Cured
By TheAlmightySun
Chapter thirteen
Amaroe's men where there. He could see their shadows, giant and stretching on the cold stone floor. One of them held a torch, and they both stood motionlessly, staring forward into the black hall.
Merlin gulped. He didn't dare move for fear that they would notice him. He had to think of a way to get past them alive.
He inched the door open slowly, the pain in his leg and back increasing with the wait. He did not raise his eyes from their shadows, waiting for the smallest motion that would indicate they've spotted him.
They stood on both sides of the hall, facing away from him, a distance of almost three feet between them and the wall of his cell. Merlin looked around. The cell was at the very end of a long, stretching corridor, which was lined with doors. The door was at right angles with the rest of the corridor, like a dead end, or an end where people came to die at.
Merlin managed to open the door fully without it creaking. The men had not noticed him yet. He found it odd that they simply stood there, looking straight, not conversing or laughing or playing cards, like the guards at Camelot loved to do. He bit his lips for a second, thinking.
Then he took a step forward, hoping that his numb foot could support his weight for the single moment it took for the other foot to exit the room.
It didn't.
Merlin collapsed on the floor, gasping with pain. Wild colors like firework erupted in front of his eyes, as he tried uselessly to prop himself back to a standing position. Giant hands clutched at his arms, pulling him up ferociously and shoving his weak frame against the icy wall. Merlin forced his eyes to focus, seeing the man's blank face as he held him up by one hand, chocking him.
He struggled, trying to break free. What was it with people and choking him, anyway? Merlin used his good arm to pull and claw at the larger hand holding him, while the second man turned to the corridor, probably to call Amaroe.
With a loud explosion, both man were shoved into the opposite wall, falling one on top of the other in a hip on the ground.
Merlin fell on the floor, his eyes turning to their usual color. He rubbed his neck, feeling the bruises developing. Add that to his arm, his leg, his back, and his ribs, and you've got yourself a-
The men had begun to stir. Merlin froze, paling. There was only so much magic one could perform while he could barely walk.
"Porago," He muttered. The men slumped back down, fast asleep. Breathing out in relief, Merlin turned to the black corridor. The spell wouldn't last longer then a few minutes.
Now.
Find the way out.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
They've reached the end of the stairwell.
Arthur glanced around, looking out for trouble. They stood in a small room, out of which six different corridors trailed, each one ending far enough away that he could not see the edge.
The place was enormous. Arthur sighed, turning to inspect each hallway. All six were identical. And huge.
Lancelot entered one of them, walking in a brisk, low crouch, sticking to the wall. He stopped by the first door. A torch was lit by its side. The door was oaken, and had a black, simple, iron knob.
"They're all the same," He said quietly, glancing at the rest, lining each of the corridors in spaces of eleven or twelve feet. "Did Norane say anything to you?"
"Nothing helpful," Arthur muttered bitterly under his breath, pulling out his sword. "We'll just have to stop someone and ask for instructions."
Lancelot nodded, pulling out his own sword. Just as he was doing so a door to their left opened, revealing an elderly woman carrying a platter upon which were three bottles and a small, sharp knife.
She paused, seeing the two knights standing under the torchlight and their swords, held at level with her head.
Then she blinked blankly and proceeded to walk down the aisle toward the next door, opened it with her wrinkled hand, and entered.
Lancelot and Arthur did not move.
Lancelot was the first to lower his weapon. "Do you think she's calling for help?"
"No," Arthur said, frowning. "Do you think- maybe she's blind?"
Lancelot did not reply, moving toward the door the woman just came from. He could have sworn that she did not lock it behind her, and yet the door refused to open at his touch.
"Magic, do you think?"
Arthur shrugged. Lancelot moved to try the following door, beyond which the woman now was.
"It won't work," Arthur said, as Lancelot shook the knob vehemently. "You're right. She must be locking and unlocking it with a spell. She works for Amaroe."
"As what?" Lancelot asked, gazing at the door thoughtfully. "A… a maid?"
Just as Arthur begun to answer, a scream erupted from the room. The two glanced at each other, raising their swords once again.
The knob turned. Arthur swallowed. What the…?
