Disclaimers: I know, I know. All, except Phyllida E. Dewhurst, belongs to the BBC. No infringement intended.
CHAPTER 6
The Significance of Clues
Morgana stifled another yawn. Ignoring an urge to stretch her limbs and retreat to the silken sheets that she so had abandoned these past nights, she smoothed out her emerald green dress to complete her immaculate appearances and added some rouge to her cheeks, making sure she looked awake and alive. She would have to be careful and not let Uther see how tired she was in the morning when she was actually supposed to be rested after a long night's sleep.
The elegant lady closed the door behind her, taking care that the long train was not caught in the heavy oak door. The day before, she had met Merlin in the hallways as she was coming out with a wide open yawn on her face and she had hoped that he would not notice. On the other side, she hardly thought the young awkward serving boy would be so stupid as to follow her again, given what had happened the last time. A brief, flash of an evil smirk spread over her face. Morgause had had him at her mercy. She then wrinkled her nose bridge: She still couldn't fathom how he had escaped her sister's chains and the many blood thirsty serkets. It made no sense. Her sister's magic was much stronger than her own, and she knew for a fact that no one could have broken those enchanted chains. Somehow, he must have had help. The next time, they met him alone in the forest, it would be safer simply to kill him on sight. Employing the right spell, would make it look like death by highway robbers and no one would ask questions.
At any rate, they their regular nightly excursions would soon come to an end. The place, they, especially Morgause, had been looking for was within their reach, and as soon as her sister called for her, she would have to leave … despite the hour. Morgana leaned out of one of the Romanesque windows in the hallway. Down there, in the arena, Arthur was training, his inefficient idiot of a servant assisting him. She smirked; poor, defenceless Arthur. Alone or in the company of his useless squire he would not stand a chance against Morgause and herself.
The smirk widened into a broad grin.
x
CLANG!
Merlin's legs buckled and he staggered as his lanky body nearly went down from the weight of a ridiculously large morning star that landed on the fragile looking shield he had for sole protection. Attempting to brace himself against the next blow, he thrust upwards and met it half way, only to discover that this time the blow came on the edge of the shield which threw him off balance-wise entirely, falling on his knees into the soft turf. Gasping and scrambling to his feet, he made for a poor sight in the eyes of the battle-seasoned prince.
"Honestly! Merlin! You have to meet the blow – not succumb to it! Can't you get anything right?"
To emphasise his words, the Prince swung the chain again and landed the heavy weapon directly in the centre of the shield that practically cracked under the sheer force, making the warlock's arm twist the wrong way. Merlin groaned and sank to his knees again. There you go! This arm would definitely be multicoloured the following day.
Prince Arthur was about to deal him the final coup de grace when he suddenly caught the lithe figure of his manservant's visiting cousin in the corner of his eye. She looked quite pretty with her foxy hair, despite the short length of it, in that forest green dress and her young freckled face. Arthur was very much in love with Gwen, but that didn't mean he was dead to the female world; he found Merlin's relative very attractive. Even if she did look like a thunderstorm. Arthur blinked. What was she doing?
Phyllida was marching towards the blonde prince and didn't stop until she stood right in front of him. She gave Merlin one quick look and, completely ignoring the young sorcerer's swift shaking of his head, waved at him vehemently.
"What the hell are you doing?" she asked with unmasked outrage, "two seconds more of bashing that shield, and you will have broken Merlin's arm. Is that what you want?"
"Um," Arthur said, completely taken aback, "we … we are training."
"No, you are training, and he is hurting. Why do you do this?"
Arthur finally got a grip, "look, while I'm sure Merlin appreciates your concern for him, I guarantee you that he won't be hurt. This a normal, straightforward practice, and ..."
"I don't know, Arthur. It doesn't look like the other knights are nearly as violent to their squires as you are," came a smug voice from behind. Arthur turned, incredulity dominating his eyes. "Well, if you held the shield the way I told you to, perhaps it would be a little easier for you, Merlin!"
"Look at him," Phyllida insisted, making the Prince turn back to face her, "he's thin as a rake. You can't expect him to be strong as a well fed and fighting fit knight!"
