Chapter nine
"Atora!"
Her mother came toward her, relieved and brainlessly happy, as usual. Atora faked her best smile, letting her mother's skeletal arms engulf her.
"We've been worried sick about you, darling! You took so long!"
"I'm sorry, mother," She said distractedly while eyeing her father, who entered, wordless and brooding. "You shouldn't have worried."
"But how can I not!" Her mother let go of her, and started kissing both her cheeks enthusiastically. "I always worry."
"You shouldn't."
"Don't speak to your mother rudely, Atora," Her father said, pulling off his shoes and stretching across the bed. It was growing dark outside. Her parents had only just arrived in their rooms, after having followed closely the haunting trip that had ended a few minutes before.
"I wasn't speaking rudely."
Her father froze, eyeing her dangerously. "What?"
"Oh come now, you just got here," Her mother cooed, pulling her toward the closet. "Can't you two stop bickering for even a few days? Watch what I've bought you at the market, Atora! The most lovely of dresses- red- it goes so well with your eyes-"
"I don't need another dress, mother."
"I know, darling, but I couldn't stop myself!" She pulled a grotesque cloth out the closet. Atora gulped. She hated dresses.
"You could wear it tomorrow for breakfast. The king has invited your uncle and us to a private feast! Can you believe that?"
Her father grunted. "I doubt that'll happen, Rona. That prince hasn't shown his face all day long. If he's in the city at all. You saw how furious Uther was."
"I'm sure he'll be back by tomorrow." Her mother said. "Go on, Atora, try it on!"
"Mother…"
"Do as your mother says, Atora," Her father said. Atora gritted her teeth, snatching the cloth from her mother's hands.
"Do you remember Prince Arthur, Atora?" Her mother asked while she was changing. "You used to be such good friends."
"He's a prat, mother."
"Atora!" Her father hissed. "Watch your mouth, or I swear-"
"Here," She said, stepping back into the room. Her father's eyes widened in surprise. Her mother squealed in delight.
"It's beautiful! Oh, you should wear this figure all the time. You look like a-"
"Woman," her father said, his dark eyes thoughtful. Her mother giggled, pulling her sleeves this way and that excitedly.
"I think it is time for you to marry, Atora," her father said suddenly. Her mother froze.
"What? No. She's only twenty, honey."
"That's quite old enough!"
"No!"
Atora gawked. Her mother never stood up to her father. No one ever stood up to her father.
"You can't. She's only been back hardly a year-"
"And?" the man said, staring at his daughter's chest and hips. "You've heard Uther this morning, Rona. He wants to find a bride for his son."
"So?" her mother said too loudly, pulling at the dress's belt powerfully, so that Atora could hardly breath. "Atora's too young. And too fragile. And too-"
"She's fine. Maybe a little tall. With some makeup to hide that pale skin, she could even pass as appealing." He studied her. "If you marry the prince-"
"I won't marry the prince."
There was a deadly silence.
"What?" her father demanded. Atora pushed he mother's hands away, pulling up her chin.
"I said, I won't marry the prince."
"No one's asking you."
"I've noticed."
"You will marry the prince," Her father said icily, "If he is blind and deaf and stupid enough for that. Which is not entirely unlikely. And until then, you will do everything you can to get close to him, so that he wants to-"
"I will do no such thing!"
Her mother gasped, shaking her head. "Stop. Stop it both of you! Atora, change to your night gown. It's getting late. No. No, honey, don't-!"
Her father was standing up, seizing his sword's long, narrow scabbard, taking the blade out and replacing it on the table.
"Honey-!"
"Get out, Rona."
"But-"
"Get out, Rona," Her father hissed, and her mother, shaking, left the room. Atora stood stonily before her father, heart pounding in her ears.
He smiled at her.
"Atora." He said, his voice eager.
"Father."
He raised the scabbard, and brought it down powerfully.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
And there were the stars again.
Lancelot let their light wash over him though the blackness. He, Arthur and Norane had stopped for a food break after hours of straight riding, having eaten nothing since that morning- in Arthur's case, since last night. The horses nibbled contently near the river bunk. Arthur was building a fire far away from any visible tree, adding to the flames with the branches Lancelot collected from the higher hills.