The woman walked out, still carrying the platter; only this time there were four bottles upon it, rather then three.
Again she paused, glancing at them briefly, and then moved on, her shoulder passing dangerously close to Lancelot's blade as she moved to the next door, closing the last behind her.
"Hey!" Arthur called, stepping toward her. "Stop!"
She ignored him, walking on. The platter was level and balanced in her hands, the liquid hardly moving within the bottles as she stepped.
"We're looking for our friend," Lancelot said diplomatically, lowering his sword and walking toward her, matching his pace to hers. "He's tall, with black hair. They've brought him in late last night."
The woman paid no notice. She stopped by the door, placing her arm on the knob. Arthur, walking on her other side, saw a wave of light pass over the handle before she opened it. He heard a muted click.
"Lancelot, what are you-" Arthur gaped as, while the woman stepped through the door, Lancelot trailed after her. Glancing uncertainly back at the empty corridor behind them Arthur followed, hardly making it through before the door was shut behind him.
The woman didn't seem to care. She moved toward a torch by the door, and lit it with a touch of her hand. Arthur watched with horror as the room came into light, gaping at the huddled body sitting, shaking, in the corner.
He had no idea who he was. Just a boy, maybe seven years old, dressed in filthy peasant clothes that had not been washed in days. His face was streaked with tears, his arms hugging his knees into his chest as he shook, sobbing. On a high shelf over his head were a bottle and a knife. There were no windows, and beside the torch that the woman just lit, no light.
She walked over to him. He cried out. She reached up and pulled the knife and the bottle, got to her knees, and grabbed hold of his skinny arm.
He whimpered.
Lancelot and Arthur stood, motionless and confused. What was this? The woman took the knife, and placed it gently on the boy's inner wrist. Lancelot walked forward, his brow frowning. His sword was still in his hand, glistening to the light of the fire.
The boy screamed loudly as the knife was shoved into his skin, drawing blood. Arthur raised his weapon as Lancelot stepped forward, his eyes wide.
"Hey-!"
The boy gave them a pleading look, while the woman carefully opened the bottle, dripping some of the liquid onto the boy's open wound, so it mingled with the pouring blood.
"Let go of him," Arthur said loudly, coming closer. The woman did not notice. She placed the lid on the bottle, placed the bottle on the platter, and then got to her feet, turning back toward the door.
"What was that?" Arthur called after her. She walked on. Both he and Lancelot moved to stop her from entering the next room. But as they reached the cell's door she turned to face them, her blank eyes meeting theirs dispassionately.
Arthur felt himself being pushed- by shear force- off his feet. He hit the wall powerfully and slid down, his vision swimming. Lancelot was on the opposite side of the room, holding his head tightly.
The woman opened the door once more, walking through.
The boy, still bleeding, rose up to his feet.
"Grandma!" He called, but she'd closed the door, and locked it.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Gaius couldn't bring himself to organize the room.
He was usually an organized man. It was true that his lodgings often seemed preposterously chaotic, but frankly everything had its esteemed place: The bottles on the shelves, the books on various desks and stools, notes scattered all about as he needed them, special ingredients in the drawers. Everything had a location. A purpose. A name.
Now he stood in the middle of the room, gazing around sightlessly.
Everything was on the floor. Shattered glass littered the old stone tiles, which were already covered by the fragments of ripped parchments with stretching lines of black ink and ruined books with their pages torn off, crumbled between the furniture. Gaius didn't know who pulled the curtains over the windows, or who lighted the fire while he's been sleeping nightmarishly in his room, but he imagined it was Gwen, who had only left him when she'd had no other choice.
Gaius closed his eyes painfully. He wasn't sure what was worse: the images of Merlin, his eyes mad with loss and confusion, tearing up the place they both called home or the memory of Percy, doing the same thing all those years ago.
Percy Gorge.
When he opened his eyes, there was a girl standing in the doorway, letting in the afternoon sun.
"Lady Norane," He whispered, his eyes drinking in the image he thought he'd never again see.
It had to be her. The long blonde hair, the large blue eyes, the small frame and high cheekbones. He couldn't stop looking at her. How long ago was it since he'd seen her dead?
