Still Day Five:
The apartment was very lonely without Gaius.
Merlin was standing at the doorway, exhausted. He's just spent the entire afternoon cleaning the stables, shining Arthur's armor, organizing the entire armory and cooking three different lunches, all of which were not to the prince' taste.
It seemed that the more bothered Arthur was, the more demandingly difficult he became.
Now the prince had gone to the training grounds, and Merlin allowed himself a short, well earned vacation. Fifteen minutes without anyone yelling at him. Heavens.
He came in, closing the door behind him. It was growing colder every day, the winter nearing its end. It would take hours to get the hearth going, and his fingers were turning blue.
Glancing deftly out the window to make sure no one was watching, Merlin turned his eyes to the fireplace, whispered a charm, and watched merry flames erupt over the coals. Sighing with contentment, he came closer to it, letting his flesh thaw.
There was one more week until the prince's twenty-third birthday. The entire city was a mess. Chariots of all shapes and sizes parked at the entrance of the castle, their owners comfortably situated in every single room in the castle, demanding the best food and service Camelot could provide. Just a few minutes ago some snotty nine year old demanded Merlin get her some fish he's never heard of, before he managed to slip away to the bustling streets, where overjoyed merchants raised their prices just enough to exploit the clueless foreigners. It was chaos.
And within all that chaos was Arthur, nodding, smiling, making small talk. It was a yearly ritual, and he was used to it- he knew all the young royals, some of which had studied with him in his childhood. And yet the prince seemed bothered. Merlin guessed it was the king's new exploits against sorcery.
He was worried about that, too. It has been a few days since Arthur told him about the cure. Merlin longed to tell Gaius about it, but his friend had only been gone three days, and would not return for a while longer. Merlin wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but he's seen more and more people in the streets, staring with lost gazes into thin air. He didn't know how the cure was spread, or if it already has been- but only yesterday a young boy was running down the street, crying, asking strangers for something he had lost. And before then, an old woman with croaked teeth has been screaming at confused bystanders that they have taken from her the thing she treasured most.
But Merlin wasn't affected, if it was, in fact, a cure for sorcery. He didn't know if that was a good thing, or if it meant the beginning of a citywide epidemic spread by its king.
The sun was going down. Merlin got up, stretching. He still had to make dinner, get water for Arthur's bath, set fire to the hearth in the prince's chambers…
A sufficient amount.
He closed the hearth, guarding the flames until he returned later that evening. As he was maneuvering through the maze of carriages, he saw a young man standing between the wagons, clutching his chest, murmuring under his breath.
Merlin came up to him, hesitant.
"Hey," He said. The boy jumped, swirling to face him. He was roughly Merlin's age, pale and hunched forward. "Are you alright?"
The boy shook his head. "I… I lost something," he said. Merlin froze, unsure what to say next.
"Do you know where it is?" The boy continued, hopeful.
"I… what did you lose?" The boy's eyes turned back to the ground. He shivered from the cold.
"I can't remember," he muttered, and begun walking away, shaking his head. "I can't remember."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Day seven:
"Sir Lancelot!"
Lancelot turned. Atora stood at the edge of the river, gazing onward toward the mountain where Camelot was perched.
"Is that it?" She asked, squinting through the clouds at the white castle.
It was the seventh day since Lancelot had begun to guide them, and the weather was growing colder as the winter neared its end. They had acquired a horse a few days back, which was now standing, restless, near the tree where Atora had decided to pause.
"It is," Lancelot nodded, leading Brown toward the river. Lora followed him with her gaze, packing the last remnants of their camp into a bag.
"It's beautiful," Atora muttered, gazing at the city with wonder. "I've heard stories of Camelot, but I've never-"
"It's even more beautiful from the inside," Lancelot promised, his mind flooded with memories of the rich training grounds and the cheerful city folk. "You would love the castle, my lady, I'm sure."
She didn't answer, her eyes fixated on the sight. Lancelot turned to Lora, already used to Atora's strange plunges into the lane of memory. Lora smiled at him, and closed the bag.
"We should leave, my lady," She told Atora, who shook herself back to reality, and remounted her steed.
