Chapter III: Nimueh
Merlin cut to the chase almost before Kilgharrah had folded his wings. "Do you know how to defeat an afanc?"
One of the scaly ridges above Kilgharrah's eyes lifted, the draconic equivalent of a raised eyebrow. "An afanc?"
"There's one poisoning the water supply. People are dying, Kilgharrah."
"An afanc," the dragon repeated, this time to himself. "Those are creatures of the darkest, most powerful magic. It takes a mage to create one. Whoever sent the afanc is a dangerous enemy."
Merlin groaned. Lovely. The monster (which, according to Gwen, had teeth like swords and claws to match, not to mention poisonous skin and who knew what else) had been sent by something—someone—worse. "Do you think that whoever sent the afanc will show up to defend it?" Because that was just what he needed.
"It is possible, young warlock. However, the fact that she sent an afanc rather than coming herself suggests that she is elsewhere."
"She?" Merlin exclaimed. "You know who did it?"
"No. I have my suspicions, but I know not who did this thing." He leaned back on his haunches, stared up at the cloudy sky. "Do not worry about her now. It is the afanc you must defeat."
"But how?" Merlin wailed. "It's a creature of magic. How can I get rid of it?"
Kilgharrah lowered his great head. "You do not need to face it alone, young warlock. You are but one side of a coin. You will need your other half to defeat this adversary."
"You mean Arthur? Because I'm still not a hundred percent certain he's best-king-ever material."
"Certain or not, young warlock, he is the other side of your coin."
"The duller half, definitely."
Kilgharrah's lips twitched. "If you insist."
Merlin returned to the topic at hand. "So I get Arthur. What are we supposed to do then?"
"The afanc," Kilgharrah proclaimed, "is a creature of two elements. Use its opposites against it."
"But what does that—hey! You can't just fly off like that! Get back here and tell me—"
But Kilgharrah was already gone.
Merlin stared after the rapidly shrinking speck in the sky with an open mouth. He considered calling again with the scale, but he knew the dragon wouldn't respond. Grumbling under his breath about overly cryptic reptiles, Merlin made his way back to the city.
Camelot was frighteningly easy to sneak out of, into, and through. Even now, with twice as many guards patrolling the streets and the populace spooked, he barely needed his magic to break into the castle itself. Merlin wasn't certain if he was grateful for the guards' incompetence or not. On the one hand, he had a feeling he'd be doing a lot of sneaking. On the other, it was rather discouraging to think that the city depended on those red-garbed (seriously, what was up with the red? Did they want to be seen from half a league away?) morons to keep them safe.
He returned to Gaius's chambers and his own little room, not the sick ward. He'd offered to spend the night, but the other nurses were female. Spending a night with them, even if they were surrounded by sick people (though hopefully not sick for much longer, if Merlin's poultices did their job), was the height of impropriety. Merlin might not care about such things, but the women did. They weren't secret sorcerers, so they had a bit more respect for the rules than someone whose mere existence was illegal.
Gaius was, of course, fast asleep when his ward returned. He'd been asleep when Merlin had left, too. It had been torture to stay up while he was so exhausted, but Merlin had read his magic book (nothing about afancs there) and worked on two more poultices until he could hear Gaius's soft snores.
Now, Merlin sank his heavy body into his pallet. It wasn't the most comfortable of beds, but it was warm and just felt so nice after the day he'd….
"Time to get up, Merlin."
"Wha?" The youth blinked blearily.
"Time to get up," Gaius repeated.
"I know how to defeat the afanc."
"What?"
"Well, sort of," Merlin amended. "I talked to Kilgharrah last night. He said that the afanc is a creature of the elements and that its opposites can destroy it. Oh, and apparently I need the dull side's help. Any idea what that means?"
"I don't know anything about this 'dull side' of yours—"
"Oh, that's Arthur."
"—but I think I understand what the dragon meant about elements." Adopting the tone of a lecturer, Gaius continued, "The four elements are earth, water, air, and fire. The afanc is a creature of earth and water."
"Which are opposite to fire and air," Merlin muttered.
"Exactly!" Gaius's face split into a smile.
"So if we got fire and air, we could defeat the afanc!" Merlin threw himself out of bed. "I've got to tell Arthur!"
Gaius grabbed him by the back of his shirt. Merlin stumbled, glared at the older man. The physician simply smiled. "You might want to get dressed first."
Nimueh was scrying.
The victims of her plague were waking up, healing. The black faded from their veins, the white darkened back to ordinary skin tones. Their eyes lost their pallor.