"Are you Gaius?" She asked. Her voice flooded over him like the return of spring. She had been so gracious, so beautiful, and so virtuous. Even though she started out a hardworking servant girl, few months after the king fell in love with her the entire kingdom would have lay down their lives for her, one by one.
"Yes," He answered. The girl nodded, but did not smile. She had a peculiar expression- blank, yet beyond that so much emotion. Gaius remembered her laugh. Her entire body shook when she laughed. And she laughed so often…
Well, that is, before she was dead, alone and filthy on the floor of the darkest dungeon below Camelot.
"Who are you?" he asked, growing morbid. Lady Norane had been one of the greatest things ever to come to the kingdom. Uther had destroyed her.
"You knew my mother," The girl said. "The man who was my father named me Norane after her, when he found me beside her dead body. I am here because I have seen you in a vision. You can cure me of Amaroe's vile experiments. Cure me enough so that I could save your precious Camelot, as I was destined to do."
Gaius fell silent. More memories bombarded him. Amaroe…
The girl's eyes gazed into his. "I want you to tell me," She said slowly, her voice high, and clear, and familiar. "I know you know of my past. I need to know. And once I know, I will save this city, which you call home."
He did not ask what was to be saved, and from who. It did not matter. Instead, he motioned for the girl to follow as he pulled up a three-legged chair, which had been fine when he'd left for Jorks, and started telling her the story.
It was the time of the purge. Six years after the death of the queen. All sorcerers were in hiding. Amaroe had been his apprentice then. A young brilliant man with a goal: save the remnants of his destroyed family from the wickedness of magic.
It was also at that time that the king fell in love with the poor servant girl, who had become Camelot's hope and future, filling the morbid streets with her beauty, and her joy.
Gaius looked at the dead woman's daughter. They were remarkably alike. And remarkably different.
She was a servant girl, and the most beautiful woman in the entire city. Her skin was fair, her hair long and light, her eyes large and sky blue. She was the daughter of a known dragon lord, a race which the king did not favor- but Uther, who has been alone for half a dozen years, loved her with his entire heart.
Soon, he revealed her to the townsfolk. The people of Camelot fell in love with Lady Norane's charms and kindness, as did all the servants of the castle, and the visiting merchants who entered thought the city's grand gates. Rumors of the match streamed out of the borders and to the ears of far away lords and kings. No one knew what to make of this new, mysterious woman who had appeared out of nowhere and conquered the king's heart.
She was a simple girl, a few years younger then the king. She did not much enjoy the castle life, and loved to walk the streets of Camelot, dragging the king and his young son after her into the fresh air of the city. It was the first time the people had seen the heir, who had rarely left the castle before, always under his father's over protective watch. The king's fear of sorcerers seemed to diminish around Norane. And the people's fear of him diminished, with it.
The Lady was like a force of good, sweeping Camelot with her gentleness and her love for all things. During the long months during which she lived in the castle, there were no executions.
It was then that the idea of separating magic from its host was first established.
Gaius had loved the girl like a daughter. He had known her father, who in those years had led the dragon lords and fought for their rights. And when one day Uther had called him to his chambers frantically, muttering about an illness which his beloved had caught, he rushed over, fearful and intent.
She lay on the bed, an amused look in her eyes. Uther pulled his physician forward eagerly, and demanded he checked her for any sickness. She was vomiting, he said. And weak. And odd.
Lady Norane was pregnant.
At first, the king was overjoyed. He planned on revealing the good news to the public at the festivals of autumn, when they were happy and well fed, so that they would accept her as a queen despite her common blood and questionable heritage. For of course if she would give him a child, certainly he would ask for her hand in marriage. For weeks Uther demanded Gaius come every day to her side, and assist with her pregnancy.
Until, on the eighth week, the beautiful Norane began showing signs of magic.
It started with a candle's flicker. Then, she moved things with her mind. At first the king tried to ignore it. But soon it became inevitable.
The baby was magical.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Arthur rushed to the door, rattling the knob, and thrusting his fists against it.
"No!"
"I doubt it'll open, my lord."
"Well obviously," Arthur called sarcastically, turning back to Lancelot, who was still pulling himself to his feet. "What the hell is this place?!"