"Lead the way, sir," She gave Lancelot a beautiful smile. He nodded, pulling Brown's reins and leading them toward the path.
"I…" Atora shut her eyes. "In Camelot. Are there… sorcerers?"
Lancelot blinked, surprised at the question. "Ah… not… really," he muttered, thinking of the one sorcerer he knew lived in the city for sure. "King Uther despises anything related to magic."
"I see," She said and stared at the dirt road intently. "But I mean- well, sorcery's outlawed in most places. Are there… some in… well, hiding?"
"I wouldn't know," He said. "I've only visited there once, for a few days."
The lady's head snapped up fiercely. "I thought you said you had friends there," She said, panic edging into her voice.
"…I do," He said, glancing at Lora in confusion. The girl's eyes were fixated on her horse's back, her hands clutching the reins too tightly. "I've stayed with them when I visited. They live in the king's court."
"And do they know if there are sorcerers in the city?"
"I don't know," He said, getting a little uncomfortable with the subject. Lancelot had known about Merlin's abilities for many months, and had managed to keep them a secret. He did not wish to betray his friend. With all her kindness, Atora was still the daughter of a prince, and her words now seemed too aggressive and demanding for reassurance. "I doubt they would. One of them is the king's personal physician."
"But you must know something," she called exasperatingly, her voice verging on hysteria. Lancelot did not look at her. She had been fine just moments ago. "Haven't you seen anyone? Heard anything? There must be rumors going about. There must be some in hiding, right? I mean, there always are some in hiding."
"I don't know, Atora," He repeated, more hostile then he'd intended. Atora paused, growing so silent he wondered if she was still breathing. Then she shut her eyes, and led the horse into a quick-paced trot into the solitude of the distant path.
Lora was still staring at her horse.
"You shouldn't be mad at her," She said after awhile, as Lancelot prodded Brown too forcefully, agitating her. Lancelot rubbed the horse's neck, trying to calm himself.
"I'm not mad," he told Lora, who was looking at him with her shy, uncertain eyes. Atora was out of ear shot, her white dress clear against the green vegetation. "I'm just… confused."
"She has a good reason," Lora muttered. Lancelot wanted to hit something.
"You keep saying that," He said, through he knew he shouldn't. "But I don't understand. It's as if one second she's fine, and the next…"
"I know," Lora said. "I- it confused me at first, too. But Lady Atora… she's…"
"What?"
Lora sighed. "I'm not… Well, it's not a secret, or anything." She paused, hesitant. "Everyone in Zorath knows about it. I imagine King Uther does too." She turned her eyes to Lancelot, who looked at her hopefully. "Promise you won't tell anyone. Atora does not like to talk about these matters."
"I won't," he swore, and Lora breathed deeply.
"Three years ago, Atora was kidnapped by a sorcerer." She said, quietly. Lancelot blinked. He hadn't thought of that.
"Oh," He said.
Lora smiled bitterly. "It doesn't show, does it? That is- she's fine most of the time. But she was in captivity for almost two year. A little over a year ago she was recovered from a cliff side near the border of king Uther's kingdom. Someone pushed her over the edge."
Lancelot did not answer. He gazed on toward Atora, who glanced back at them to see if they were still there.
"It was a fatal fall. But she was almost unharmed. It was a miracle. The men who found her described the wizard that was by her side. He used his magic to dangle her over the cliff edge, and as she was screaming with terror, he let her drop down to her death."
"That's…"
"She's never said a word about it. You can't tell her I told you," Lora pleaded, biting her lip. "Maybe I shouldn't have. She's never even told me his name. But whenever anyone mentions sorcery, you'd be sure Atora's secretly listening. I can't even imagine what goes through her mind."
Lancelot breathed deeply. He didn't know what to say, and regretted ever bringing up the subject. Atora had stopped her horse, and stood waiting for them at a crossroad.
"I won't say a word," he said at last, and gave Lora a frank look. "To anyone."
"Thank you," She said, seeming relieved. "And try to… understand. She acts tough, but she's still broken inside."
Lancelot nodded, thoughtful. Atora was looking at him as they came forward.