Arthur had absolutely no idea how to defuse the situation and proceeded to gaze at Phyllida with an expression of total confusion. Merlin, on the other hand, was having a field day, smiling widely, ear to ear, making a mental note of commending his guest on her method of direct approach.
"Merlin's tougher than he look," was the Prince's feeble answer and nodded at his adversary, trying to convey that the conversation had lasted long enough. Phyllida went to her friend and took his arm to examine it, silently whispering to him:
"Clearly you haven't told him yet. Are you planning to later? Or do you want some more 'training' on the subject?"
"I'm just trying to find the right time," Merlin argued, mirroring her low volume.
"Which would be … when?"
"I can't say for sure."
"Merlin," she hissed, "I'm stuck here until you do!"
"I know, I know – AU!"
Obviously she had found a sore spot on the abused arm where, sure enough, artistic colours were spreading and evolving with alarming haste. She turned to the Prince again.
"See?"
And with that closing remark, she removed herself from the training arena, Arthur gawking at her back and Merlin rubbing his sore arm.
x
Back in Arthur's chambers, the prince quickly discarded his equipment and training clothes, throwing his chain mail on the table with a certain vehemence and a resounding noise. He turned to his manservant who had just managed to carry the armoury all the way from the training arena to the chambers, making his laboured breathing heard every step of the way.
"I daresay, Merlin. You do have a spirited cousin!"
Merlin winced, "yeah … I'm sorry," he said, huffing, "that part of the family has always been somewhat … concerned about my welfare."
"Very well," Arthur said, squinting at him. "Do you think she could keep her outburst to a minimum, at least in public?"
Merlin looked down sheepishly, "I shall talk to her about it."
The Prince nodded and continued his undressing. Merlin stood fiddling the armoury for a while, his facial expression one of conflicting emotions, and then, as if he had made a sudden decision, turned to address his master.
"Arthur … would you rather that I wasn't so … weak? I mean … would you prefer a … stronger servant?"
The Prince eyed him, a smirk creeping up his cheek. "You? Strong? Then who would I tease, then?"
"Oh... I didn't mean strong as much as in a physical sense. I meant … like if I had a special skill ..."
Arthur grinned and signalled Merlin to pour out some water for him. "But you do have a special skill, Merlin – you are absolutely a world champion in goofing round."
So impressed by his own magnificent wit that he could hardly control his mirth, Prince Arthur splashed the water into his face and onto his torso. Obviously, the concept of a skilled Merlin couldn't be farther from his thought.
Well, the sorcerer thought, that was to be expected; after all, he had always been goofing round as part of his cover. It had been a vital part of his plan to survive King Uther's reign. Now, this came back to bite him in his bony behind. Merely telling Arthur about his sorcerer skills might prove an unprecedented challenge – perhaps a certain display of evidence would have to be included. Merlin bit his lip. This was getting more and more complicated by the minute.
x
The next morning truly bore witness to the richness of the full season of spring. Phyllida was awakened by birds singing so loudly that she almost felt like covering her ears with her hands just to prolong that sweet morning drowsiness that the state between sleep an being awake was so pregnant with.
Stretching her slim form, she nearly fell off the cot, which made her decide to get up for good. Quickly, she dressed herself, idly wondering how she could get another dress as this already seemed dirty enough to be cleaned and then left Merlin's room.
The rightful owner of the cot sat on the window sill in Gaius' lab, looking out and into the streets of Camelot with an attentive glance and natural curiosity. Phyllida smiled at the sight of his too largely fitting clothes, dark unruly hair, his smooth facial skin, soft innocent eyes and gangly body line; he was just a young boy and he had the destiny of an entire country on his very thin and frail shoulders. Frailty, Thy Name is Merlin, she felt inclined to (mis)quote. Yet these past few days, she had come to realise that he was surprisingly sturdy.
The young sorcerer seemed so enwrapped in his self-chosen task of carefully watching Life go by that he hardly noticed her approach. Still, he didn't jump when she talked to him.
"Anything interesting going on?"
"Yeah," he murmured, "the Lady Morgana is coming home from a nightly excursion … again."
"Oh – she's the one you told me to avoid?"