Had something happened to her afanc? Frowning, the priestess focused her spell on the beast she had created. It was still alive, swimming through the underground water supply, poison dripping from its skin. Nimueh's frown deepened. If the afanc was still alive, then its victims could only have been healed by a sorcerer. A powerful one, too, mage-level strength, judging from how many were moving about the hastily erected sickroom. Much more powerful than that old traitor Gaius.
So there was a sorcerer living in Camelot, some do-gooder who didn't understand what she was trying to accomplish. Didn't this fool see how perfectly the plague demonstrated Uther's helplessness, his incompetence? Soon the people would have risen up to depose their king and his ill-begotten son. They would have begged on bended knee for magic's return. Anything, they would promise, we'll give you anything to stop the sickness.
And then magic would be free.
But, Nimueh grudgingly admitted to herself, afancs were rather obscure. The mage probably just saw an unknown disease ravaging his or her people and stepped up to help. In her younger days, before The Betrayal, Nimueh would have done the same herself.
The afanc lunged out of the water.
Nimueh's focus returned. Lost in thought, she hadn't noticed two young men entering the catacombs beneath Camelot. One of them was the spitting image of his mother Ygraine, strong and regal and golden. The other was paler, with sharp, waifish features and dark hair. Like Arthur, he clutched a sword and a torch; unlike the prince, he had very little idea of how to grip the weapon. A servant, Nimueh presumed, dragged down here for the extra light he would provide.
The men recoiled at the sight of the afanc, which was baring its teeth at them. Arthur stalked forward, sword at the ready. The servant boy's mouth moved. Nimueh cast the spell which would allow her to hear as well as see.
"Shut up, Merlin!" Arthur bellowed, swinging his sword at the beast.
Nimueh smiled. Did he honestly think he could destroy a creature of magic with a mortal blade?
"The torch!" the servant boy, Merlin, cried. "Use the torch!"
The afanc knocked aside Arthur's blade. Fear crossed the prince's face. He backed away.
Merlin's expression hardened. His mouth moved, but he spoke so quietly that Nimueh could not hear his words.
Wind gusted down the cave, gorging the fire of Arthur's torch into a wall of flame. The wind blew the fireball forward, right onto the afanc. Flame and air met earth and water. The elements collided, cancelling each other out.
The afanc died with a scream.
Nimueh was not often taken by surprise, but this? This surprised her. A servant in Camelot, a sorcerer? Why would he—of course. He was getting close to the royal family. Right now, he could easily kill Arthur, blame the afanc. Nimueh's breathing quickened. She leaned forward, eyes bright with anticipation.
Merlin helped Arthur to his feet. "You all right?"
"I think so. No thanks to you, though, Merlin."
The sorcerer grinned at the Pendragon, who grinned back. There was genuine warmth there, genuine affection—not just from Arthur Pendragon, but from Merlin as well.
It was unthinkable. A sorcerer had befriended the son of Uther Pendragon. A sorcerer had saved Arthur Pendragon's life.
"Merlin," Nimueh spat, the name a curse. Her red-nailed hand swept through the water in her scrying font, breaking the enchantment. Teeth bared, the priestess began to pace. Her sharp, stomping footsteps echoed off the walls of the crystalline cave.
Merlin was a traitor. He had befriended the enemy, even saved the enemy's life. He had thwarted Nimueh, magic's champion, with magic. He would do so again, of that she had no doubt.
He was going to die.
But how to kill a powerful sorcerer? Nimueh briefly considered popping by to let Uther know that oh, by the way, your son's servant Merlin has magic (it wasn't like he could actually catch her, much less kill her. Teleportation was handy like that), but anyone capable of healing thirty-seven people of afanc poisoning before wielding the elements against the afanc itself could easily escape the king of Camelot. She needed a public way to kill him.
It would have to be fast-acting and probably a poison of some kind, as she didn't know what kinds of physical shields the traitor kept on his person. Something obscure, so obscure that a boy so young wouldn't know how to counter it. Mortaeus, perhaps? And, she realized, he would either have to not notice the poison until it knocked him out or be unable to destroy it before consumption. There were two ways to do that.
She could hope that he didn't have any spells to alert him to poison and try to sneak it into his food or drink. Unfortunately, if he did have spells to alert him to poison, he'd survive and know someone was out to kill him. Nimueh knew she could defeat the boy—was she not a high priestess of the Old Religion?—but she wanted him dead and out of the way, not alive and meddling.
Her other option was to make him knowingly drink poison but remain unable to stop its effects without revealing his magic. That would be a bit more difficult, but she knew she could make it work. Now she just needed to figure out how….
