uther would have the right sense to fear him."
"Some say he's some illusion, not real, and does not walk the earth of mortal men. Others say that he is magic, not just a wielder of it. I myself believe the latter - if he is real at all… Magic folks have been waiting for decades, but there have been no clear signs yet of it coming true – some have lost hope, especially after the Purge."
Merlin's eyes widen. The most powerful sorcerer to ever have lived? That just – that makes no sense! How … why does the dragon keep calling him the name of such a sorcerer? There's no way … His magic might be strong and he does a lot on instinct alone but nothing like that … He could hardly believe himself to be that strong, that no one before or after him will ever share that power. It just – how could it be? He's just a peasant boy from nowhere!
"And that woman I saw? Do you know anything about her?" he can't stop himself from asking.
For once his mentor is straightforward and honest.
"I believe she is the one who poisoned you. She disguised herself as one of Bayard's servants to come here, to witness the fulfilling of her work," Gaius answers. "Nimueh is dangerous and powerful, Merlin, and a Priestess of the Old Religion meaning she does have more raw power than the average sorcerer. A very dangerous enemy to have. You must be careful, if – gods forbid – you ever come face to face with her again."
"But I still don't understand … Why did she go through all the trouble of framing Bayard? She could've just kept quiet and killed Arthur using some curse from afar …"
"But destroying Arthur and Camelot wasn't what she was after. She knew you would be forced to drink that wine. It was you she targeted." The old man pauses, and the next words weigh heavy, and the old man pins him down with a look Merlin can't read. "It seems that someone else knows you must destined for great things."
Destiny. Merlin's chest clenches.
"Merlin," his guardian reminds him before going to bed; "You shouldn't speak of this to anyone. Never utter those two names aloud. The King could have you beheaded for simply having heard of her, and of Emrys. You must be careful."
The warlock nods shortly, his blood pumping fast in his veins and rushing loudly past his ears, and he's unable to form an answer.
()()()
King Bayard and his company are released the same day as Arthur is, and the following morning, they ride out through the city gates.
The question of peace and war is standing on the edge of a knife, and they have to wait for a few anxious days before it is clear whether Bayard will take his arrest as an insult enough to attack, or if he will see that Uther has realized his mistake and still seek peace. The soldiers and knights are on high alert in any case; ready to be sent out to defend the kingdom if the worst is to happen.
Arthur stands on the battlements watching them leave, relieved despite of the threat.
"Let the bragging begin, then," his step-sister says as she rounds up to him, smiling mysteriously. Arthur always had had a difficult time trying to figure out what went through her head. "How did you do it?"
For once, he cannot boast; there's nothing to say. Perhaps when fighting the cockatrice … but no. In the end, it wasn't just skill or even dumb luck.
"I didn't do it on my own," he admits at last, and instead of looking smug, Morgana looks astonished. "It was strange … Someone sensed I was in trouble and sent a light to guide the way. Without them I'd probably be dead by now."
He looks over the wall, at the sky. Who are you? he asks it, wherever this mysterious savior might be. They obviously used sorcery. But why would anyone aid the prince of Camelot with magic?
Only a fool.
Morgana looks at him oddly, her expression difficult to read. There are no taunting words, perplexingly enough, but Arthur is relieved. He has a lot on his mind, too much to be able to deal with Morgana's sharp tongue.
His father approaches them. Sensing this is going to be a father-son conversation, Morgana takes her leave, but Arthur is certain she is going to taunt him for weeks to come about his inability to save himself (or, perhaps, she'll taunt him for his sudden willingness to risk his life for a servant, something which Arthur tries not to think of too much. The subject makes him uneasy).
He hasn't forgotten what his father told him in the cell, the warning left behind: "There's a wrong way and a right way of doing things." echoing between the walls.
"Father," he acknowledges.
The King rests his palms against the stone. "It's been years since Camelot has been so close to open war, as we were now. Only thanks to has it been avoided."
It's the closest to a forgiving he'll come, and Arthur accepts it with open arms. His father's next words however make him falter in bewilderment. "That woman you met in the forest – what did she say to you?"