Norane was nowhere in sight. Lancelot was getting used to strange antisocial girls ignoring/not hearing him, but Arthur seemed to find it maddening. He seemed to find everything maddening, actually, including the ducks swimming in the river.
"Lancelot, do you know where the water is?"
Lancelot glanced up, surprised. The river streaming behind Arthur's back clashed against the rocky shore loudly.
"Ah… isn't… I mean…" He pointed. "The... river?"
Arthur gave him an irritated glare. "Do you want to drink from the cured Ork?"
Lancelot nodded silently. The cure effected normal people, like Merlin. Right. He moved over to the bags by the tree, shifting through them till he found a half empty canteen.
"Isn't this water contaminated too, my lord? If its from Camelot?"
"I haven't emptied that since before then."
"…Oh." He swallowed, a tad revolted. "Excellent, sire."
"What did I sa-?"
"Arthur. Excellent Arthur, sire."
Arthur let his hands drop to his lap, and even managed a smile. "Would you bring it over? I want to make some-"
"Shouldn't we call Norane?"
Arthur froze, and then pulled the canteen out of Lancelot's arms aggressively. "You can call her if you want to."
Lancelot glanced at him in confusion, and then turned to the girl, who had just strolled passively out of the woods.
She looked at him with boredom, as if expecting him to say something.
"Are you hungry?" He asked, gesturing to the fire.
"No." The answer was swift, as if she knew what he was going to ask before he'd asked it. She waited again, looking at her fingernails.
Arthur snorted.
Lancelot ignored him. "All right," He said, ignoring her ignoring him. "Let us know if you change your mind."
"We need to go." She said, now staring at him. "There is no time to waste."
"We will go in just a few minutes."
She didn't seem surprised at the answer, and turned away from him, back into the trees.
"Alright then," He muttered to the empty path. He swirled around back to Arthur, who'd sat down and helped himself to some food.
Lancelot sat in front of him. "We should hurry."
Arthur hummed in response, swallowing. "I know. We'll pack up in a second."
Lancelot nodded, and pulled his meal out of the fire. It wasn't nearlt hot enough, but he gulped it down anyway.
Arthur was staring at him.
He swallowed, giving the prince an uncomfortable look. "Is everything well, Arthur?"
"Do you believe her?" Arthur asked quietly, signaling with his head to the tree line. "About Merlin?"
Lancelot took another slow bite of the food.
Huh.
"No," he said, after a short pause. Arthur seemed surprised.
"'No?'"
Lancelot shook his head. "No. You know Merlin. I know Merlin. He's never shown any signs of… you know. Sorcery." Not publicly, anyway.
"Yes, I know," Arthur said, unsure. "But- well, he's been accused almost too many times to count, and I always took it for granted that he wasn't."
"They never found any proof."
"If they had, my father would have killed him."
Lancelot put down his food, biting the inside of his cheek. "Yes."
Arthur had stopped eating, as well, and was now staring out at the river thoughtfully.
"It doesn't add up."
"What, sire?"
"I… I thought it was only Camelot," Arthur muttered. "That it was becoming a plague. The cure, I mean. That it was only effecting the sorcerers within the city, that it was new and that something has gone wrong and that-"
"That it started effecting non magical people. I know."
"But it's not!" Arthur hissed, shaking his head. "I mean- if it has been all over all these villages- and no one was effected? No one but sorcerers?"
"You don't know that. Maybe other people were effected and no one heard about it."
"No." Arthur rubbed his forehead. "The only way we haven't heard about something like this in the city is if the people effected were in hiding."
Lancelot stared into the flame. Merlin asked him to guard his secret, and he was. But he couldn't keep it up much longer. He glanced at the distraught Arthur. What would the prince do if he found out? Turn back around, back to Camelot?
Lancelot gave up on his food. Somehow, he doubted that.
Arthur sighed, pushing the plate of food away.
"We should get going," he said, brushing sand over the flames. "Come on."
Lancelot turned toward the bags, starting to tie them back to the horses. Norane was already next to them; as if she knew they would be leaving before hand.
When Lancelot turned back to the prince, Arthur was next to the river, washing his hands and face in the water he believed to be contaminated, refilling the empty canteen.