Two weeks later, Nimueh carried out her plans. She disguised herself as a serving girl in King Bayard's party. In her disguise, she got ahold of the ceremonial goblet, spread mortaeus poison along its rim. The sorceress smirked. Let Merlin's inexplicable loyalty towards Arthur be his undoing. How very fitting that the traitor should betray himself.
After that, it was child's play to ensure that Merlin drank from the cup. Few boys his age could resist the chance to impress a pretty girl with his heroics, and Arthur's mage was no exception. The dark-haired youth strode through the halls of Camelot, making a beeline for Arthur and the kings.
Nimueh murmured a spell that would render her virtually invisible and followed. She wanted to watch the traitor die.
As she watched Merlin disrupt the peace talks and potentially restart the longstanding war between Mercia and Camelot, Nimueh reached out with her magic. The faded remnants of Gaius's gift cowered before her lightest touch. No surprise there. The traitor had always been weak, barely more than a hedge wizard, and twenty-plus years of abstaining from magic had diminished his abilities even further. The dark-haired girl sitting close to Uther had magic within her, a bud on the verge of blossoming. Pity stabbed at Nimueh's heart. Poor little witch, growing up here in Uther's court. When her powers did manifest (which they should have already. Only iron self-control and a deep-seated fear of possessing magic had kept them at bay thus far), she would be terrified. Nimueh made a mental note to keep an eye on this girl. Perhaps she would hunt Morgause down and ask for her help in training the fledgling witch.
No one else in the hall had magic. There were a few who could learn if they chose to apply themselves, but Gaius and the girl were the only ones who actually possessed the art.
But that was impossible.
She should be able to sense Merlin. She had seen him use magic to defeat the afanc, and someone had healed the plague's victims. The old traitor lacked the strength; the young witch lacked the experience. She should feel the power rolling off of Merlin. Instead, all she felt from him was an old glamor around his eyes.
"Besceawodnes clæneu," Nimueh chanted. Her magic bored through the weak old illusion around Merlin's eyes, but she was too far away to see any difference. The witch frowned. "Guðhafoces eaggebyrd."
Behind the mirage of blue irises, Merlin's eyes were bright and brilliant gold.
He wasn't using a spell. His true eyes were coin-yellow, an unnatural shade that looked perfectly natural in Merlin's face. Nimueh didn't understand, but fear tickled at the back of her throat. A man with golden eyes, a powerful mage without detectable magic…. It was disturbing, deeply disturbing. It shouldn't be.
Merlin raised the poisoned goblet to his mouth.
Nimueh fought the absurd urge to reveal herself, to dart forward and knock the cup from the fool's hand. She wanted to know who he was, what he was. But the priestess was no fool. She stopped herself from lunging forward and demanding answers.
For a long moment, Merlin was fine. Then his muscles gave out on him. The young sorcerer collapsed.
Pandemonium erupted. Bayard wanted to know who had poisoned his ceremonial goblet, Uther wanted Bayard's head on a pike, the soldiers on both sides wanted a fight, and Arthur Pendragon just wanted everyone to shut up and go get Gaius (who he didn't seem to realize was twenty feet away from him) NOW before his idiot manservant went and died on him.
The old traitor pushed his way through the crowd. He checked the sorcerer's pulse, nearly crumpled with relief when he saw that Merlin was safe. Clearly he had no idea that the boy had magic; if he'd known, he'd have let the youth die as he'd let so many of his kin perish. Instead, the physician directed Prince Arthur and a worried-looking servant girl to carry the young sorcerer to safety.
Nimueh followed.
Traitor or not, magic or not, Gaius was still a skilled physician. Nimueh hadn't expected him to recognize mortaeus poisoning, much less to know the cure. But he did recognize it, and soon Arthur was making plans to go find the mortaeus flower to save his manservant.
The mere thought of a Pendragon saving a sorcerer was almost enough to send Nimueh into fits of hysterical laughter.
As the prince left, Nimueh crept closer to Merlin's bedside. She had dropped the spells on her vision; if Merlin's were open, she would see only blue. Nimueh ghosted a finger across Merlin's brow.
Magic.
Merlin had magic, she could finally sense that now, but it was like no magic she'd ever seen or even heard of. His power was like the forest or the ocean or the stars, raw and natural and vast beyond understanding. The boy didn't just have magic; he was made of it, much like a dragon or a griffin or a unicorn. He was human—she could sense that his elemental magic was channeled into human spells—but at the same time, he was a creature of magic, and that was impossible.
