Hello my little lovelies, I hope I didn't make you wait too long!
Nothing and Everything: Red
I hope you like it!
His bloodied hand came to rest on her back, the arrow snapping between them as Morgana lay her head on his chest, her breathing becoming increasingly difficult. Yet the most frightening thing was not her own labored breath, but the sound of Merlin's heartbeat, a drum that should be beating fast but was instead beating slower and slower and slower.
Until it stopped altogether.
Morgana pulled herself up, looking down at Merlin's ashen face. Her hair created a curtain around them, and she hovered breaths away from his face.
"Merlin?" she whispered, her hands beginning to tighten their grip around him. "Merlin?"
The sorceress cried out, beginning to shake him. But still he lay under her fingers, limp and terribly broken. Though soldiers moved around them, engaged in deadly dances with the enemy, their screams loud and ragged, Morgana could not hear them. She could hear nothing but the absence of a familiar heartbeat, the stillness of a chest that once rose with every breath.
"Merlin, Merlin, come on. Open your eyes for me. MERLIN!" Tears ran salty down her cheeks, leaving trails in the blood that was sure to never wash off. They fell slowly onto Merlin's face, and Morgana kissed them away. She kissed his head, his cheeks, sobbing as she tried to pry open those cool lips. Blowing her own breath into his mouth, the sorceress tried to force air into his deflated lungs, pulling back and kissing him deeply as he didn't respond. He tasted of blood.
"MERLIN. NO!" Her scream was high and ragged, a sharp knife in the heart to anyone who heard it. She pulled herself up and gently laid his head on her lap.
"Please," Morgana begged softly, her body shaking, wilting as those bruised eyelids refused to open, as that drum refused to beat. "Don't leave me. Merlin, NO!"
The earth trembled with her broken cries as her eyes glowed gold, magic returning to her veins as the priestess screamed her sorrow into the sky.
"Ic ðe ðurhhæle ðinu licsar mid ðam sundorcræft ðære ealdan æ. Drycræft ðurhhæle ðina wunda ond ðe geedstaðolie!"
Morgana felt the magic leave her in a flood, using every ounce she had as she cried out the words. Merlin was covered in a white glow, but when the light receded nothing changed. He still lay there, his face too pale, blood oozing from out of his armor, a scarlet that stained her hands.
A sob wrenched out of the sorceress's blood red lips, and the heavens above began to rumble. Soft rain fell around them, as though her tears had reached and now dripped from the gathering clouds. Morgana pulled Merlin closer to her body, bending over his head and kissing his lips as she moaned her pain into his skin.
"Please," she whispered, following the desperate word with every healing spell she knew. His voice whispered in his head, memories that she clung to as tightly as she clung to his bloody body.
"We all die, have a written time for us to depart this world. That's simply the way of things. We can try to prevent death, but sometimes it's inevitable," Merlin took her chin and forced her to look up at him. "You mustn't blame yourself, Morgana."
The sorceress looked up at the sky, her eyes burning like flames in the darkness.
"SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP US!" she screamed in agony. Not a physical pain, not like the pain that burned in her back, her arm, her collarbone. No, this was a pain that rippled down every molecule of her body, reaching into depths within her heart she never knew existed.
Morgana looked down at Merlin's still face, caressing it gently, leaving behind trails of blood in their wake. "Please," she muttered. "Please help him."
Merlin opened his eyes. The ground beneath him was hard, cold, and gray. Dust blew from where his breath upset the thin layer of soot before him, a tell-tale sign that no one had been here for a very long time. He pulled himself up, looking down at his body. He still wore his bloodstained armor, but he could feel no wounds. Gazing around him, the warlock took in where he was.
He was standing in a broken citadel, its walls jagged and laced with tendrils of creeping ivy. A great stone alter was stood at one end of the chamber, still tarnished a dark red. But his eyes barely took sight of these things, the cobalt blue fixed on a great chasm before him. It looked like a tear in the very fabric of time and space, suspended through an invisible veil in the middle of the chamber. It rippled like smoke yet seemed more solid. Through it he saw nothing but darkness, small flickerings of light wavering along its edges as though it feared to enter. Screams, pitched and agonized, sent shivers up his spine. Merlin looked around, trying to find whoever made the inhuman sounds.