"So," he asked Norane as he came toward them, mounting his horse. "Left or right?"
"That depends," She said, gazing at the stars blankly. "Where is it you want to go?
Arthur paused, grabbing the horse's rein.
"To Amaroe, of course," he said.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Amaroe woke up to a sudden halt.
It was dark outside, and it took him a moment to figure out where he was. When he remembered the occupied cage behind his back he smiled, and pushed the carriage's door wide open.
The two men stood side by side on the snowy mountaintop, their bold heads reflecting the moon's rays. Amaroe stepped off the carriage, and turned to the cage.
The air was freezing. They were high up in the mountains surrounding Camelot, standing in the entrance of a foreboding, stone-built house, which hid the entrance of a large cave. Amaroe couldn't stop smiling. He'd missed this place.
"Put him in the cell," he barked at the men. They turned to the cage, pulling the sorcerer out of it. The boy was clearly frozen, his pale skin bluish, but Amaroe ignored that. He told one of the men to handle the horses, and hurried over to his study.
The fire was lit, and out the window the distant city could be seen through the heavy clouds, majestic and white as the snow. Amaroe rushed to his desk, unlocking a drawer within it. He pulled out a small bottle, black in color, with a thick fluid inside.
It was sorcery itself. Magic in a bottle. It was how he's created the cure. And it was how he was going to stop it.
He tucked the bottle into his coat, and locked the drawer again. He hesitated at the door, and then turned to change. It was a special occasion. He wanted to look just right.
Fifteen minutes later he was walking briskly down the dark halls. From the doors he passed on his way the sounds of murmuring and crying could be heard, but he was too excited to pay his other patients any notice at the moment. Finally he arrived at the last door, where the brothers stood, faces forward, expressionless.
They opened the doors, and he entered. Inside, the room was pitch dark. The doors closed behind him. He breathed in elatedly, letting his eyes adjust to the lack of light.
It was a small room. Square, with bare walls and no windows. In its very middle stood a large chair, iron chains protruding oddly out of its armrests. The sorcerer was in it, staring at his lap, breathing with pain.
Amaroe's smile grew.
He stepped closer to the boy, his fingers twitching. The bottle was in his hand. He stopped right next to the chair, and pulled the boy's head gently upwards, not surprised at the lack of resistance.
"Lets chat, Merlin," He said, forcing the liquid down the wizard's throat, watching him choke on it and shake violently, and smiled.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Gaius was walking through the clattered room of his lodgings.
It's been years since the last time he came to find his home like this. Merlin had searched thoroughly through everything. He'd even found what he was looking for. He just didn't realize it.
Gaius picked up the parchment. It was crumpled unceremoniously on the floor, slightly ripped and torn. He was surprised it didn't crumble under the young warlock's hands. It was from years ago.
Prince Arthur's seventh birthday, sixteen years ago. He remembered. It seemed like only yesterday. So many things happened on that day.
He was forced to banish his first apprentice, Amaroe.
Because his second apprentice, Percy, died.
The Great Dragon Kilgharrah was captured, and imprisoned for life below the castle.
Only after the death of one of the most powerful dragon lords the world has ever known.
King Uther declared war all the dragon lords, condemning them to death as sorcerers.
An innocent woman died carrying a magical child.
And Gaius burned every and all papers he ever wrote about the source of magic.
Except for this one.
He glanced down at it. It wasn't part of his studies. It had nothing to do with magic, or the lack of magic, or the source of magic. It was a flu remedy. But on the corner, written hurriedly as if quickly scribbled by a distracted hand, was the formula for a cure from magic.
It was in Amaroe's handwriting.
But in Gaius's words.
Day 10:
His insides were burning.
They seethed, smoldering, his body churning from the inside out. He wanted to yell out, but his throat was dry and wounded. His arms moved up violently, but heavy chains paralyzed them in their place. Every breath he took was a gulp of lava, his lungs screaming as they filled with the poisoned air, protesting the agony.
Merlin woke up to a dark room.
He was convulsing, coughing out blood, panting desperately for meager scraps of air and gasping with pain he has never known before in his life. Within him were flames, scorching the inside of his skin like burnt coals or magma, exploding within his chest in unending floods. He shook uncontrollably, trying to hold in cries of pain. Was he dyeing?