"Yes … don't go near her!" he was now looking at her directly, emphasising his point.
"Why?"
Merlin lowered his voice, "She is the King's ward and she has magic … but not in a good way. She has chosen to use it for evil."
Phyllida's eyebrows made it to her brow. "Does the King know this?"
"Certainly not. He is blind to her every fault. He would have our heads if we even suggested anything negative about her."
Phyllida grimaced. "oh, that's ugly."
Her host nodded. "And now she goes out every night. I know she's up to some mischief – plotting against the King or something and there's nothing I can do about it."
"How about following her and thwart her plans?"
Now it was Merlin's turn to grimace. "Tried it once. Not to be recommended. She has this unpleasant sister, Morgause, who wrapped me in chains and threw me to the serkets."
"Serkets?"
"Giant scorpions."
"Oh, nice."
Merlin sighed .. and jerked, his eyes widening in a shock of realisation.
"I have to go! Seeing her and talking to you has already made me late!"
The lanky young man got to his feet surprisingly fast and rushed past Phyllida, who frowned, having the most unsettling impression that there was something familiar about the way the young warlock looked this morning. But she couldn't quite put her finger on it.
"How about something to eat?" Gaius cried after him as he saw the backside of his apprentice disappear through the door.
"I'm late!" Merlin yelled back and took the hallway in three steps. Again! thought Gaius. This boy would be late for his funeral.
x
Lady Morgana reached into her closet to change dresses. Another strenuous night and not a chance to get some sleep before going to the King for breakfast. She very much wondered how long she could keep it up. Make-up could cover the dark circles under her eyes, but keeping from yawning was getting increasingly more difficult, she'd have to …
Oh!
The sorceress felt it keenly, felt it in her very soul, in her being, inside her mind. Her sister calling. Some people with magic needed crystals to communicate with each other, and in the beginning, she and Morgause had used various means to get hold of each other. Now, however, their bond was so infinitely strong and intimate that those primitive methods were history. Morgana smiled – and then yawned. She had just returned from her nightly activity with her sister, yet Morgause was calling her again. That could not be a coincidence.
Had she, Morgana wondered, finally found the crystal cave?
x
It bugged her.
It really, really bugged her.
And it had bugged her all morning.
Phyllida E. Dewhurst was an archaeologist and as such used to digging and finding long lost artefacts and secrets. This included digging in her own mind when she was trying to put together a thesis for a research project. And she knew for a fact that she had seen or recognised something this morning that was a vital importance, a missing piece of a puzzle. Something about Merlin when he left for Arthur's chambers. She was sure of it.
Phyllida sighed and leaned back in her chair by the table where she had just had her breakfast. The place was deserted but for herself as Gaius had left for his rounds and wouldn't be back for hours. The intense spring sun was peeping through every orifice of Gaius' and Merlin's home, highlighting dust particles to the extreme. They distracted her. Closing her eyes, she threw her mind and memory back to when the warlock was sitting on the window sill and she was talking to him. No … that's not where the feeling arose. Then he got up, hurried out, Gaius was shouting something … no, rewind … Merlin got up. Phyllida concentrated hard on conjuring up the image of the young sorcerer. The way his long limbs connected with the floor, his sensitive face eager to go and slightly worried that he would be late, his lanky shape looking way too thin in the clothes that clearly was too big for him …
… the clothes.
THE CLOTHES!
A shock of recognition and realisation rushed through the time traveller and sent an ice cold shiver down her spine as she understood the implications of her findings. She had recognised the clothes! Not from the previous days. Not from the day before. Not the individual pieces of clothing. Merlin usually changed between a red shirt and a blue neckerchief or a blue shirt and a red neckerchief – and sometimes a dark blue jacket to go with it. Today, this morning, the combination had been blue shirt, red neckerchief – AND A BROWN JACKET!
The exact combination of clothes she had seen him wear in the cave when she got him out of the crystal about 2000 years into the future.
Phyllida took a deep breath to still herself. It was important that she get this right. On the other hand, she could not afford to be too late if this was, indeed, the day when Merlin would be trapped in the cave. She looked round her. Gaius had left which meant she could not consult him. Arthur still didn't know anything and was thus worthless as an ally.
