Author's note: I know, I know, the plot's moving slowly and I haven't updated in seemingly forever - I am terribly sorry about that! But "real life" has kept me busy; I've now entered my final semester at college (or what's equivalent to college in Sweden) and a lot of things are going on. But I'm not abandoning this story!
I have planned out the next couple of chapters hoping to speed up the plot a little, but there are some things that need to happen first. However I've taken my reviewers' words into consideration and this chapter has let out some scenes that more or less happen exactly as in the series. There might be a paragraph or two about it though, but I'm trying to find a balance.
This chapter has been bothering me for months – I've never seemed to get it written! Really, it must not like me. It's really annoying when it's basically one small chapter, a few paragraphs, that puts a work to a halt, and I'm terribly, terribly sorry for this massive delay with updating. I'm going to work as hard and fast as I can with finishing chapter 15 on time!
A thought on medicine in the Merlin era: I know that there are many flaws in the series regarding accuracy (for example the use of mirrors) that I've more or less disregarded and included in my stories anyway. However, I think in episode 1.06 they seem to know a lot more than people did back then about medicine, and using words that weren't invented yet or in use in those days. So I've changed thing a bit, not so that it bothers the story-line, but if comparing to the original series you might notice a slight difference. Just a side-note.
Thank you all patient readers and reviewers, and I'm apologizing in advance for any errors!
()()()
I Am the Embers of Your Fire - You Are the Breaking of My Dawn
Part 14
()()()
The following day is cold, as if the sun itself had sensed the unease of the city and taken to avoid the usual bustle; thick clouds hiding it from view and chilling the stone walls.
Arthur wakes early and for once, Merlin doesn't barge in loudly announcing breakfast; rather slipping in softly and constantly glancing at the door as if wishing to get out. And Arthur cannot blame him; Merlin has a ridiculously big heart that he constantly wears upon his sleeve, and clearly he is worried for Morgana, just as the Prince. Perhaps not for personal reasons, but more since the servant is friends with Morgana's maid, Gwen. The Prince has seen the two together in the corridors often enough to know – it appears innocent and platonic as they walk side by side, talking and laughing, but then sometimes they halt by the doors and waits and that's when this strange pain work its way into Arthur's gut.
Briefly Arthur wonders if the two linger by the lady's bedside at night, all on their own, and it's like slow black poison creeps into his heart.
He dismisses the thought swiftly. Thinking more of it only makes it worse. Besides, it's probably not true. The two appear to have an entirely amicable relationship. Gaius is there almost relentlessly trying to cure Morgana, find what sickness has befallen her – the pair wouldn't be alone and definitely not attempt any … any such things.
Why is he even thinking of it? Silently Arthur curses. Such thoughts are only painful and distracting. If Merlin ever found out what went through the Prince's head on dark doubtful nights –
He stands up abruptly, dropping the knife onto the table. "I'm going to Morgana's chambers. My father is probably there, as is Gaius. Clean this up." He gestures as the dishes scattered about.
"Can't I come with –" Merlin starts. Arthur catches the pleading look on his face, the wide worried eyes, and almost crumbles.
But then he shakes his head. What's he doing? Normally, a mere servant's plead would not concern him, not make him falter and rightly so it shouldn't. But Merlin …
"I know you wish to visit her, but I can't allow it, not while my father's there. He's still …"
He halts. Sensitive isn't quite the right word – and anyway, Merlin is but a servant and should not have knowledge of how the King personally fares, for it would only risk striking worry into the citizens of Camelot, if rumours were to be spread. No, some things are better left unsaid. The Prince holds the servant's gaze for a moment longer, clearing his throat.
"Anyway, I'll call for you later. Perhaps then we can go see her, but I cannot guarantee anything. Just go about your usual duties for now."
A small sigh escapes the servant's lips. "Fine, sire. Will do."
()()()
Just as Arthur is walking down the corridor along which Morgana's chambers are located - the servants giving him a wide berth, for the Prince's face is dark and his steps hurried - a guard runs up to him. The man's hair is askew beneath the helmet, and telling by the depth and speed of his breath he has just run some way, obviously in a rush.