Panting with fury, Arthur's eyes landed on the boy, who was quivering with fear in the corner.
"This is brilliant," He said weakly, and slid down to the floor, his back pressed against the locked door. They were locked in a room underground in a cave full of sorcerers. If they wouldn't kill him, his father surely will.
"We're all gonna die."
"We're not going to die," Lancelot protested, going over to the boy. He sheathed his sword, ignoring Arthur's protests, and lowered himself to eye level with the tiny child.
"There's really no need to be scared," He told the boy, whose large eyes blinked frantically, moving from Arthur to Lancelot to the swords and back. "We're not going to hurt you. Do you have a name?"
The boy breathed in ruggedly. "Roger."
"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Roger. My name is Lancelot. This there is a friend of mine. Prince Arthur." Arthur groaned. He let his head bang against the wood, frustrated. Roger gave him a nervous glance.
"What are you doing here, Roger?" Lancelot asked, trying to collect information about where ever it was they were.
The boy did not answer.
"How long have you been here?"
"I dunno," The child said, his words mumbled. "A long time."
"And what is it that you do here?"
No replay.
Sighing, the young man stood, turning to the prince. "Did you try cutting through the wood?"
"No. I started with hitting my head against the wall."
"Right."
Lancelot turned back to the kid. He stared up at him fearfully. With an irritated grown Arthur rose to his feet, coming toward the child with a drawn sword.
"Was that woman your grandmother?"
Petrified, the boy nodded.
"Well, then why'd she stick a knife into you arm?"
The boy's eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head miserably.
"You have a real way with children, sire," Lancelot muttered under his breath, but Arthur heard him, nonetheless.
He sounded just like Merlin.
Arthur's heart began to pound as blood drizzled down the boy's skeletal arm.
"Are you a sorcerer?"
The boy didn't answer. He looked at the floor.
"Hey, listen, if you don't-"
"Sire, have you ever met a kid before?"
Arthur gave Lancelot an odd glare. "A 'kid'? You mean a goat?"
"No, I mean a child," Lancelot rolled his eyes.
"Oh. Well, no. I mean yes, but not- I haven't ever talked… that is-"
Lancelot turned away from him, again lowering himself to the boy's eye level. "So. Roger."
The boy glanced up, his face wet with tears.
"Do you know Amaroe?"
The boy hissed, backing up against the wall.
"I see," Arthur said to Lancelot, turning back to the impassable door. "Thanks for the lesson."
Lancelot ignored him. "Did Amaroe make your grandmother-"
"We were together at first," the boy muttered. "And then they took her away. And when she came back, she didn't- recognize me."
Lancelot nodded. Arthur snorted, placing his sword back into the scabbard. The boy was touching the cut from the knife carefully, his face contorted in pain.
"How often does she cut you?" Lancelot asked, gently.
"Every day," The boy muttered. He gave Lancelot an off glance. "Are you a wizard?"
Lancelot and Arthur exchanged looks. "No," Lancelot said. "But you are, aren't you?"
"Then you don't have magic?" The boy questioned again, seeming confused.
"No."
"And neither does he?" He pointed at Arthur.
"No. Definitely not."
"Then what are you doing here?"
Arthur let go of the door handle he's been studying, and gave the boy a thoughtful look.
"We are looking for a friend of ours," Lancelot said, aware of the prince's eyes eyeing his back.
"And is he a sorcerer?"
There was silence.
"Yes," Prince Arthur said. "We think so."
Lancelot couldn't help the air that escaped involuntarily out of his lungs, and felt his entire body unwind. What did this mean? Had Arthur come to save Merlin, or demand revenge for the months of betrayal and lies?
"What does Amaroe do to sorcerers?" Arthur asked, moving toward the others, staring down at the boy intently. "What's in the bottles?"
"I don't know," Roger muttered, shaking his head. "They make you… different. They made Grandma different. And my dad."
"Your dad?"
"My dad was a sorcerer," The boy said. Then, lowering his eyes, "He died."
Arthur frowned. Lancelot could almost see the wheels turning in his head. Three sorcerers in one family. An acquired craft, or one passed from father to son, such as the color of one's eyes, skin, and hair?