First things first. She would go to Prince Arthur to see if Merlin was still here; and if he was, it would certainly prove very easy to stop whatever he had planned for the day.
Phyllida didn't waste any time, but bolted out through the door and rushed down the hallway, running very in a very un-ladylike fashion, her arms swinging and her heel hammering into the stone surface. She didn't have to run very far. Round the second corner came Arthur towards her with an inquisitive expression on his face.
"Phyllida," he arrested her, "you haven't, by any chance, seen Morgana, have you? The King would like to see her."
"The lady Morgana?" Phyllida wrinkled her forehead, already scant of breath, more from excitement than exertion, "perhaps she is … sleeping?" she suggested, remembering what Merlin had told her of the witch's nightly excursions.
"No, I have just been to her chambers. There's no sign of her."
The young archaeologist looked at him, first in puzzlement, then in horror as everything suddenly made terrible sense to her. Everything came together! All the facts fitted: the evil witch, now missing, and her sister, Merlin who had been captured by her once before, Merlin's all too familiar clothing combination...
"Have you seen Merlin?" she asked without preamble, panic obvious in her voice and ignoring the Prince's question .
"No," Arthur replied, annoyed, "come to think of it, the bloody idio... sorry, the … um; he never returned to my chambers after I sent him to the kitchen."
"How long is that since?"
Arthur shrugged, "an hour or more."
To the Prince's great surprise, the girl in front of him suddenly grabbed his arms with a vengeance, shaking him urgently, her expression being one of utter desperation.
"My lord, I have spoken harshly to you before, but now I apologise and ask that you must trust me and come with me – now, please."
Arthur gaped, about to say something, but stopped himself when he looked into her auburn eyes and saw only sincerity. "We may even be too late already," she added.
x
The air was chilly despite the luscious display of sharp sun, yet the archaeologist still felt cold, not having taken time to don a cape or its like when she ran to find the Prince. It will have to do, she thought, the main thing would be that they catch up with the sorcerer in time.
Not being able to ride a horse to save her life, Phyllida was sharing a horseback with the Prince. Clinging to the young man like someone who had no intention of ever letting go, she gave Arthur muffled instructions as where to go. She knew only one route and it was probably not the quickest, but Merlin was on foot and they on horse, which gave them a substantial advantage.
"Perhaps you could tell me more about what's going on?" Prince Arthur said, half turning his face to address her.
"It will be very clear when we get there," she assured him, "suffice it to say that Merlin took it upon himself to stalk a sorceress and I'm afraid he's in over his head, here."
"Sorceress?" she felt how the Prince stiffened with antipathy and something resembling anger and she began to understand some of Merlin's fear of opening up to his master on this subject. "Then we should have brought the army," he continued.
"We would hardly be going stealth, then," she pointed out, "and whoever's got Merlin would surely kill him when he heard that many soldiers approaching."
Arthur had to admit that there was something in that, and Phyllida's respect for the man grew; how many medieval royalties would single-handedly (not counting herself since she would be worth absolutely zilch if it came to hand-to-hand battle) engage in a quest to retrieve his missing manservant? This, above anything else, convinced her that Arthur valued his friendship with Merlin more highly that his inherited antipathy towards magic. She was confident that she had taken the correct decision and that this step wouldn't lead to Merlin's early acquaintance with the pyre.
Besides, what else could she have done? If Merlin was buried in that crystal right here and now, she would be stuck in these times forever. Even if they got there five minutes too late, they still couldn't get Merlin out of the crystal. After all, using only the remote power of his mind, it must have taken the warlock centuries to extract and combine the compounds of the blue powder that got him out of the crystal. How could they even hope to break him free this early?
x
At first, the young warlock had lost track of the swift lady, however by sending out a mute spell, he extended his hearing and eventually caught her light footsteps going west. Two hours later, he finally heard her slow down and eventually stop. As he stopped also, he took time to scrutinise his surroundings and that's when he realised with a gasp.
He'd been there before.