"I apologize," She said. Lancelot tried to protest, but she continued. "I was out of line, and I am sorry for it. Sorcery is… it always fascinated me," She smiled sheepishly. "I hope you'll forgive my rudeness, Sir Lancelot."
"Of course," He said. "And I am sorry I was not able to answer your questions."
Atora's eyes grew distant, and her smile became a tad fake. "It's fine," She said, gazing out at the city still visible between the tree trunks.
Lora looked at Lancelot apologetically. He gazed out at Atora as she pushed her horse back to the path. Images of her locked in a dark house somewhere with a sorcerer grinning at her hungrily filled his mind.
And then the sorcerer turned to Merlin.
Lancelot shuddered, and turned away.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Gwen was busy.
She was always busy. She made herself busy, doing laundry, washing floors, changing sheets. It was her getaway. Her something to think about. Anything to think about. Anything but Morgana. And the fact that her beloved mistress had not seen her chambers in over a month now.
Gwen pulled up a sheet in a presently vacant room, trying to judge how dirty it was. There didn't seem to be enough clean sheet for the amount of guests that were coming.
Gwen wasn't sure if Morgana was truly kidnapped, or if she had left of her own accord. She had seen Morgana these past few months, had noticed her growing anxiety over the king's many faults and prejudices. And she couldn't imagine the valiant woman being locked somewhere, helpless. Morgana was never a damsel in distress. She would have managed to make contact with them by now, if she'd wanted.
And yet…
Apart from that, there was the Prince's birthday celebrations to worry about. The actual birthday was five days away, but all the guests had already begun arriving. There were so many of them, all in such a short period of time. All the rooms in the entire castle were taken- all of them- and the knights who normally slept in the castle were ordered to sleep huddled together at inns and motels for the next five days. But that was alright. Gwen didn't mind all the extra work. It put her mind off of things, for one thing, and it also gave her something to pride herself in. Gwen loved to be a servant- she was good at it, and in the short time she's been serving in Camelot she's had the honor to serve the Lady Morgana, and become one of the most respected servants in the entire city. But apart from all that… well, there was something oddly therapeutic about organizing flowers.
"Gwen?"
She looked back. There was Arthur, gazing at her hesitantly. She felt her blood swarm up to her cheeks, and turned, hiding her face in the blossoms she was currently tending. The one thing of which she was not grateful about Arthur's turning twenty-three was the sudden availability he now had, among the royal women of the five kingdoms. There were eleven princesses, and seventeen cousins to those princesses, and twenty four other, less important women of royal blood, and then a hundred-some servants, such as herself, each of whom could be very beautiful and perhaps a lot more funny and interesting then she was.
Prince Arthur would be well to fall in love with one of them. It would be good for the kingdom. It would bring his crowning ever more close, and his father's tyranny to a finale, bloodless end. Innocents' deaths such as her father's would not occur under Prince Arthur's rule, of that she was certain. It would be fine for him to marry, excellent, brilliant.
She just didn't know if she could bear see him love someone else.
"Yes, Sire?" She asked, suddenly thinking of the old, rugged dress she's chosen to wear this morning. "How can I be of assistance?"
"Well… Merlin's late again," Arthur said distractedly. "That is, he never showed up."
That's odd, Gwen thought. She was certain Merlin was, for once, on time- she hasn't seen him running madly to the kitchen since yesterday.
"I'm sure he's fine," She said, smiling at Arthur. "Gaius is gone. Maybe he's over slept."
"Ah," Arthur shuffled his feet in a very non-princely fashion. "Yes. Right."
"I could get you your breakfast," Gwen offered, looking up from the roses. "If you want."
He looked at her, his eyes longing. She couldn't bear them. A rose's thorn cut into her skin, and she strained not to call out.
"That' all right," He said, finally, after a long pause. "I'm not very hungry, anyway."
"Of course, sire. Would you like me to fetch someone to help with your armor?"
"Yes," he muttered, still staring at her, sidetracked. She frowned at him with confusion. He shook himself out of the trance. "That is- Yes, please. Someone adequate, if that's at all possible."
That's more like it, she thought, smiling to herself. "Right away, my lord."