"They are the screams of the dead, those who lie beyond the veil."
Merlin spun around. Now a woman stood before the tear, and the sight of her iced his blood. She was old, yet somehow ageless at the same time. Her face was terribly pale, eyes run through with blood as though she had been crying for a thousand days, and bruised black as though she had gone without sleep for a thousand nights. Her dress was torn and ragged, shifting and swaying with the breaths of an absent wind. The black of the cloth seemed to be alive, changing in the desire to capture the different shades of midnight.
"Who are you?" he asked with a shaking voice.
"I am the Caelich, the Gate Keeper between the worlds."
"Am I dead?"
She smiled. "Your time among men, Emrys, is not over...even if you want it to be."
"Then why am I here?"
"Because I must warn you. The battle may be over, but the war has just begun. You think you know the prophesy, but you only know half of it. Arthur is the Once and Future King of Camelot, and together you are destined to build the land of Albion, a kingdom that has been long awaited by all. But that future is threatened. Another walks in your shadow, another's destiny haunts your step. Emrys, you may be the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, yet there is one with strength enough to challenge you. She is the darkness to your light, the hatred to your love. You are her destiny, and you are her doom."
Merlin walked forward, his skin tingling. "Who?"
"The witch, the Lady Morgana."
He took a step back, shaking his head as he was robbed of his breath. "No. I know her, she has a good heart. She..."
"The ancient prophesies speak of an alliance of Mordred and Morgana in evil. She cannot be trusted."
"You lie!"
"The prophesies do not lie. You are destined to build the land of Albion, and Morgana is destined to destroy it. I have warned you, Emrys. You cannot say that you didn't know of the danger when it comes. As the days approach to the crimson moon's eclipse, the characters of legend are beginning to emerge. Slowly, everyone is taking the path they were destined to take, and there is nothing you can do to stop it."
"No! You have to tell me, you have to tell me how to change this!" Merlin cried out, but the Caelich was gone in an instant.
Darkness engulfed him and he knew no more.
Gwaine tore Merlin from Morgana's arms and he raced into the citadel. Morgana still knelt on the ground, looking down at her blood stained hands as tears cascaded down her cheeks. Kneeling before her, Gwenivere took the girl's face in her hands.
"Morgana? Morgana you must look at me."
Jade eyes met brown, and Gwenivere trembled at the terrible agony in their depths. "I must get you to a healer," she whispered.
Gently, Gwen helped Morgana to her feet, allowing the sorceress to lean heavily on her shoulder. A few guards by the door took the girl from her, one pulling Morgana into their arms and rushing down the hall with her.
Alone, the princess looked around. Camelot's men ran out the gates, the call that their king had fallen sending them back to their camp. Bodies littered the ruined courtyard, a soft rain washing the blood from the cobblestones and sending it slipping through the cracks in the stone. As she looked to the sky, a raindrop fell down her cheek. Gwenivere lifted a hand to wipe it away, but when her fingers came away they were stained with blood. Her own, Merlin's, Morgana's, an enemy's, she did not know.
Gwen fell to her knees, still and silent as the rain trickled down her armor. She looked at the bodies around her, some adorned in scarlet, some in black. Here and there lay the bodies of young men, all so very similar, who had killed each other in the name of kingdoms that wouldn't remember their names. Her eyes caught a body that lay several feet away from her.
The man's face was badly scarred, his brown hair plastered to his head with blood. Light blue eyes stared unseeingly up at her, blood trickling down his broken nose and split lip. Body folded beneath him unceremoniously, Gwenivere couldn't help but lean to the side and vomit and the sight of Edwin's lifeless form.
Who helped her to her feet in the end, she did not know, all she knew was that as they guided her inside her broken citadel, the rain began to fall harder, as though trying to wash away the sins of the dead.
No trumpets sounded that day. No music played, no children laughed. For who could smile while people cleared the bodies of the dead from the streets, their bloods leaving stains on the broken stone? Every room in the castle was filled as the citadel was turned into a hospital in the hopes that, perhaps, the reaper's toll would not be so swollen.