"Sire! Sire, please, wait. I bear a message." The guard bows deeply and Arthur pauses, waiting patiently for him to continue. He's not in the mood for this! If it's just some peasant requesting an audience he'll pass it onto the advisors for now. He simply cannot handle any of their petty affairs now when Morgana is lying in that room, cold and pale and –
"There's a man by the castle gates, requesting your audience."
"Is it a commoner? Fetch Lord Ector for now and tell him to take care of it. I don't have time for this."
The guard hesitates for a moment. "No, sire, it's not just a commoner. He is a physician."
"Yes? Speak up before I lose my patience altogether!"
Perhaps he ought to tell Merlin to dismiss impudent guards such as this right away when they come knocking on his chamber door. He has no time for this!
But the next words make him freeze. "The man claims that he has come to aid the Lady Morgana, sire, and that he has a remedy to cure all ills."
()()()
Peasant or not – maybe the man might just be a fraud, a liar – but still, he claims he can cure any sickness. If there's even the slightest chance …
Hesitation cannot be afforded. Gaius has already said Morgana has just a few days left. Maybe even hours. He has tried everything possible he knows. Yet, naught has helped. Surely, even if this man is a lying stranger, it's worth a try?
In Morgana's room, his father is kneeling by the bedside, distraught. His face has grayened and frowns are painted on his brow, and his hands stroke the lady's forehead distractedly. While the king doesn't react at his entrance, Gaius looks up and nods in acknowledgement.
"Any change yet?" Arthur asks, a tiny hope still burning in his chest. If …
But the old man shakes his head. "I'm sorry sire, but there's no sign of recovery. She has hours, maybe less."
Arthur closes his eyes tight and leans against the wall, letting his palms supporting the weight. His voice is raw, harsh; his eyelids burn briefly. Morgana – ever the stubborn impudent warrior-princess – she simply cannot … cannot disappear.
It just cannot be allowed to happen.
"We cannot let her die!"
Below, Uther draws a ragged breath. Abruptly Arthur realizes just how fragile his father is, how tight the scarred hands are gripping Morgana's smooth unblemished one. "Arthur, please …"
His father never begs, is never that brittle. He never cries. If Morgana doesn't make it, if she's so brutally taken away from them, Arthur realizes now, his father may not recover. He may descend into some madness, fuelled by grief, and Arthur himself might lose himself to sorrow also. Morgana has always been like a sister to him and has always, always been there. He's never been without her, never been alone.
"There's a man, he requests an audience," he says, searching his father's face for any signs. Sign of hope or recognition. "He claims he can cure her."
"How?" Gaius asks shortly, eyes narrowing.
Also the King raises his voice. "Ridiculous! He cannot possibly know what ill has struck her, even less cure her!"
Arthur takes a deep breath. Then he says, mustering a calm tone: "He says he has a remedy to cure all ills."
"That is impossible," the physician exclaims, words laced with suspicion. "Many things remain undiscovered to man, and there are some things no man can cure. I have attempted any logical method I know to rouse the lady, and nothing has worked –"
"For Morgana's sake, surely we should at least hear him out. What do we have to lose?" Arthur reaches out to grasp his father's shoulder. "Please, father."
"He might just be a charlatan hoping for a quick shilling," Gaius warns.
"I don't care! Morgana is dying. If there is the slightest chance of saving her, then give him a shilling! Father, I beg of you. This might be our last chance – should we truly waste it?"
At last the King raises his head, and he nods solemnly, fixing Arthur down with a stare. There's fear as well as hope in there. Arthur knows that look. It's a warning: if this fails, he shall be found responsible. But also if it works and this stranger can truly heal Morgana, Uther will be grateful for a long time to come; it'll be a work well done, as if this were a quest or battle which Arthur had to master.
"Send for him," the King demands.
Arthur is already half-way to the door when the verdict comes.
()()()
He really does not like armour. It's always too cold (or too hot after lying under the sun for too long) and heavy, and it rusts. At least it rusts if he doesn't go back and clean and polish every day. It's such a bother. If men could simply stop fighting and doing other stupid things that wouldn't require them to wear armour!
It's is the reason Merlin is down in the armoury right now, where the air is cool, constantly biting to his skin. Sometimes he carries the chainmail up to Gaius' rooms and does the cleaning there, where it's slightly warmer and not as dark, but the physician always complains when he does and right now, when Morgana is ill, he doesn't want to bring the old man's mood down even more. He's weary enough as it is.