Arthur had been hurt! And that's when it hit him. This was the area where the Crystal Cave was situated! With a chill down his spine, Merlin was beginning to understand what it was the two witch sisters had been looking so hard for and he stopped dead in his tracks. He was headed directly for the cave where Phyllida had found him trapped in a large crystal!
Merlin almost lost his breath. He couldn't do this! He had no back-up. He had told no one where he was going, and most likely he would be up against the two witches if they discovered him.
The warlock concentrated on controlling his thundering heart that seemed to have lost all sense of even pace. If he just kept calm, this disaster could be averted. Yes, that was it. He would stay hidden and observe only instead of bursting in where angels fear to tread. Perhaps they were actually planning to capture both Merlin and the Prince in a crystal, and the only way to thwart their plans would be to disclose them?
Thoughts continued to roam helter skelter in the warlock's mind until he finally took a decision: He would go to the cave and keep a low profile; after all, now that he knew the future, he would be ready and on account of this knowledge, it may not come to pass.
Merlin steeled himself and proceeded through the forest.
x
"I'm beginning to recognise this," Prince Arthur said as they cantered softly on the moist forest floor, following the path that Phyllida instructed. She wasn't surprised. After all, these woods were the property of Camelot. Besides, didn't Merlin say that he had been in that crystal cave before? Could have been in the company with the prince, no less.
x
Trying very hard to look like a trunk, the young warlock moved from tree to tree, closing in on the Crystal Cave. Extending his ears again, he could now hear Morgana's voice, which meant, of course, that she was talking to someone. As he steadily and stealthily moved closer, he was almost certain that that someone was Morgause, just as he thought it would be. Merlin held his breath. He was finally by the cave. He took a second to gather his thoughts. Now, it was important to stay in the shadows; he would have to keep completely still and unseen. It was a vital importance.
As the warlock crept along the cave wall, one careful step at a time, the voices grew gradually louder and the display of emotion was easier to interpret. Morgause sounded frustrated, her sister less so, though trying to calm the blonde sorceress down. One step more and Merlin made sure to crouch behind a rock to avoid detection. Yes, there they were, among all the glittering crystals that instantly disturbed Merlin's eyes with all their moving images. He shut his eyes tight, refusing to let himself be drawn in by them, and resorted to listening instead.
"... patience, sister. You will learn by time, I am sure of it."
"I need to learn now! Damn it. Why won't these blasted crystals talk to me!"
The crystals, Merlin thought, Morgause cannot wield them! What would she do, he wondered, if she knew that he could?
"We're very close," Phyllida cried, and then put a hand over her own mouth as Arthur hissed at her and her loud voice. "Yes, I recognise the place," he said in a low voice, "we were once chased by bandits here, Merlin and I."
"There is a cave down that slope," the archaeologist whispered in his ear. Arthur turned to look at her in surprise. This, he did not know. "How do you know?" he whispered back.
"Been there," she said. "Now is not the time for questions. Merlin's in trouble."
"You stay here by the horses, then," the prince said as he got off.
"Not an option," Phyllida opinioned in no uncertain terms as she got off as well, trying to land as softly and inaudibly as possible when she jumped from the considerable hight of the horse.
"Your magic is not yet strong enough to look in the crystals," Morgause stated, her voice still hard with disappointment, yet perhaps with our joined effort ..."
She turned to Morgana and grabbed her hands. "Perhaps we can do it. If we concentrate hard and long enough, we may be able to break the secret of the crystals. Get ready, sister, throw your mind into our mutual pool of magic and repeated after me ..."
GROWL.
"What was that?"
Behind his rock, Merlin grimaced with vexation. Oh no. His blasted stomach. Still, if he kept perfectly still, they might just ignore …. Groooooowwwwlll.
Bother!
"Who is there? Come out!" Morgause boomed, raising her hands into magic position. Merlin bit his lip. Unbidden images of his capture in the crystal suddenly pressed on in his mind. I am going down despite my precautions. He could have avoided this if he had listened to Phyllida and his own gut feeling! This was almost impossible to bear. Perhaps he could make a run for it? He wasn't keen on being buried in a crystal. No, running would probably be the wisest action. After all, he was here on his own – nobody had his back.
xxx
TBC!