That day there was only silence, muttered words as both sides nursed their wounds. But always there was threat of further bloodshed as the scarlet of Camelot's banners rippled in the breeze right outside Glendale's gates.
Three days passed.
Then a week.
We chance upon the characters on this sunny day, Merlin seated in his bed, eyes blinking open tiredly. The sun shines warmly on his pale skin, and the warlock stretches, groaning quietly in pain as every muscle in his body protests at the minutest of movements. Looking to his side, Merlin looks to see a worn wooden cane propped up on his bed. Slowly, the sorcerer rises on shaking feet.
He is in his room, and for a moment he almost forgets that he hasn't been in here for so very long. The sketches of herbs, flowers, and spells still hang limply on his walls, his books still propped up neatly on an old bookshelf. As though he had never left. It even smells like home, of herbs and smoke and the lavender that Gaius always keeps growing in the windowsills.
Leaning heavily on the cane, the warlock opens his door and steps down into the main room. The sun shines through the windows, and Merlin looks to see Gaius standing near a table, mixing a potion. A familiar sight, Merlin lets comfort relax him and he smiles. He coughs.
Gaius spins to see him, face lighting up with both joy and concern. The old man is next to him in a moment, wrapping his arms around the boy tightly.
"Don't ever do that to me again. I fear my heart wouldn't be able to take it."
"I'll do my best. Where is Morgana?"
The physician pulls away with a knowing smile.
"When she isn't waiting at your bedside she's usually in the gardens."
"Has Arthur attacked yet?"
"No, we've heard no word from Camelot. And, Merlin," Gaius continued as the warlock slowly made his way out the door. "You missed the king's funeral, you should go speak with Gwen."
The warlock nodded and left, ambling through the halls. Several soldiers and druids cried out greetings, wishing him good health, and he replied to them with a twinkle in his eye—but he never lingered. Slower than he would have liked, Merlin reached the gardens.
He found her there, seated on a stone bench among the bountiful flowers. Butterflies fluttered in and out around her, one particularly brave sapphire specimen resting on her shoulder like a brooch. Morgana's eyes were closed, the sun dancing across her pearly skin and ruby red lips. But evidence of the war was clear on her features, a long scratch running from her eyes down her neck, her arm heavily bandaged and in a sling. Purple circles, as vivid as the deep violet toadflax flowers she stroked with a trembling finger, darkened her eyes, stark against the pale contrast of her skin. Bruises riddled up and down the flesh he could see, and Merlin felt his heart ache at the sadness that graced her every breath. Here though, in the garden where flowers reached towards the baby blue skies, it seemed as though time had stopped, as though all their woes were far gone...almost as though they were not in the midst of a war.
Merlin spoke softly, hoping not to startle her.
"Morgana."
She looked up, her jade eyes wide and bright. The two stared at each other for a long moment, lost in the depths of the other's eyes as emotions played across their gaze. Morgana slowly got to her feet, walking lightly towards him till they faced each other, inches away.
"I thought I lost you."
"Sorry, love, you can't get rid of me that easily."
Her lips pulled into a crooked smile, and she put a hair behind her ear, looking down. Merlin reached out and lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes again. Morgana's breath caught as he leaned forward and kissed her chastely on the lips, lingering there as the hand not holding the cane wrapped around her waist.
As they pulled apart, their noses touched, faces brushing against each other's softly. Not with a dark passion, but a love and a companionship and a trust that gently made its way through to hearts that were guarded by pain and sadness and terror. Her arms wound their way around his neck and she leaned on her tip-toes, holding him tightly against her. There was no need for words. And for a moment, together and close and pressed against the other, they felt the fear and the pain wash away in the light of the sun.
Merlin gently took Morgana's hand and together they made their way to the princess's room, Morgana quietly telling him what had happened. How Gwaine carried him into the healers and the seven dragons breathed their magic through his veins. How they had all watched him with worry for the rest of the night and most of the day until his heartbeat was comfortable in his chest. She spoke of how she had woken just before the funeral of the king, and the coronation of the queen. Gwen had wanted to wait for her farmboy, but the council had insisted on sending a message to the invaders outside their walls, to show them that they were still strong. No word had come from Arthur and his men, but whispers of a truce lingered in the air as the two new heirs took their respective seats on the throne.