He is sitting cross-legged by one of the tables, having an argument in his head, trying to distract himself from worrying about Lady Morgana, when one of the other servants in the castle open the door and calls out his name. Merlin looks up, frowning. What now? Surely Arthur couldn't want to give him another chore yet? It had only been half an hour at most since he left the Prince's chambers.
"Merlin, you're needed in the Throne Room," the servant says. He glances at him questioningly, probably wondering why the Prince would make such a request when his servant obviously is busy with another chore, but Merlin can only shrug in reply. With a clinking sound the metal pieces are set down on the table, and Merlin rises to his feet.
"Is something wrong?" he asks carefully. "Has something happened?"
"I've no idea. His highness said it was urgent though."
A sudden thought enter Merlin's mind unwillingly, making his chest tighten with anxiety. Had Lady Morgana worsened? Had someone else also been struck down with her illness? But then, why would Arthur call him to the Throne Room of all places?
He quickens his step.
When he arrives there, he finds the Prince, the King and Gaius conversing with a man he's never seen before. He's not a servant, and he might not be from Camelot at all. His robe is brown and his clothes marred by weather or time, or both; but that his nothing unusual.
But his face is horribly scarred – Merlin has never seen marks like that before, and doubts he would forget it if he had – stretched across his cheek and up the brow, giving him a rather intimidating look. They're faded by years but still painfully sharp against the rest of his pale skin. His eyes are dark and misty as if by thought, his hands wrung together. They too are worn as if they'd been burned long ago and never quite healed. While his stance is relaxed and at ease, Merlin glimpses a slight furrow on his forehead.
Merlin approaches slowly and bows his head, unable to completely look away from the stranger, but the King doesn't notice, deeply in conversation with the man. Gaius too is distracted, but Arthur feels his presence and beckons him forward.
"Where've you been?" the Prince mutters in that stressed and annoyed tone he only uses when under pressure. "You're late."
"Sorry, I was in the armoury," Merlin answers quietly, distracted. He glances at the scarred man as the speaking voices are raised – Gaius sounds either disbelieving or upset, it's difficult to tell. It might be something else entirely.
Arthur grunts in response, but returns his focus upon the other conversation in the room.
"An antidote for everything?" the old healer is saying, disbelief evident in his voice. "That is hardly possible."
An antidote for everything? echo in the hall, between the stone, and Merlin barely holds back a gasp. He must've let it show on his face, because briefly Arthur glances at him, and Merlin bites his lip to stay silent. There is no way for him to reveal how the man's words has struck a chord deep down in his heart, touching the hope lying trembling there.
An antidote for everything…
The scarred man meets the physician's claim (or is it an accusation?) calmly. "There are not many ills that I have not seen and successfully treated. May I ask what sickness that has struck the Lady?"
"An infection of some kind," Gaius replies. "Her body is shutting down seemingly for no reason."
"And your treatment?"
"Yarrow and rosemarine. For her blood-flow to quicken."
The scarred man nods thoughtfully. "Interesting."
"Why? What would you suggest?"
"No, no, that is all fine. All good. That is, if it's the right diagnosis."
This startles Uther, whose face is dark, heavy rings beneath his eyes and a tightness around his mouth; it's obvious he's both concerned and grieving. "What would your diagnosis be?" he asks the scarred man.
"Well, without examining the patient…" he says leisurely, and Arthur takes a step forward without hesitation.
"He should be allowed to examine her, father."
The King draws a breath, then looks at his son and nods in agreement. A frown flickers by on Gaius' face, but Merlin barely notices, because he's staring transfixed at the scarred man, hands knotting as he fights with himself not to step up and ask – 'Can you really cure anything?' – not just because he's in the presence of the King, but because of the fear that the hope curling in his belly would be smothered.
"I would need my equipment. It shall take but a moment to fetch them, my lord; they are by the inn."
"Of course. A guest chamber shall be prepared for you. My manservant shall be at your disposal during your stay, Edwin," Arthur says, and normally at such an order Merlin would've kicked him in the shin – Arthur never really lends him out like that, but he can imagine the Prince doing it simply to annoy him - but now he is too distracted.