A changeling? No. She'd felt magic from the Sidhe before. It had been years since that day, but she still remembered the touch of their power. Merlin certainly possessed elements of Sidhe magic, elements she had never felt in a human being, but he was just that: human. Most of his power was natural magic under human control.
Whatever Merlin was (she had the feeling that she ought to know, but the knowledge trickled through her grasp like water through a sieve), he was clearly not immune to mortaeus poison. The boy's face was pale, his hair rapidly dampening with sweat. His eyes twitched rapidly behind their lids. Within mere days, he would be dead and gone.
Unless, of course, Arthur acquired the antidote.
All the gossips agreed that the young prince was a superb athlete, gifted in everything from riding to swordplay to dancing. He could doubtless fight off the beasts in the Cave of Balor, acquire the mortaeus flower, and ride home before Merlin expired.
So Nimueh laid a trap for him.
Like his manservant, Arthur was only too willing to help a damsel in distress. Chivalrous fools, the both of them. Still, that suited Nimueh's purposes perfectly.
Personally, she thought that her weeping and wailing was a bit much. Was the scratch on her arm mildly painful? Yes. Was it enough to reduce any rational person to a quivering mess of tears? No, and certainly not a high priestess of the Old Religion. But, Nimueh reminded herself, she wasn't playing a rational human being. She was a damsel in distress, a poor helpless maid in desperate need of a knight in shining armor.
The prince tied his horse to a nearby stump. "Hello?" he called, uncertain about how to approach the weeping woman.
Nimueh kept up her theatrical sobbing. As the prince cautiously made his way towards her, she rubbed at her eyes to hide the lack of tears.
Arthur was just about to put an armored hand on her shoulder when the cockatrice roared.
The Vates had once told Nimueh that no Pendragon would die at her hand. That was why she had made sure to provoke the cockatrice. It was more the capable of defeating Uther's little prince, and she would be able to watch Arthur's death without defying the prophecy.
Nimueh screamed. Arthur winced at the loud, shrill cry that was far too close to his ears.
"Stay back." Backing away from Nimueh, Arthur sized up the creature. The cockatrice's overall appearance was reptilian. It was covered in scales of gray-black and brown, its skin loose over its compact frame. Four stout, muscular legs ended in thick blackish claws. The tail was unarmored, meant mainly for balance and protection rather than as a weapon. If something ever caught ahold of the beast (not likely, as few animals were stupid enough to hunt cockatrices), its tail would break off and regrow within the fortnight. Twin sails rose from its back. Its neck snaked out before it. The lizard-like head was filled with teeth. Lots and lots of sharp, vicious teeth.
Arthur, apparently deciding that he was far enough from the poor helpless girl, drew his sword. He proceeded to twirl it about in a series of flashy, impractical maneuvers that served no purpose whatsoever. Nimueh arched a brow at that. Did the prince think that her cockatrice would be so impressed by his swordplay that it would just leave him alone? No, it would kill him, its venom congealing his blood within his veins. Then, as his body failed around him, the cockatrice would feast. Arthur's death would be slow and painful.
Nimueh smiled.
The beast reared up on its hind legs, snarling and roaring in challenge. It charged. Arthur held his ground until the last second, then dove beneath the leaping monster. He rolled, somehow managing to not impale himself, and stood. The cockatrice's momentum carried it forward. Its body was meant for brute strength, not agility, and it had to run several more paces before it managed to turn around.
Arthur threw his sword at it.
If Nimueh had not been so incredulous, she would have laughed. The cockatrice was twenty feet away from Arthur. Its hide was an inch thick and armored in rock-hard scales. Did Arthur really think that throwing his sword—his spinning sword, no less—would do anything other than—
The sword penetrated deep into the monster's flesh, slicing through scales and muscles into its heart. The beast fell to its side, already convulsing with death throes.
That was just—how in the world had that happened? Nimueh wondered wildly. People can't just chuck heavy metal objects at angry creatures of magic and expect to survive! That throw had to violate at least three laws of nature, not to mention common sense and the rules of probability. And yet, in spite of sanity itself, the cockatrice lay dead.
…was this some sort of joke?
Arthur carried on as though twirling sword tosses of death were perfectly rational. "I'm not going to hurt you," he told Nimueh, sheathing his blade and moving towards her. His eyes focused on her red arms, the claw marks and bruises. "Who did this to you?"
She hadn't expected him to survive this long. Time to make things up. "My master," Nimueh improvised. Her voice quivered a bit. "I ran away from him, but then I got lost." She opened her eyes very wide and fixed that sad blue gaze on Arthur. "Please don't leave me."
"I won't," the idiot prince promised. "I'm not going to."
