Disclaimer: Merlin and Angel the Series remain not-mine. I remain unpaid for this fic, and it remains fruitless to sue me. Ruins of My Kingdom to Come is made by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.
Thanks to dieticlast for serving as beta-reader. His services, from sounding board to writers-block helper to simple spelling and grammar have contributed greatly to making this fic both a better story and more readable.
The Ruins of My Kingdom to Come
By Alkeni
Chapter 19: A New Demon
"Don't think I haven't noticed, Merlin." Arthur told his servant, who was bustling around the Crown Prince's chambers, doing his job – cleaning, organizing, getting ready to polish his armor. The usual.
For about a very brief moment, Merlin almost tensed up with worry but – there was no need to. There'd been enough false alarms with this now – he'd be concerned, even a little afraid that Arthur had discovered he had magic and then...
But every time, it was something else – almost always minor, some chore he'd forgotten, or some task he'd done not to Arthur's satisfaction. And, apart from being called lazy, useless or an idiot – almost always with a vaguely friendly tone – Merlin didn't have to worry about being punished or berated too much for the minor mistake.
"What have you noticed then?" Merlin asked, not stopping what he was doing.
"That you and Morgana are both nowhere to be found at about the same time, almost every day." Which time of day they were both unavailable could vary, but that they were both 'missing' at the same time? Always the case.
Arthur couldn't help a small smile when he saw Merlin tense at that – though, to his servant's credit, the younger man only tensed for a few seconds.
"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Arthur." Merlin told him, not turning from making the Prince's bed.
Arthur looked over at Merlin from, setting aside the report he'd been reading. "Merlin, you're a terrible liar. Haven't you figured that out yet?" Not that Arthur realized the delicious absurdity in that statement.
It was all that Merlin could do to avoid smirking at Arthur's declaration. Both because it would have rather given things away – and because this really wasn't the time to be self-satisfied about his ability to trick Arthur. Because he'd apparently failed in this case. And this is one of those cases where failure is a really, really bad thing...
"I'll grant that I only noticed because you're my servant, and I always have something for you to do. And," Arthur granted further, "I really only noticed it in the last week, though I know its been going on for longer than that. But if you two aren't careful...someone else is going to figure it out."
"What's been going on?" Merlin's mind raced, looking for explanations, if Arthur pressed, got too close. No, he can't be close – he doesn't know I have magic, or he'd be bringing it up. Where is he going with this? What does he think-
"Merlin, contrary to appearances, you're not as stupid as you look, so please, don't play dumb." Arthur told him. "Look, I'm hardly going to tell you stop it – this is Morgana we're talking about, and she's a difficult woman to say no to. And knowing Morgana, I doubt there's anything especially untoward going on."
Which, Arthur mused, is entirely true. Morgana may have shown little regard for almost all of the potential suitors that his Father had trotted into Camelot and past her, and she wasn't against making her affections for a person at least a little known, per se, but Morgana was also a romantic at heart – he knew that from growing up with the woman. Morgana had never gone farther than an excess of kissing and some...
Well, I really don't want to think about her doing that sort of thing... Morgana was his sister, in all but blood. He really didn't want to think about her doing anything in the vicinity of that sort of thing, really.
Yes, Morgana was a noblewoman, and Merlin was a servant. And he knew full well how his father would react if he had even the slightest hint of what was going on. But well...
I'm hardly in a position to judge that, given how I feel about Gwen...
He'd been forced to admit he had feelings for her, but it was still hard to admit it to himself – and even harder to know that as long as his father was King, nothing could come of it.
"Untoward? What are you-" For a moment, Merlin had no idea what Arthur was talking about, what it was that he thought was happening, and then
He thinks- Me? And Morgana?
Merlin was struck dumb at the very concept – There was...why on earth would he think...? His brain all but stopped for a few seconds, then managed to start back up again.
If Arthur didn't know that he and Morgana had magic...well...
If all he knows is that we both vanish at the same time...
It was better for him to think that than for him to know the truth...but why would it occur to Arthur?
I mean, Morgana is – well, she's... she was a beautiful woman. He'd always known that, and... she understood him, in a way no one else did. No one else could... And...
A realization of horror hit Merlin as he realized just-
Oh dear god. No, I can't – she doesn't... and...
Whatever permissiveness Arthur seemed to have...Morgana was a noblewoman – and the king's ward to boot! Merlin had no business being...interested in her...attracted to her – not just physically either.
Merlin forced those thoughts out of his mind, returning to the now. He could worry about the rest of that later. Much later.
"Arthur, I don't – its not what you think." Merlin told the prince firmly. It was nonspecific, and it had the advantage of being entirely true.
"Merlin, what have I told you about being a terrible liar?" Arthur reprimanded him gently. Internally, Merlin was indignant: I was telling the truth, damnit! He didn't get a chance to say anything in his defense, however. "Like I said, I wasn't telling you to warn you off – Morgana would have my head if I interfered in her own choices, and I'm not even of a mind to." Arthur's voice grew softer for a moment, "And... well, Morgana's been happier, more collected, in recent months than I've seen her for a while now. And I suspect-" Arthur cut himself off, a wicked grin forming on his face.