The man, Edwin, bows again to the royals. "Thank you, sire. I shall need to look at the patient to be able to determine the exact cause of the disease, sire."
"Of course," Arthur responds jerkily, clearly distracted by his step-sister's illness. "Come with me."
"I need my instruments and tools, milord; it shall only take a moment to fetch them."
Merlin jerks into action when the Prince nudges his elbow, telling him to go after the scarred man. His eyes remains fixed on the man, a constant thought remains at the back of his head and he can't chase it away.
Can he really cure anything?
()()()
The trip to the lower town is swift. The scarred man glances at him but once, briefly, in an almost dismissing manner – perhaps because he's a servant. While not serving the King here, Edwin is a physician and a knowledgeable man, thus his status is greater. It doesn't bother Merlin much, because there's something unsettling about having the man's dim eyes fixed upon him. He follows the man quietly.
Today the sky is grey and the sun hangs low, almost sickly, on the sky, pale and distant. Edwin has taken up lodgings in the Rising Sun, the biggest and murkiest of the city's inns. Merlin's only seen it from the outside before, never having any reason to approach it.
As he waits for Edwin to speak with the barman and owner, Merlin glances around. The smoky tavern is filled with men in filthy clothes, their raw laughter cutting through the air; they are drinking beer or playing dice. Some converse in loud voices, others in whispers, their eyes wandering about the room distrustfully. The only woman present is the serving girl, busily walking between the tables and the bar. "Come," Edwin says, leading him up a stair.
The room is small and simple, a single mattress upon the floor. There's a bedside table and not much else. In a corner, proper up against a wall, is a large bag, which Merlin sees is half-open and overflowing with books and boxes. Edwin kneels down and picks up one or two of the boxes on top, then gestures Merlin to pick up the rest. Fortunately it's not as heavy as it looks.
"Now we must hurry to the Lady Morgana. There isn't much time."
()()()
Once the items have been carried to her chambers, Edwin ushers them all out – even Gaius, about which Merlin's a bit surprised. Everyone else might just be in the way, a distraction, but surely it'd be useful for Edwin to be aided by another physician?
But he's just a servant so nobody would listen to him anyway. Along with the Prince, who too doesn't seem to like the fact he's now allowed inside the room, he lingers outside the door, impatiently waiting.
Gaius is not there; he's gone with the King, waiting in an adjourning chamber. Uther is understandably distracted. To stand or pace down a corridor would only be unsettling for both him and Gaius.
Merlin can't hinder himself, murmuring to the Prince; "Do you really think Edwin can cure anything, sire?"
Even if the Prince knows little more than he, he wants to hear it, wants to hear Arthur's expressed belief. Because if he can – if Edwin can …
Arthur is silent for a moment, mulling over the question. Then he shifts from one foot to the other and says, "I don't know, but I hope he can cure Morgana at least."
()()()
After just minutes, Edwin opens the door. His face has lightened, and this sparks hope in Arthur, the Prince not hesitating to ask: "Well?"
"I bear joyful news, sire. There was no infection. I have managed to give her my cure successfully."
"She's – she's alright?"
The scarred man nods, and relief lightens Arthur's face, and for Merlin it's like a heavy stone has been dropped off his chest. "Thank ye Gods! When will she awaken?" Arthur inquires, impatience bubbling over the edges, making it difficult for him to stand still.
"In a matter of moments I believe, sire."
Without hesitating, the Prince walks right past the man and into the Lady's chambers. Merlin sets to follow and Edwin moves out of the way to let them pass, without a word, but his gaze finds the warlock for a moment – Merlin furrows his brows slightly, but the physician doesn't hold his eyes for long, and the moment is broken.
And as predicted, the Lady is on the borders of waking as the Prince enters, Merlin close on his heels; Arthur settles at her bedside. A bit uncertain if it'd be all right for him to sit down, the servant lingers standing a bit behind the Prince, hands knotting behind his back.
"Morgana?" Arthur asks. "Can you hear me?"
"Arthur?" As if confused, she blinks at him, her eyes slowly clearing. "What are you doing here?"