He turned, leaving the room. "Oh," Hand on the door he paused, glancing in her direction. "And if you find Merlin, tell him I'll have him executed?"
Straining not to laugh she grinned. "Of course, sire," He looked at her, smirking. They stood there for a moment.
"Well, I'll be going, then," She said, realizing that organizing and reorganizing the vase was getting ridiculously suspicious. She hid her hand behind her back, moving toward the doorway, blocked by Arthur. "Have a nice day, sire."
"Yes," He muttered, not letting her through. Blinking her confusion, she leaned and passed underneath his arm. The smell of his skin filled her nose, making her tremble. "I- sorry!" He called after her. She turned a corner, leaned on the wall, and laughed.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
The girl's name was Norane.
She was not twelve, but sixteen, with long light hair and gray eyes that in the sun turned blue.
She had never seen the sun before.
It was a glorious sight. The brightness of day made her eyes hurt, but she couldn't bear to close them. For years Amaroe promised he would let her see the sun. But he never did.
Amaroe.
He was the image she saw when she closed her eyes. He was the ghost that haunted the shadows of her mind. He was her nightmares and her dreams.
And she would kill him.
She's spent years feeling hollow, empty, abandoned and alone- but her magic has always been there to comfort. Norane wasn't a powerful witch. That was why she could never escape. That was why she hadn't gone mad yet. She wasn't powerful enough.
Amaroe would die for taking away her magic- her only friend in the dark dungeons that were her home.
Magic was the one thing she had always known was there. Her greatest rebellion against the experiments, the tests, the unending injections- was the thought that he would never succeed. He wanted to take it away, but he couldn't.
Only he could.
And he did.
And he will pay.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Merlin woke up to the sounds of screaming children in the street.
It was and odd, unfamiliar music. Merlin always woke up with the first birds- not by his own choice, obviously, but to rush to the woods and pick the night-flowers for Gaius's many potions and remedies. At those times the city was a twilight of sleeping farmers and merchants, and the only sound heard through the morning fog was the drizzling of the ending rain.
But now the sun was half way into the winter sky, her rays sipping into his bedroom and vaporizing his dreams.
It must be midday.
Merlin jumped up, cursing. It was midday- He'd slept through the entire morning. He hadn't done that since infancy- even in Ealdor he was one of the first to wake, when neither moon nor sun reigned in the sky and the darkness was only just dyeing. He pulled off his covers and placed his feet firmly on the ground, excuses already streaming through his head as rather unconvincing explanation to the prince of his tardiness-
It felt like an explosion in his head. He dropped back to the bed, blinking fast against the blackness conquering his sight. The children's laughter died down and a war erupted in his skull, bomb after bomb barraging his temples, forcing his mind to submission. For a moment he sat, paralyzed, hands clutching at his head painfully, trying to make the explosions stop.
But it was no use. His head was a battleground. And it refused to cease-fire.
He had to get out of bed. Certainly it would pass. He couldn't call a sick day so close to Arthur's birthday- it would cost him his head, never mind his job. Not that his head was too dear and cherished at the moment.
Trying not to move his neck, eyes concentrating on the floor, he got up. His feet wobbled, but it didn't matter. Once Gaius was back- in just over a week, he'd promised- he'd give him some remedy. Though the pain would surely pass by then- a headache was no reason to-
He'd lost something.
Something important.
He stood there for a while, trying to think through the repetitive strikes against the inside of his skull. He couldn't remember what he'd lost. Must not be too important. He had more important things to think about, anyway. Like what time it was. And how the hell he could explain to the heir of the kingdom why he didn't get his breakfast this morning.
He started changing as quickly as he could, straining not to think about the sudden, unpredictable pain ringing in his ears every few moments. On his way out the door he paused, biting his lip. Then he turned back, rummaging through Gaius's frighteningly organized cabinets for something to relive his pain.
He found a small bottle with a yellow elixir within. He'd helped make it himself. It was nothing strong, or rare, or dangerous. Opening the lid he drank a few drops. He waited a moment, uncertain. The pain vanished.
"Thank you, Gaius," he said to the empty room, tucked the bottle to his side, and turned back to the door.
Hand on the doorknob, his head snapped back to the silent house.
