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Beginning of the End
He's slumped in a chair at Gaius's, tired. Several ancient books are opened in front of him, sprawled out over the table. The pages are yellowing and frayed at the edges. Entire sections seem to be missing. A few books are not even books at all, for in the middle there are holes cut into them, a secret compartment for hiding things. He doesn't want to know what could possibly be so bad Gaius needs to hide it. His head rests on said table, drool dribbling down his chin. Hours. He's been at work for hours. Between helping Gaius with actually tending to patients and researching magic for Arthur, he's exhausted.
A scoff and a sneer greet him when he wakes, snapping his head up to see Nimueh's cold eyes regarding him with contempt.
"You call this working?" she narrows her eyes at him.
"It's nearly midnight!" Merlin argues, motioning to stand.
She rolls her eyes, but bites her tongue before she can hammer him with a few scathing words. In her arms is a basket filled with herbs, which only had healing properties when collected after dusk. She slams it down on the rickety old table. Merlin looks at the basket and herbs dumbly. He had forgotten to go help Gaius, and his eyes widen.
"I don't know why he puts up with you," she mutters under her breath. She turns to sweep out of the small room. She does not live in Camelot, but instead returns to the Isle even though accommodations in the castle would be more comfortable. She doesn't want to be too near to these people. Their stupidity and attitudes make her sick. She'll never admit that she can feel her humanity returning and her quest for vengeance slipping away. After all, Uther is imprisoned. It's what she had wanted for more than twenty years (and several lifetimes). Now she has her wish.
"Thank you," Merlin says quietly, "for helping Gaius."
Her back is to him when she answers, "He's old, Merlin."
There's an indescribable tone in her voice and she waltzes out of the room, leaving the young man to scratch his head in confusion.
He nearly jogs back to the castle, avoiding the guards who probably wouldn't notice him anyway. He creeps into the entrance, through the halls, and up the stairs. The door to her, their chambers is locked and he murmurs quietly, as not to awaken the woman asleep.
"Tóspringe," he opens the doorand closes it behind him. He pulls off his shoes and unties his neckerchief. His shirt and trousers are discarded as well. He looks around in the dark in vain for his nightshirt, and hears a muffled laugh coming from under the covers. He steps toward the bed, only the top of Morgana's head visible for she's buried herself under the covers.
"Very funny," he grumbles like an old man.
His fiancee pokes her head out from the blanket, sticking her tongue out at him.
"What took you so long?" she asks as he slips onto the bed, one leg dangling off the edge.
He sighs, "I was supposed to help Gaius collect herbs, but I fell asleep. Nimueh lectured me."
Morgana snorts in a very unladylike manner before appearing apologetic.
"It's not as if she'd go out into the forest in the middle of the night," she offers, wrapping an arm around him.
Guilt darkens his eyes, "She did."
She looks surprised and confused all at once.
"Gaius is old, Morgana," Merlin gulps.
She sits up in bed, her mint green night gown slipping off her narrow shoulders. A worried frown crosses her lips.
"Do you think?" she doesn't have to finish her sentence.
"I don't know. He's been slower lately, and more exhausted."
The young warlock's brow furrows and he sighs once more, looking at the ceiling. Morgana reaches over and brushes his ever-growing hair out of his face and kisses his cheek softly. He turns to face her and musters a weak smile. He kisses her lips gently and wraps his arms around her waist. She in turn kisses his forehead and whispers, "Goodnight."
The new King is distressed. Distress is an understatement. He's standing in his chambers, in front of his wardrobe, without trousers. His night shirt is rumpled and it's obvious he's had a fitful night instead of resting. He glares at the trousers and pouts dramatically, though no one is there to see. He's between manservants since his former manservant had to go and be a sorcerer (quite a good one at that) and become a member of the court as magical adviser and betrothed of the Lady Morgana. He sneers in the mirror at the thought of his foster sister and ex-manservant (and dare he say it, friend). He's never see a match so unlikely, in his honest opinion.
He glares still at the wardrobe, as if he'll magically be dressed and ready for the day. The only reason he was able to be ready so early in the morning the day of the meeting and passing of laws (and every other day after that) was because Guinevere had so thoughtfully sent one of the other servants to assist him. She knows him well. But, that servant had caught the illness that was spreading around Camelot (running poor Gaius thin, and Nimueh greatly impatient).
Arthur barrels into the hallway. Most people are still asleep. The castle is deserted. How he's managed the past few weeks without Merlin's 'rise and shine' he's not sure.
So the trouser-less king storms through the halls of his castle, grumbling. About the stupid dollop head that is Merlin. And his laziness.
He reaches Morgana, er, Morgana and Merlin's chambers (he gets a bad taste in his mouth just joining their names together, let alone knowing they share a bed before the wedding) and knocks on the door. There's no reply. He tries again, only to hear a muffled thump. He swings open the door and dodges a boot flying his way.
"What are you doing?" Merlin's sitting up in bed, skinny arms holding another boot, prepared to throw it.
A crown of dark curls shakes, and Morgana flips onto her stomach, covering her ears with a pillow.
"Do you expect me to dress myself?" the king asks indignantly.
"Ehm, yes?" Merlin bursts out into laughter upon seeing Arthur's lack of trousers.