"You were ill, but we found a cure." The Prince gestures to get Merlin's attention: "Go and fetch Gaius and my father."
The servant nods and hurries to do as he bids. He'd like to stay in Morgana's room to see that the Lady truly is fine. As he locates the King and Gaius and tells them she's awake, Merlin sees for the first time as Uther's face cracks, shining with relief and joy; something he'll probably not see for a long while afterwards.
Once they return, the King rushes up to Morgana's side quickly. "Oh, Morgana! I am so glad you are all right! How do you feel? Are you in any pain?"
"No, I feel fine," Morgana says. Her face is brighter than before and her voice stronger, clearer. "Though I remember little of what has happened."
"I found this in her ear," Edwin says softly, making himself known, and as heads turn in his direction he shows them a piece of previously white cloth now matted with red.
"God in heaven!" gasps the King, flinching.
Arthur hisses sharply: suddenly, silence falls over the chamber, the soft murmurs between the King and Morgana fading away. "You should be glad you had not administered more rosemary," Edwin continues, face toward Gaius. "To imagine what such an action would have led to…"
"I have treated the Lady for many days, but there was no blood in her ear at any time," Gaius says defensively.
Merlin's gaze flickers between the two men, and then toward the Lady. While gaunt and yet pale, her face is now full of life, and there's no trace of blood what he can see. Gwen is propping her up against the pillows more comfortably, but the maidservant also hears what Edwin says and glances upwards to meet Merlin's eyes. A frown flickers across her brow. All this happens quietly and quickly, and – too early to draw any conclusions – Merlin can only shrug helplessly. He doesn't know any more than Gwen; cannot prove or disprove Edwin's words.
Part of him doesn't want to. A part of him which is slowly growing in his chest doesn't want Edwin to be wrong, to have lied, to be a fraud – it settles a slight throbbing fear at the pit of his stomach, threatening to smother the hope that's also been kindled there.
"Then how would you explain this proof?" Edwin says.
"I …" Gaius halts, seemingly at loss for words. "I … I cannot. But I have no memory of there being any blood."
"All men make mistakes," Uther says sharply. He glances at his beloved ward. "Let us not discuss this now. For she is not in any imminent danger now?"
"Not at all, sire," Edwin assures them quickly, and smiles slightly. "She is out of all harm now."
()()()
Merlin stands slightly behind Arthur as usual as he observes them out of the corner of his eye, the King and the Prince and the Lady – colour has now returned to her cheeks - sitting on perched seats before the court: his main focus is fixed on the scarred man in the middle of the chamber.
"I will stay to see my patient has fully recovered. Then, I shall take my leave."
"Surely you wish for a reward!" the King says, his tone leaving room for little or no argument. "Stay for some time. I am sure Gaius and you could exchange much wisdom and knowledge."
It's not an offer; it's an order, and Edwin would be a fool to refuse. The scarred man knows this and he bows at the waist. "If this is His Majesty's wishes, then I shall adhere. I shall linger for some more time in your glorious city, sire. Gaius is well-renowned throughout the land and I look forward to perhaps learning from him."
"Excellent! Then it is settled. Please, dine with my family and I tonight," Uther says, nodding approvingly when Edwin bows again in confirmation.
Once court has been dissolved, Merlin follows Arthur out. The Prince is already queuing a long list of chores for the servant to do, polishing and sharpening and scrubbing, and Merlin nods when he (thinks he) is supposed to.
"…and Edwin says he requires an assistant. Gaius is far too busy and important, and the only person with any kind of experience in the matter is you – unimaginable as it may sound – therefore, you're most fit for the job." Arthur frowns for some reason; Merlin isn't sure, maybe the prat is just annoyed he won't be able to annoy the servant if he starts working for Edwin, even if it may be half-time. "I shall speak to the Chief of Staff about it. But that'll have to wait; the stables have been very neglected as of late."
"Too busy? I'm busy too!" Merlin splutters in protest once the Prince's words register.
For the first time in ages, a smirk twists at the corners of Arthur's mouth. "Didn't you listen at all? Once you've finished with mucking out by horses, you can tend to my armour and oh, clean the floors in the chambers as well." He makes a gesture with his right hand, ignoring the servant's grimace. "Well, off you go then!"
()()()