When they reached Gwenivere's rooms, Merlin knocked on the wood.
"Come in," came a familiar voice.
The couple made their way into the chambers, finding Gwen looking over a worn map.
"Surevres, is that you-?"
A smile lit up the caramel face as Gwenivere took the sight of the two of them together, running over and wrapping her arms around the warlock.
"I have half a mind to slap you for all the pain you put me through but I think you are much too fragile for that now. Maybe later."
Merlin laughed. "Maybe later, your majesty."
Gwen scowled at him. "Barely a week of being queen and I already hate it because of the bloody formality that comes with the title."
"You'll get used to it."
The two fell into an awkward silence, those things that remained unsaid hanging thickly in the room. Gwenivere cast Morgana a look, and the other lady's eyes filled with knowing sadness. Catching their glances, Merlin turned from one to the other with naïve eyes.
"What is it? What's the matter?"
Gwen cleared her throat. "Merlin…there's something we need to tell you."
Surevres was paging through an old volume when Merlin entered a familiar room, having climbed the small winding staircase with difficulty. The warlock looked around the room, smiling as the old memories raced through his mind. Hearing the cane on the stone floor, the other man looked up.
"Merlin."
"Surevres."
Standing up, the sorcerer approached Merlin hesitantly, and for the first time ever, the two embraced. Red-rimmed eyes told the tell-tale story of a shared loss. Surevres pulled away and drew up a chair, motioning the warlock to sit down. When he did, the black-clad man began speaking in a soft voice.
"I remember the first day I met him. He was so badly scarred, and we were told it was because he tried to rescue his parents from the pyre. Perhaps it was this injustice that made him work so hard, that led him to meet his goal of becoming the most powerful among us. We were always at each other's throats." Surevres smiled. "Always yapping and criticizing at each other, but we loved each other, more than anyone else. I always thought that we would be bickering until we were old and gray and withered, but alas...it seems these dark times robbed me of my expectancies." He looked up at the warlock, eyes watering. "He loved you, you know. Thought you were a son to him, worried about you constantly."
"I know."
The two were silent. Merlin looked down at his scarred and calloused hands, swallowing back a stone in his throat. But when the tears began to fall, he didn't wipe them. He just let them spill down his cheeks, let them turn into broken sobs. Surevres put a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing as the warlock took the moment to mourn. To mourn Edwin, the king, the thousands who had died in the past months. The Caelich's words whispered in his ear as Merlin let the vulnerability show and crumbled against a destiny that was much too heavy for one boy to carry.
Arthur spurred his horse forward towards the tall walls, his men holding up white banners of truce. He buried within himself the sadness and horror of the past few days, the seal on his finger heavy and unfamiliar on his hand. They waited for a while, just outside the gates, the wind rippling his golden hair and cooling the effects of the warm sun. The flap of the banners and the shifting of the horses were the only sounds in the silence as they stood there.
Finally, the doors opened to reveal about ten soldiers and three familiar faces. Merlin and Morgana rode beside Gwenivere and the party approached Camelot's. Arthur took the time to look over each one of them.
Merlin looked exhausted. Dark circles and pasty skin told of his brush with death, Morgana looking the same. Gwenivere, too, appeared as though she hadn't slept for days. Red rimmed all their eyes, and Arthur gathered that he must look the very same.
"Your majesty," Arthur bowed his head respectfully as Gwen approached, but she denied him the same gesture.
"Why are you here, Arthur Pendragon?"
"I wish to end this war."
"You expect me to sign a truce with you after you stormed our lands and killed countless of our men? After you betrayed our trust when we tried for peace and instead received war?"
"What we did was wrong, and I do not ask forgiveness nor love in return. I merely ask for an end to the bloodshed. We will pay all the expenses we cost you in double, even if it means emptying out our treasury. Camelot only wants an end to this conflict."
"My lor—"
"Gwenivere," he said gently, and she met his eyes. We've lost our fathers, we are now king and queen of our lands. Why continue this bloodshed? Together, our kingdoms can start anew. I am tired of this fighting, and I do not want to have to bury any more friends."