Morgana raises her head, opening bleary eyes. She immediately wakes up and erupts into a fit of giggles before burying her head under the covers once more.
"It's not funny!" Arthur pouts, turning to leave. Merlin's laughter gets louder and he's positive Morgana's laughed herself to death. He changes his mind. Their match isn't unlikely at all. No, they're perfect for one another.
"Honestly Arthur, you're a grown man," Merlin yawns as he throws a red shirt at the king a half hour later.
Arthur frowns and slips the shirt over his head. Merlin passes him a pair of black trousers and Arthur steps into them. Merlin then hands him a belt and the king frowns.
"Are there more holes in this?" Arthur asks suspiciously.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Merlin says instantly, edging towards a table.
Arthur glares, "I am not fat!"
"Not yet, anyway," Merlin says under his breath. His eyes widen and he scurries out the door right as a plate hits the wall. He pokes his head back in and grins.
"Your aim's gotten worse," he says before dashing away.
"Merlin!" the king shouts, putting his belt on. He goes to the third loop as always, and it feels like he's being squeezed to death. He looks down and frowns. Feasts. It was just from all the feasts they've been having lately. He's fighting fit. He's fighting fit.
Morgana strolls through the market, Gwen at her side. The Lady rifles through silks and satins and sashes, trying to find the perfect fabric for her wedding dress. Whites, silvers, and gold. That's what she wants. Elegant and classic.
Gwen watches her friend in amusement as she excitedly hold different fabrics up to her face, giddy as a little child. The engagement ring is small, but lovely, and looks like it was created to specifically fit Morgana's hand and Morgana's hand only. Knowing Merlin, he probably intended just that.
"What about this?" Morgana asks, holding up white silk with an overlay of silver and grey flowers.
"It's lovely, my Lady," Gwen says with a smile. Morgana frowns at her.
"Enough with the 'my Lady' business, Gwen. It's a new age in Camelot," Morgana chastises her.
"Sorry, Morgana," Gwen stresses her name.
She, in turn, smiles and speaks to the vendor. She purchases six feet of the fabric, then adds another two feet. She's scheduled to meet with Camelot's finest dressmaker later in the day for measurements. The parcel of fabric in arm, she links her other arm with Gwen as they make their way back to the castle.
This is nice. This is the life she could've had. She's just glad she got another chance.
What had started as simple colds has turned into twenty-five cases of a mysterious illness. Five of the patients are at Gaius's, too ill to move or even speak. There was one death-a little boy.
Merlin blinked back tears and wiped his face with the back of his hand. A postmortem has to be performed. He gently touches the little's boys head, covered by shaggy ginger hair. He brushes the hair aside and looks at the marks on his forehead. Strange. None of the others with the illness has that. He pulls up the boy's sleeves. A large black mark mars his wrist. His other wrist has no such mark.
His brow furrows. He recognises the mark, but he doesn't know from where. He moves across the room to grab a book, flipping through it. There's nothing to help him. Merlin sinks onto a chair next to the boy, feeling incredibly guilty. His parents had brought him in with a fever, red face, and shortness of breath. Those are the same symptoms of the others, but it was so much worse for this boy.
The boys parents enter the room, solemn, and Merlin can't help but glare at them. Their child was sick, complaining of not being able to breathe, chills, fever, and aching limbs, yet they waited until today to bring him in. It was too late for him to do anything, magic or not.
"He's got these marks on his wrist," his voice croaks.
The father looks and he looks confused.
"What is that?"
"Whatever killed your son is spreading throughout Camelot. Fast," Merlin's mouth is set into a grim line and he covers the small boy's body with a sheet.
He works well into the night, tending to the remaining four patients. They all have the chills, fevers, and discolouration. He wonders what could be the cause of it. He aids however he can, soothing their pain with herbs and chanting spells to rid them of their fevers. They seem to improve a great deal, and he has hope they'd feel better in the morning. There are at least fifteen more people or households he'd have to see first thing.
Gaius had already retired to bed and Merlin can't help but worry about the aging physician. Nimueh had made house calls on those complaining of illness, effectively scaring Camelot's citizens into getting better. As stern as she is, she's a magnificent healer, Merlin would give her that.
The door creaks open and he turns around, moist cloth in hand. Morgana stands before him wearing her cloak over her dress, hair tied back.
"I thought you could use some help," she said quietly as not to wake the feverish patients.
"No, it's fine. You go on," Merlin smiles tensely. Whatever it was these people had, he didn't Morgana to catch it. He remembers the boy.
"What's wrong?" she's immediately concerned as she watches him wipe the forehead of an elderly man.
"Lost one today. Seven years old," his voice is hoarse.
Morgana moves to cross the room to give him a hug, but he just looks at her.
"I just need to be alone," his voice breaks and he wipes at his eyes once more.
She nods and kisses him on the forehead before leaving.
The old man dies in the morning. While Merlin slept a large black stain covered his arm. Two people in two days. Who's next?
It was getting too happy. I needed to add death and destruction. The bubonic plague was first around in the 6th or 7th century, and the Arthurian legends are dated around the 5th or 6th, so I've just introduced a plague-like illness. Maybe it's plague, maybe not. I've got a soft spot for Nimueh, if you couldn't tell. I hope this has the right balance of lightheartedness and doom.
Please review.