"Not much," Arthur admits. "It was strange though."
"In what way?"
"I was at her mercy. She could have killed me right then and there, but she didn't. She let me go. It's odd … I think she said that 'it wasn't my destiny to die at her hand'."
There's a change in the wind, and his father's eyes grows distant. "You must have been scared."
"Had its moments," Arthur answers, keeping his tone light; he'll never admit how he felt then, with the nameless woman towering about him and her magic so close to his skin, intrusive and dangerous, and then the relief, the hope which the strange blue light then rekindled in him.
He hasn't said anything about a light in the reports to his father, and doesn't plan on telling anyone – except Morgana, but she is trustworthy. (She's always been rather calm when it comes to magic, never shown any direct fear of it, and she's spoken against Uther several times when the order of execution is brought up.) It's best that way.
"Those who practice magic know only evil," Uther says firmly. "They despise and seek to destroy goodness wherever they find it. That is why she wanted you dead. She is evil."
"You sound as if you know her," Arthur remarks, startled.
"To know the heart of one sorcerer is to know them all." The King leans back from the wall and lays a hand on his shoulder, speaking sincerely. "You did the right thing, even though you disobeyed me. I'm proud of you, Arthur. Never forget that."
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Later that night, Merlin sneaks out of his room, past the physician and the guards and deep down under the sleeping city, waving a torch for attention.
"Hey! Dragon! I need to talk to you!"
The large creature lands on the usual outcropping, regarding him with a curious twinkle in its eye. "I am here. There is no need to yell in such a manner."
"Why do you keep calling me Emrys?"
"Because you are. Is it so difficult to understand, young warlock?"
Merlin glares at the giant creature. "I, no– yes. Why me? Why not someone else? This has to be a mistake. Arthur might be the Once and Future King, one day, when (if) he's less an idiot, but I'm not this Emrys. I can't be. My magic isn't that strong and I – I don't know that much, I can't bring magic back to Camelot! That's impossible! Plus Arthur'd never take me seriously, if I ever told him. Of course he wouldn't! There must be someone else, a druid who knows more, or someone grand—"
"Merlin."
The warlock flinches and goes quiet. The dragon only called him by his real name that first time when he arrived at Camelot, open-eyed and curious.
"There is no other sharing your fate. Your destiny may intertwine with others', but it isn't and shall never be another's to carry."
"Please," Merlin pleads, in despair – he can't shoulder that burden and those expectations all alone, he can't, it's so unfair. He never wanted to be this different! He never wanted to be special! He just wanted to grow up without the secrets piling up on one another!
"I'm not Emrys. I can't be. The prophecies and you and everyone calling me that – you're wrong. You're all wrong!"
He throws the torch to the ground causing the flame to flicker and then rushes out, up and up and out into the cool night air.
Down in the cave, the air is damp and warm from the fire in the dragon's belly, but up here it's cold and free. He dashes past the guards the moment they look away.
But not toward Gaius' chamber. No, he can't – can't face anyone right now, can't face anyone's questions. Instead he flees toward the battlements. There's no one by the eastern tower except for a bored-looking guard, and Merlin steals past while the man's back is turned and sinks to the ground behind a pillar, exhausted and with his chest clenching and discovers there are tears in his eyes, warm and wet. He doesn't remember having start crying, but now he just can't stop.
Damn it, he thinks, furious and confused and hurt and lonely, I don't want it to be like this! I just want to live my life without an already planned fate, without having to save lives or live up to those grand things, without the expectations. Without any already written names. I just - I just want to be me.
()()()
Merlin wakes up with a terrible crick in his neck.
And he's also very, very cold from the constant whining wind; his arms feel like ice-blocks. He's curled in a now uncomfortable position on the stone, nestled in an alcove that offers little protection. His lower stomach aches slightly, a sign he'd usually recognize at any time, but now he's too preoccupied by the stubborn, biting chill to pay heed to the warning.
It takes a moment to remember what he's doing here.