"I'm sorry," Lancelot begun, before Arthur rudely cut him.
"Why?"
The boy raised his large eyes to the prince's intent blue ones.
"He got… lost," He said slowly, hesitantly. "And confused. And then he died."
"How?"
"Sire, I think-"
The prince ignored him, getting to his knees in front of the young boy. "How?"
"He jumped," The boy muttered. "Off the mountain. Into the Ork River."
Arthur froze, his expressions changing too fast. Lancelot felt blood drum against his ears. Was that going to happen to Merlin? Was that why the prince seemed so frightened?
Arthur got to his feet again. He did not take his eyes off Roger. "And these… liquids in the bottles," He questioned. "Are they all the same?"
"No," The boy said. "Some of them make you do things you don't want to do. And others make you forget, or lose things, or just… hurt."
"And what about the one Amaroe's giving you?"
"I don't know," the boy whispered. His eyes grew petrified. His voice shook. "I-"
Just then, the door burst open.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Uther could not accept his own blood to be magical- the same magic that killed his first wife, the same that made his son an orphan. Norane had betrayed him. He was convinced the baby was not his own, for never in history was there a magical child in the line of the Pendragons.
Whether the child was his own or if it weren't, Gaius could not know. Nor could he find out. Once it became apparent that the unborn child was, in fact, a sorcerer, the king showed no mercy. He could not kill the woman he so dearly loved, nor could he keep her by his side, knowing of her betrayal. He had her locked up in the deepest, darkest dungeon he could find, and erased all memory of her from the castle, so as to not remind him, or his son, or the people, of her existence.
And she stayed in the dungeons, for sixth months.
On the eighth month of her pregnancy, the dragon lords attacked.
It was a brutal battle, during which all the remnants of the dragon race were wiped out. It was winter, and rain mixed with the blood of the great beasts streamed down the streets of Camelot. Norane's father, the greatest dragon lord the kingdom has ever seen, died. His dragon, the mighty Kilgharrah, was captured by the cold king and imprisoned beneath the castle. Percy Gorge was killed by his own brother. His brother, Amaroe, swore to end magic, and sold his services to the king with the promise to do so. Knights found Lady Norane in the dungeons, her infant daughter in her arms.
"You were giving off to Amaroe," Gaius said. "It was then that he begun his experiments. With the king's help he hid in the high mountains, collecting sorcerers the king could not justify killing- men and women who were captured for saving lives by use of sorcery. He could not bring himself to kill you." He gazed at her as she sat, her back straight, her eyes blind. "You look very much like your mother."
There was a moment of silence. Finnally, she turned her dead eyes to him. "Thank you," She said. And then: "I know you can find me an antidote for the cure. For I know that it has been you who created the cure in the first place."
Gaius lowered his head with pain. "I was. Before I knew what evils it could create."
"If you could give me back my freedom," She said, slowly, staring right into his eyes, "Then I can stop the thousands of death awaiting the people of Camelot."
Again, Gaius did not ask what horror she spoke of.
He stood up, helping her to her feet. Then he turned to the page he had foud a few hours earlier, ripped, with only a few word scribbled on the corner.
"We have a lot of work to do, Lady Norane."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Atora gazed at the sky, her face mildly curious. The dragon's frame was growing larger in the sky. It was enormous, with gray scales and powerful wings.
"It's a trap," Her father said, his words reverberating in her mind as she tried to pull herself back into reality. "It's a trap!" He repeated, louder, as the crowds began to notice the giant, winged lizard as it roared again, flames surging out of its mouth in billowing waves, just like in the pictures of the old, crumbling story books. A woman screamed, and after her dozens followed. The fight they had been watching halted as the two armored men pulled off their helmets, gaping into the heavens with pale faces and fear in their eyes. He father rose to his feet, his small eyes sparkling in the sun's light. His hand was steady as people around him began to flee, back toward the castle, their faces shocked and petrified. He pointed at the king, seated only a few rows away, his face white against his royal red robes.
"He's sat us up!" Her father screamed into the crowd. People glanced at him, and then at King Uther, who gave him a look of horror. "He' gathered us here like cattle so he could rid himself of all those entitled to the thrones of the five kingdoms, so that he could claim them himself!"