He'd lost something.
Something important.
Shaking his head, he turned the knob. Never mind that. He was late as it was.
A gentle, repetitive throbbing began in his head once again.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Arthur hadn't realized exactly how terrible a servant Merlin truly was.
It was a wonder he hadn't replaced him months ago. Orano, the stable boy Gwen volunteered to assist him, was a hundred times better. He was quite, compliable, great with the armor and the horses. He did everything Arthur asked, without the sarcastic grunts Merlin would mutter under his breath. It was not even time for supper, and already Arthur's chambers were spotless and warm, ready to be slept in.
"Thank you, Orano," Arthur said, accepting the boy's assistance in taking off his armor. "How long do you think dinner would be?"
"It is ready, sire," The boy said. Arthur smiled to himself. That's better.
"Excellent. Bring it, then."
Silently, the plate was brought to the table, along with all the proper silverware placed in its proper place. Walking back respectively, the boy withdrew to the wall, standing motionless, waiting for his next orders.
Arthur sat in front of his salmon, picking up the fork. It was a fish fork, one of those he was supposed to use for eating fish- only he never did, since the meat fork was just as good, and fit better in his large hands. There was no meat fork, however.
Hmm.
"It appears my father has called forth the entire continent for my birthday," He told Orano, trying to cut a slice off of the dish. "I don't know if there are enough rooms in all of Camelot- they're already putting up tents outside. I've told him its unnecessary, but he says that it's diplomacy, and that we should not offend anyone by not inviting them." He paused. Merlin would have said something about him not being invited, a mere servant, which would have led to some unnecessary yet entertaining argument over the rights of servants vs. the rights of lords.
"King Uther is very wise, sire," Orano said.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Merlin was standing, motionless, over a pile of herbs.
There was a knife in his hands, and he was just about to slice the colorful herbs and add them to the bubbling brew he's sat on the fire.
None of Gaius's potions worked. The pain in his head grew and spread, and now his entire body seared, so that he could hardly think of anything but. On the table before him was an open recipe book. He was trying to prepare a pain reliever. Or some sort of poison to end his agony. Once he's done that, he could go and help Arthur tie his shoes. He was going to be yelled at, anyway.
Now the only question was- how much was a tad of basil?
Shrugging to himself, he started cutting expertly. The leaves were a few days old, dried and grayish, but it was the best he had. He needed to get rid of the blinding pain. Arthur would kill him for having left him alone for an entire day with so many guests judging the prince's every move. But he couldn't be helpful- or even attempt to be helpful- if he could barely open his eyes in the sun.
He brushed the herbs into the bowl, pulling out some red dotted leaves, cutting them into small squares as indicated in the book. He was getting better at slicing. When he first came to Camelot, he kept cutting his own fingers. Now-
He'd lost something.
Merlin paused, staring intently at the far wall.
He could feel it in his very bones. Something was missing. Something was gone.
Suddenly, the pain in his head increased tenfold, spreading to his chest. It was as if a hole has opened up right inside his ribcage, dark and torturous, sucking Merlin's flesh around it. Whatever was missing used to be there. But it wasn't there anymore.
Merlin gasped with pain, his hands clutching over the knife. He couldn't feel the blade cut into the inside of his palm. All he could think about was the gaping wound inside him, and whatever had once been there.
Where was it?
Who took it?
Panting he turned to the orderly room. His eyes darted wildly from cabinet to cabinet, searching and hunting for the thing that was gone.
Blood dripped from his hand as he stumbled toward Gaius's desk, and began opening drawers violently.
He's lost something.
Something important.
His head snapped to the left, as someone run down the street. Every step was an earthquake in his head. He jumped as a street cat meowed, swirled chaotically back to the sound of the merchants closing up their shops.
He's lost something.
Merlin turned to the cabinets, looking into every bottle on the long shelves, and then throwing them angrily at the floor. They shuttered, spreading their contents on the stone tiles.
Something important.
Sorry for the lateness!
I usually update once a week... But yesterday I just collapsed on my bed and sunk into unconsciousness. I also apologize for the length... I thought about cutting it in the middle, but I like it better this way.
Thoughts? Criticism?