Then he notices something else: a glare, furiously burning against his temple.
"Merlin," the Prince berates him in an irritated, loud manner, but most of his voice is stolen by the wind. His hair hasn't been combed, Merlin notes, and the upper part of his tunic hasn't been fastened. He looks decidedly unprincely. He sounds decidedly unprincely.
"You shouldn't be out of bed!" Arthur continues to attack. "You've barely recovered from poisoning, you fool."
"Err," Merlin says, he's been expecting more … yelling. And swearing. And anger. And guards. Where are the guards, with their spears and accusations and where are the orders of arrest …? Why is Arthur standing there alone and empty-handed? Is he … worried?
Nothing makes any sense.
"Come on, let's get you to Gaius. He's furious you know. He says your bed hasn't even been slept in! Have you been out here all night? You are one big idiot, Merlin. If you die because of some stupid cold and I've gone through all of that trouble for nothing, I am personally going to kill you."
Strong hands (they're warm and nice compared to the wind) grasp his shoulders and haul him up, making Merlin dizzy. Arthur's hands, he realizes, he's not noticed before how pleasant they are. Is he supposed to be this dizzy? His arm itches and his feet don't feel that steady against the ground. But Arthur's hands are nice and comforting and he doesn't want them to let go.
"Sorry," he manages to wheeze. "Didn't mean to."
The prince rolls his eyes. "Of course not. Come now." Internally Merlin marvels at the prince's sudden kindness and unpratliness as he supports him on the way down three sharply dwindling stairs, and how the man remains stoic and unaffected at the surprised looks from the guards when they pass them by, all the way to Gaius' rooms.
"What were you doing out there anyway?"
"I – nothing," Merlin says and looks away. He doesn't want the prince to know about the tears, he'd been teased mercilessly about that. "Just … thinking."
"So you do that from time to time; I was starting to wonder."
It's really cold and it takes forever before they reach Gaius' chambers which are warm from the fire burning low in the hearth.
"Ha ha," the warlock mutters dryly and lets himself be lowered down onto a bed. It's much more comfortable than the stone floor.
"Now, don't move an inch or I'll have you thrown in the stocks," Arthur threatens and looks around the room. "Where's Gaius? I'll have to find him. Wrap yourself in a blanket, or something," he tells Merlin who has no problem obeying for once. "Don't want your stupid ears to fall off from the cold." The man tugs at the hem of the servant's damp clothes. "And change out of these!"
Startled the warlock glances up at the Prince and momentarily feels terrified at the thought of undressing where Arthur can see, see him and his secrets, but the Prince has already turned away; he quickly walks into Merlin's room and there's the sound of shuffling.
After a minute he returns with arms full of creased clothing; a plain sleeping shirt and a pair of thick socks. Merlin can't help but blush – Arthur's just searched through his belongings without a second thought! What if he'd kept something personal there? – and then be incredibly thankful that the man didn't discover anything important, like his magic book.
The clothes are dumped on his lap, followed by an order: "Well, go on then. I'm fetching Gaius. Don't dare move!"
Arthur turns on his heel and the moment the door's closed, Merlin sighs tiredly and heaves out of bed just enough to wriggle out of the damp clothes – Arthur's right for once; sleeping in them would've been terribly uncomfortable – and puts on the nightshirt, and peels off his boots replacing them with the clean warm socks. Ah. That's better.
Merlin really would like some tea but that meant having to get up, fetch a cup, put a pot on the fire … That means getting out of the cover of the bed and step back into the chilly air. Ugh. He nuzzles his toes into the blanket and wishes it was lined with fur, like the ones in the Prince's chamber.
His eyes turn golden and a pot conveniently gets filled with water and floats over to the fire, and it takes not long for it to heat and then he pours its contents in a cup. A handful of leaves are added at the bottom and the cup finds its way to Merlin's waiting hands. There - much better. Pleased he smiles to himself and snuggles into the blanket. Magic is nice to have sometimes.
(And having Arthur fussing like that is also kind of nice ... even if he does it in his own prattish way.)
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