The screaming rose in volume and intensity. Atora felt Lora's hand on her shoulder, pulling her so that she would escape.
"He'd been training that dragon for years!" Her father said excitedly. She had never realized how easily he could control a crowd. "I've said so from the start! It's a trap! We were brought here to be slaughtered!"
Gwen was in the process of laundering the bloodied cloths left over after the last round of battles when the screaming started.
She glanced up from the bucket, stunned to see hundreds pouring out of the arena, running madly as a unified mob toward the castle. She was sitting on a short stool at the balcony of Lady Morgana's rooms- the only chambers not to have been volunteered as lodgings for the royal guests. She rose to her feet, looking down at the throng. Women in long, fancy gowns pulled their skirts clumsily as they ran, and men held on to their fluffy hats. She saw children being pushed around by the fleeing hordes, their faces contorted in tears, their mouths open with cries. At the end of the crows were knights, perched on their horses, looking up at the sky with their swords ready and drawn.
Gwen raised her eyes into the afternoon sky, and felt her jaw drop.
It was the dragon. Gwen stumbled back and the bucket fell to its side, spilling the bloodied water onto the previously spotless floor. The water drizzled over the balcony's edge onto the mobs, arousing more hysteria.
Gwen gaped at the flying creature. Its roar vibrated in her mind. The last time this creature had come to Camelot, she almost lost everything that ever meant anything to her. The city where she spent her childhood. Her home. Her friends. Arthur…
People now began entering the castle. They drizzled around and over the many tents and carriage lining the large square, yelling at each other to run, run, run. Gwen swallowed hard, getting to her feet. Her green skirt was red with the water, but there was nothing she could do about that. Instead she headed back, toward the door, passing through her mistress's chambers and into the hall, where other servants had emerged, wide eyed and frightened.
"We need to get medicine and supplies," She told the younger ones, who gaped at her, petrified. As one of the more experienced, approachable maids she was often asked for advice and assistance, and now they looked at her pleadingly. "Go to the great hall. The injured will be brought there."
"'The injured'?" Orano, the stable boy she's sent to Arthur when Merlin first fell ill, asked. He was fifteen and new to Camelot. He had not been there when the dragon first struck, just over a month ago.
"Yes," She said, trying not to show her fear. "The injured."
Just as she spoke a colossal flame of pure fire erupted out of the window by which she stood, engulfing her and Orano along with three other servants in its boiling blaze.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Two men stood by the door.
They were Amaroe's guards, their dark, bold heads reflecting the fire's light. They gazed blankly at the prince and Lancelot, who stood frozen by the boy's side.
"Where's Merlin?" Arthur asked immediately, unsheathing his sword. Lancelot followed suit, positioning himself defensively.
"They won't answer," Roger said from behind them. He moved fearfully back toward his corner, stopping only when his small frame collided with the cold stonewall. "They're like my grandma. Amaroe gave them a potion, too."
Arthur and Lancelot exchanged looks.
"They're very nice, really," the boy muttered. "I met them once, when they weren't effected."
"Brilliant," Arthur said under his breath. "Nice sorcerers that are trying to kill us. Great."
Lancelot opened his mouth to reply, but the two men suddenly moved forward, their giant hands moving upwards in unison. Lancelot felt himself being lifted in the air, his sword still clutched, useless, in his arms.
"This isn't good," he said to Arthur, who was floating helplessly by his side.
"You think?"
Out of nowhere, ropes appeared. At first Arthur tired to cut at them with his sword, but it was pulled out of his arms and cluttered loudly on the floor, from where the smaller of the two men picked it up. Lancelot sheathed his blade quickly as the ropes slithered around his body, snakelike and unrelenting. His arms tied behind his back, his legs stuck together he floated after the prince's equally stiffened frame out of the room and into the hallway.
The door shut behind them.
"Well," Amaroe said, smiling at them from the safe floor. "Hello there."
And as promised... long!!!
What'd you think?
(In two weeks is one of the most important tests of my high school career, so the next update might be delayed. Then again, I might need emotional support from reviewers... :-) )