The queen of Glendale was quiet, looking to Merlin and Morgana for council. But the sorcerers said nothing—there was nothing to say. She finally spoke, hesitantly.
"I'll speak to my council, and we'll see what will happen."
"That is all I ask."
"What would you have me do?" Gwenivere asked, her council seated before her at a great wooden table.
Outcries for both war and peace filled the hall, but in the end it was the voice of a wizened old man that quieted the rest.
"They have burned our crops, killed our sons, broken our citadel, betrayed our trust. Camelot has done all these things, and while I pray to see them in the deepest pits of hell, we must not let our pride get in the way for what's best for the kingdom. We may have won the battle, but we cannot win the war. Arthur Pendragon is offering an olive branch before an almost ensured victory—he knows we cannot last inside the citadel. Our people already go hungry; we would not make it to the next winter. So, while it pains me to bow my head before them, we must try for peace. If not for the sake of the generations, but for our people who live on the streets before our citadel."
"Then peace it is," the queen said sofly when no objections rose. "But now the question rises, how do we ensure nothing like this happens again? How do we make Camelot pay for what it has done?"
"It's simple," Morgana stood up, and all eyes turned to the priestess. "I have asked the dragons, and they have confirmed that I am, indeed, a Pendragon." Murmers filled the room as the lords at the table exclaimed their shock in silence, but Morgana ignored them. "The throne of Camelot is rightfully mine."
"So you would take the throne?" Gwenivere asked.
"Yes, and if I sat upon it then there would be no more war. Magic would no longer be outlawed, all would be as it should be."
Merlin finally spoke, quietly but clearly. "But the throne is rightfully Arthur's. He is the Once and Future King who will unite the land of Albion. It has been foretold for centuries. To deny him the throne would be to veer off the course of destiny, and fate has often warned us never to play with her."
"We write our own destinies—"
"The Goddess oversees all matters of the kingdoms, we cannot deny her words," Merlin replied sharply. "As a High Priestess of her Religion, you should know this, Morgana."
The sorceress's eyes flashed gold and her eyes narrowed at her counterpart, the room suddenly buzzing with electricity as their magic played off each other's. "I have a rightful claim on the throne. I am the daughter of Uther Pendragon and Vivienne le Fey. I wield a power Arthur only trembles at."
"Camelot will never allow you to take the throne. Arthur is the true heir. The people would never accept it." Merlin was vaguely aware that he had gotten to his feet, without the use of his cane.
"Then we will make them." Morgana turned to the rest of the council, chin held high. "Those with magic have been shunned and slaughtered for too long. Arthur and his father betrayed you, they lay waste to your country and your citadel and your youth. Would you have Arthur take the throne and risk the chance of his betrayal once again? We have lingered too long in war and bloodshed- it's time those with magic had a voice. Would you deny them it?"
Talks burst through the hall, and Merlin looked down at his hands.
"Silence!" Gwenivere stood. "We will vote. All those in favor of Morgana taking the throne?"
Hands raised, some slowly, some with hesitation, but eventually half the council cast their votes in favor of the priestess.
"All those in favor of Arthur retaining his kingdom?"
Again, hands raised.
It was split in half.
Gwen turned to Merlin with troubled eyes. "You did not cast your vote—the choice goes down to you."
Morgana looked at him with wide eyes, nodding in encouragement. The warlock felt time stop as words spun through his mind.
She cannot be trusted.
I thought I lost you.
Why must we bow before those who are weaker than us?
I love you.
"I would have Arthur Pendragon take the throne." Merlin tried not to meet Morgana's eyes, but he could almost taste her bitter eyes, almost taste the betrayal. Gwen's words were a buzz in his ears as he focused on the beating of his heart.
The queen dismissed them soon after, and Merlin quickly left the hall and disappeared down the corridors. But she found him anyway.
"How could you?"
"Morgana—"
"How could you choose him, over me?"
"It wasn't a matter of choice—"
"Yes, it was! You made me look a fool in there! Why?"
Merlin spun around to face her. "Because Arthur is the Once and Future King and I am destined to build Albion at his side."