Was he dead?
"It hurts, doesn't it?"
Merlin raised his head weakly. A man stood before him, unfamiliar, with a fascinated expression dominating his features. His face was inches away from Merlin's, and he held a bottle in his long fingered hands, gazing with wonder into Merlin's eyes.
"Some have described it as the passage out of hell," The man added. He was the whitest man Merlin had ever seen, with white blonde hair, white pale skin, and eyes so lightly gray they were almost invisible. Merlin hissed with torment, coughing out more blood. The man smiled at him, his teeth too sharp.
"I can't say I've ever seen it quite so violent before," He said leisurely, studying Merlin's face, and his arms, shaking in their shackles. "Quite remarkable."
Merlin swallowed, forcing air into his lungs. It was freezing, icy, and he cried out, gasping. The man drew closer, delighted. He raised an arm to touch Merlin's face, pushing his head backwards, opening Merlin's petrified eyes. "Yes…" He was saying. "Very remarkable indeed."
His touch was colder then the air, and Merlin shuddered. He was helpless against it, and the man proceeded to force open his mouth, watching intently as the boy threw up more blood, choking on it.
"Brilliant," He muttered, placing his cold hand on Merlin's neck, checking the pulse.
Merlin glanced around, panicked. He was in a small, unfamiliar room with no visible doors or windows, strapped to an icy chair by chains around both his hands and feet, too weak to keep upright. The last thing he remembered was…
A terrible sensation of loss and sorrow. An unimaginable emptiness he could not bring himself to think about. And darkness. Nonstop darkness.
He forced himself to calm, while the man proceeded to stare into his pupils with marvel. Merlin swallowed, gasping.
"W-where am I?"
His voice was haggard, broken, foreign to his own ears. Water, he thought, but somehow the very idea made his mind shrink in fear.
The man backed away from him, his eyes wide and rapt.
"Home," He said, and smiled at Merlin ravenously.
Merlin shut his eyes tightly, trying to grasp the situation. He could not. He was shaking uncontrollably, freezing and distressed, wrestling for his memories. His mind was a blank, dark slate. What day was it? How'd he get here?
"Who are you?" He asked the man, and his throat screamed in protest. He coughed again, and blood gashed out of his mouth.
"I am Amaroe," the man said. He was still staring, smiling. "But I think the more important question is who are you, young sorcerer."
Merlin glanced at Amaroe weakly, his breathes shallow and loud. "I… I'm Merlin," He said. "I'm not a sorcerer."
Amaroe's smile stretched.
"But you are," his voice was marveling. "I've never seen anyone react so strongly to my cure."
Cure. Arthur said something about a cure.
Gaining his strength, Merlin tested the chains around his hands. They were of some sort of metal, black and heavy. He could barely move his arms within them, never mind escape.
"Tell me, warlock," Amaroe said, coming closer again. "Do you remember anything? At all?"
"Remember what?" Merlin asked. He didn't want Amaroe coming near him again, but the man did, his eyes intent on Merlin's.
"From when your magic was gone."
From when your magic was gone.
Merlin's mind erupted with floods of memories. He couldn't stop them. He'd lost something. Something important. Who gave them the right to take it? It wasn't theirs to take!
"I see," Amaroe said, as Merlin gasped, trying to push against the tsunami. So much darkness. It was gone…
"Most sorcerers remember it all," Amaroe muttered, tilting his head. "The stronger ones just snaps and images. But you don't, do you?"
Merlin tried to make himself stop shaking. "I told you. You've got the wrong guy. I don't use magic. I'm not a-"
"But you are!" Amaroe repeated, placing his hands on both sides of Merlin's face, drawing so close Merlin could feel his breath on his cheeks. "A very strong, very powerful sorcerer! The strongest I've ever met!" He couldn't break loose. Amaroe's eyes gazed deep into his, their joy apparent. "And you're going to help me," he whispered, and let go of Merlin suddenly.
"H… Help you?" Merlin demanded, testing the chains again.
"Yes," Amaroe said, turning to the black wall. "With power like yours- and they would never figure out who it was. Yes! You will!" He turned back to Merlin, eyes sparkling. "You and I together! We will kill the prince!"
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