Hmm. Perhaps there was another way to keep him away from the mortaeus flower. "You'll take me from here?" she sniffled.
"Not yet," Arthur replied. "There's something I need to do first."
Nimueh followed his gaze to an opening in a hill. "Why have you come to the caves?" she asked.
Arthur went to tend his horse. "I'm looking for something," he explained. "It can only be found here."
"What is it?" Nimueh inquired, the very picture of innocence. "I know this place. I could help you."
"It's a type of flower that only grows inside the cave. They're very rare."
"The mortaeus flower?" Nimueh smiled. "I know where they are. I'll show you."
Arthur swallowed it hook, line, and sinker.
There were many places in the cave where the mortaeus flower grew, and many ways to get to those locations. Nimueh led Arthur through the longest, most complicated route she could. Skilled tracker or not, he'd never find his way out of the cave in time to save Merlin—assuming he got out at all.
"There they are," the priestess announced, pointing to a small cluster of orange-yellow blooms. The flowers were growing in a small niche on the wall of the cave. Unfortunately for Arthur, though, there was a yawning chasm between the patch of ground on which he stood and the mortaeus plants. He walked past Nimueh onto a narrow tongue of stone that projected over the huge gap. The rock groaned under his weight.
"Stay back," Arthur ordered. Then, encouragingly, "Don't worry. We'll be out of here soon."
Step. Step. Despite his earlier stunt with the sword, Arthur had sense enough to proceed cautiously, testing the stone to make sure it wouldn't give out under him. Too bad he didn't have enough sense not to turn his back on an enemy.
"Eorthe, lyft, fyr, waeter, hiesumie me."
Nimueh didn't bother to speak quietly. She spoke her spell loudly, clearly. She wanted Arthur to know what he was dealing with.
"Eorthe ac stanas hiersumie me. Ic can stanas tobrytan..."
"What are you doing?" the prince demanded.
"...hiersumi me."
The stone crumbled beneath Arthur's feet.
The prince jumped, pushing himself off the falling rock and slamming into the wall of the cave. His fingers scrambled for a grip. When he found it, he hung there, swaying slightly from his forward momentum. The torch tumbled from his grasp into the drop below.
"I expected so much more," Nimueh sneered.
"Who are you?" the prince growled. His hand slipped. With a grunt, he grabbed wildly at the wall. His legs kicked against solid rock, unable to find a decent toehold.
"The last face you'll ever see," Nimueh told him.
Something hissed. An enormous spider, its foot-long legs covered in hair, scuttled out from its hiding place. "It seems we have a visitor," the priestess noted, observing Arthur's spike of fear with pleasure.
Arthur pulled himself away, scrambling to the side, but the spider was too fast. The prince grabbed his sword, somehow drew it and brandished it at the hairy insect without falling to his death. The spider hissed and spat, jabbed at the sword with its legs and pincers. Arthur flailed about. A lucky blow connected with the spider, sending it tumbling into the depths below.
"Very good," Nimueh chuckled, impressed despite herself, "but he won't be the last. I'll let his friends finish you off, Arthur Pendragon. It's not your destiny to die at my hand."
The priestess turned and walked away, leaving Uther's son to his fate.
Besceawodnes: sight, vision; strong feminine noun in nominative singular
Clæneu: true, unencumbered, unfettered, clear; strong adjective in feminine nominative singular
Besceawodnes clæneu: "unfettered vision"; spell used to see through illusions (my invention)
Guðhafoces: hawk, eagle; strong masculine noun in genitive singular
Eaggebyrd: the power or nature of the eye; strong feminine noun in nominative singular
Guðhafoces eaggebyrd: "power of the hawk's eye"; spell for improving day vision (my invention)
Several lines in the 1X04 section, including the words of Nimueh's 'hiersumie me' spell, are dialogue directly from the episode. According to the Merlin Wiki, that spell translates to "Earth, air, fire, water, obey me. Earth and stones obey me. I have the knowledge to break the stones into pieces. Obey me." The Old English words I used to create the other spells come from www. oldenglishtranslator. co. uk/ Just take out the spaces if you want to visit.
Does enjoying Nimueh's POV so much make me a terrible person?
I promised Robyn S. Mockingbird to give out a challenge: observant!Arthur and not-cryptic!Kilgharrah. We have no idea what else would happen, just that those two things would be there. Any takers?
Happy Independence Day, my fellow Americans!
Alternate chapter title: "Wherein the Mighty Warrior-Prince of Camelot Embarks on an Epic Quest to Pick a Pretty Little Flower"
Next update: July 17. See you then!