"At his side? Why not at my side?"
"Because—"
"You're a fool, Merlin. You've betrayed your people, the druids will be furious that you chose to have a Pendragon take the throne—"
"But YOU ARE A PENDRAGON!" he roared, and Morgana froze. When she responded, he could hear the poison dripping off her words like the fangs of a serpent.
"I am a High Priestess, the most powerful, and perhaps the last. I may be a Pendragon, but I am first and foremost a daughter of Vivienne. The throne is mine."
"No, it's not. And it will never be yours. The lust for power is bringing evil into your heart, Morgana, do not let it. The throne is Arthur's, and it always will be. I will not change my mind before the court, not now, not ever."
Morgana let out a bitter laugh. "To think, of all people it is you who denies me the throne. This betrayal runs deep, Merlin, and I won't forget it."
The warlock's eyes flashed dangerously and he took a step closer. Outside the clouds rumbled above, a storm brewing up in the heavens.
"Is that a threat, Morgana?"
"Trust me, Merlin, if I was threatening you, you would know of it."
Merlin leaned in close to her, breathing into her ear low words, his voice sharp. "Be careful. You may be strong, but I still remain the most powerful. You would do well not to challenge me."
"Challenge you?" Morgana raised an eyebrow. "No, you see, there is no use in challenging you. You do not have a spine. You would run around like destiny's bitch, letting her dictate your actions. But I won't bow, not to Lady Fate, and not to Arthur Pendragon."
"Don't do this, Morgana, the throne is not worth it." His voice and eyes grew soft, almost pleading as he looked down at her. "Please, forget it."
Morgana took a step back, and Merlin could almost feel the separation in his bones. "No." And with that word, she was gone.
Merlin stood by the window, watching the front gate of Glendale. Over the course of several weeks, Gwen and Arthur had drafted a temporary peace, and at long last Camelot's forces were withdrawing from Glendale for good. The agreement was two years of peace - no person could travel from country to country except the king and queen's messengers, and over carrier ravens and at midway points they would draft a permanent resolution to the conflict.
But Merlin hardly cared. He neither attended the meetings nor sat in with the council, choosing instead to advise his friend in the private of her chambers, where they could not be overheard.
Now as he watched Camelot's forces leave, his eyes caught sight of Morgana riding alongside her brother. She had volunteered to travel to Camelot and remain there to attempt to warm the people to the idea of magic. There she would seek out the remaining druids and speak to them, see what could be done so that they no longer had to live in hiding. Arthur had refused the acceptance of magic, expressing that it was almost as though he was spitting at his father's legacy. But he had agreed to think of repealing the ban on the Old Religion, and Morgana was there to ensure that he did.
"Are you sure you don't want to go with her? It's not too late, you know," Gwen said softly by his side.
"Perhaps some separation is good. Maybe she'll see her brother in a different light. I cannot force her to do and think as I please. She has made her choice, and I will see her again."
"After two years—"
"I couldn't leave now even if I wanted to," Merlin said, turning to the young queen and kissing her brow. "My place is here to help rebuild our country. Let the Pendragons do the same, and when the time comes, we will see them again."
"Will you still not tell me what happened between the two of you?"
"A lover's quarrel," Merlin said softly, turning back to watch Morgana as her mount disappeared into the trees and out of sight. "Someday she'll understand why I chose not to give her the throne. It is better this way."
"You will miss her."
The warlock smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "That I will, princess…that I will."
Don't hate me, come on, you knew everything wasn't going to be rainbows and butterflies! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I promise a cyber sundae to anyone who cares to tell me about how they thought it went! I know,not much action, but it was necessary dialogue! And seee, I didn't end at a cliffie that time, I thought you guys deserved a break! Thank you again for reading, it means bunches of bananas!
Jillian DAmelio: I've been unable to reply to your reviews due to the guest thing so I thought I'd thank you here! You're too kind and it means so much to me that you've been consistently reviewing *hugs* I will love you forever. And yeah, what's awesome about fanfiction is how everyone can take the stories and put their own twists on it, it's not only fun for the reader but for the writer as well! Thank you again!