"But, all that aside, you did try to lie to me twice. So, put that down," He gestured to the polishing rag with which Merlin had been about to use on Arthur's armor, "and go muck out the stables." Merlin looked at him with a combination of annoyance and consternation, and Arthur laughed just a touch, half-glaring in amusement at the servant.
AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin
The demon didn't know where it was going.
Not exactly, anyway.
It had been traveling ever farther northward, drawn by... something. A presence, a power. From southern Gaul, a land already coming to be named for its new Frankish overlords, where it had turned noblemen into its pawns, spreading woe and evil across the region...
For months now, it had been moving north. It had hesitated when reaching the channel between 'Francia' and Brittania, but it had only hesitated for a time.
The demon knew the dragons were dead, killed by mortals in a foolish action against magic and beings of magic. With the dragons of the land dead, there was nothing stopping him now. No mortal, short of a Slayer or a witch or warlock of very substantive power could ever be a threat to him, and so this – this untouched land, purged of most of its spellcasters...
And with the Slayer still in Constantinople and, by all reports, likely to remain alive for at least a few more years...
The demon was guaranteeda free reign once it reached its destination.
Once it reached the power it sensed, the dangerous presence.
Unless this power belongs not to an artifact or nexus of energy...
The demon didn't like having that thought – the idea that another could have beaten it to the punch, come to this untamed land first...
But if it had, it had. The demon would destroy it and take its power for its own.
For that is what I do. And when I have consumed it, all of 'Albion' will be mine to rule.
It was only in the last week that the demon had learned, from a map taken from the corpses of merchants it had slain, just where it was going.
A powerful city and castle – Camelot. A suitable seat for its new power. More of its kind would come, and the demon would take them all, build an army of demons, of vampires and all dark forces. This power would become its own...
AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin
Merlin hadn't expected to wake to the sound of the Great Dragon's voice in his head.
It was only rarely that he and the dragon spoke anymore. Merlin resented the promise the Dragon had exacted from him so he could learn how to defeat Sigan, and even more was angered by the Dragon's stubborn insistence that Morgana was evil – now only in veiled references and hints, but still.
The Dragon is obsessed with his prophecy, with his own freedom.
But Merlin also knew that if the Dragon was bothering him in the middle of the night like this... it was important.
And if I don't go down to see him, he'll bug me all night if that's what it takes.
Merlin grabbed and lit a torch as he made the final approach down the stairs into the Dragon's chamber.
"So you did come, young warlock. I wondered if you would." The Dragon told him, perched on his usual rock, looking at the small landing which Merlin always waited on.
"If I hadn't come, you'd have bothered me all night about it." Merlin shot back, in no mood for the Dragon's games.
"By all rights, Merlin, I should be 'bothering' you all the time until you fulfill your promise and free me." The Dragon countered, apparently unappreciative of Merlin's tone and attitude.
"I only promised to free you, one day. And that day will not take forever to come, I promise." Merlin told the Dragon. "But I still haven't worked out how to break that chain that keeps you in here." He further pointed out. "If it was simple as just breaking it, you'd have done it long ago."
"I doubt you've made any effort to discover how you might break this chain, young warlock." The Dragon disagreed. "But," he continued, changing topic, "this is not why I called you down."
"Then why?" Merlin asked, his annoyance replaced by a slight worry.
"There is another demon in Camelot. A new one." The dragon all but spat the words, disgust and fury dominating its tone. "Ever since the Purge, I have known this day would come – demons will come to Albion, now that my kind have all but passed from this world. It must not be allowed to make itself home in Camelot. One demon is enough."
"I'm not going to go against it simply because it is a demon. Illyria has shown no signs of being an enemy of Camelot, despite what you've said of her." Which was not to say that Merlin trusted Illyria one bit, because he didn't. "Why would this demon be any worse."
"Whatever Illyria's plots and plans are, they are clearly far in the future." The Dragon explained, "But demons are not uniform, and most are impatient beings of brutality and slaughter. If you do not stop this one, there will be death in Camelot at its hands sooner rather than later."
"You don't care about the life of anyone in Camelot!" Merlin accused, gesturing angrily.
"I have no wish to see people die for no reason, Merlin." The Dragon disagreed, calmly. "Death is never something to be celebrated."
"Death is exactly what you wish on Uther, on Illyria, and on this demon." Merlin shot back. "If demons wish only death and destruction, only to bring about their own whims, then I still think you seem to have more in common with them than-"
The dragon reared up on its hind legs and roared angrily, cutting Merlin off. "I warned you once about comparing me to demons, Merlin. Do not try my patience!" It punctuated its words with a blast of flame fired over Merlin's head, the heat intense enough to cause beads of sweat to form on the back of Merlin's neck.
Settling back down, the Dragon spoke more: "There is a demon in Camelot. It can only be possessed of ill will towards Camelot and its people. It must be found and destroyed." The Dragon flew off without so much as a dismissal, and Merlin was left standing on the ledge.
Wasn't Illyria enough?
AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin
Wesley entered Illyria's chambers without knocking, as he always did. He was the only person that could get away with it, but he still didn't enter when she didn't wish to be disturbed. If she wanted him to not enter – she would always say so, hearing or... sensing his approach before he could knock on the door.
Teaching Illyria about her emotions was... difficult, to say the least. Part of it was of course Illyria herself... she remained stubborn, much of her still unwilling to concede the fight against the bits of humanity 'inflicted' upon her by the shell.
Another part was... Wesley was probably one of the worst men to teach her how to be human. Or, in this case, how to cope with human emotion. But he was willing to try – had to try. The collateral, if Illyria lost control of her emotions...
And there was something else. It had taken him some time to understand it, but...
The sensations, the human emotions that Illyria was feeling actually scared her, in a sense. For Illyria, the world was divided up into easy categories: Useful, Useless, To Destroy, To Conquer. That which she did not like could be destroyed with impunity. It was less true now than it had been in the past for her, but still...
But this... the uncomfortable, unfamiliar sensations... something she could not destroy, something that she could not control, not yet. For a being accustomed to dominance and power, to controlling all she surveyed...
It had to be terrifying.
And the thought of Illyria scared... it bothered him. A few moments, in his attempts to teach her, he'd heard that small note of fear, of confusion buried deep under layers of imperiousness, or annoyance or even anger.
Illyria wasn't Fred – he didn't feel what he felt for Fred for her, and he'd moved past keeping close to her solely because she was what was left of Fred. But he did...
Illyria's well-being mattered to him, more than simple convenience and intellectual curiosity, and it had surprised him to discover that.
And so... and so he kept helping her.
Illyria had her hand – bare of her armor – on the window, tracing some kind of design, or something, on it. She didn't turn at the sound of the door opening, nor even of it closing.
"You have spoken of happiness, and of contentment. Of the sensation of being pleased with one's outcomes." Illyria began without preface. "And yet you have failed to explain the distinction to my satisfaction."
Wesley stopped, still perhaps halfway across the room from her and considered her question. Before answering, he made a mental note to see if the Camelot library included a copy of the Nichomachean Ethics. Aristotle's work would be quite useful in helping Illyria understand that question – though the great philosopher – one of the only Ancient philosophers known to Western Europe in this day and age – had his own assumptions and conclusions Wesley didn't agree with.
Still. A useful primer.
Failing that, however, he needed to answer the question for her, now.
"That is... a complicated question." Wesley said after a moment, "And the answer depends on who you ask."
"I've asked you." Illyria replied, dropping her hand from the window and turning to face him. She did not, he noticed, cover her hands with her armor... she'd been keeping them bare more often – only as far as just above her wrists, but it was... incongruous, to say the least, to see her like that so often.
"That doesn't change the fact that it is a rather subjective matter." Wesley told her in response. "It – and the subject of happiness more generally - has been one of the central questions of philosophy from the beginning."
Wesley stopped himself before he went on a tangent, returning his focus onto the matter at hand. "But, as you said, you've asked me about them." He paused for another moment before continuing.
"To be content is to be... free from an excess of stressors. It is to be able to deal with what comes up, to meet the daily challenges. It is to be able to satisfy wants, but not too much, nor too often. It is an ongoing state of acceptance of and pleasure in a pleasant baseline of existence. To be content is not to feel an emotion of the moment, the now, but to feel the emotion over a span of time."
"Happiness a feeling that is in large part induced – and it comes in spurts, it is momentary. It is similar to contentment, but heightened and briefer. To strive for constant, perpetual happiness is, in that sense, a mistake. Contentment with occasional happiness is achievable – whereas aiming for what cannot be achieved leads only to disaster." Wesley wasn't really sure if what he was saying was at all helpful – he wasn't even sure what he was saying, in a sense.
"That doesn't tell me what they are." Illyria interrupted, "You define their distinctions, but you fail to distinguish either from simple pleasure. I...I cannot help but feel them as distinct, and you speak of them as if they are, but how the distinction exists remains unclear. And I've still no real concept as to how it feels to feel these emotions at all."
"These are not exactly things that can be well put into words." Wesley explained, starting to feel at a loss for those same words themselves. "Emotions can often only be described in terms of other emotions, which you still lack the frame of reference for, or in poetic language that I doubt would be of any use to you – and that I'm not especially skilled with regardless."
"How can your species function with such sloppiness and imprecision in something so core to your existence?" Illyria demanded.
"Instinct, to a degree. Practice. Socialization... and... an acceptance of standards less rigorous than we might apply to other matters. Emotion is what it is – sloppy, imprecise, difficult. You are going to have to come to terms with that."
Illyria gave him with what could be easily called a 'dirty look'. "How many compromises have I already had to make for this existence? And I must make yet more."
"Human existence is compromise. Existence is compromise. When you reigned, you did not always kill or destroy that which was objectionable because it was also useful, or because you lacked the proper resources to destroy the objectionable thing and retain resources for other, equally important objectives. Is this correct?"
Illyria nodded, "Simple prudence and long-term needs."
"It was, in a sense, compromise. Just as I have not tried to convince you to set aside your plans for conquest. Delaying until a better time arrives is compromising with the reality of one's situation. Your situation now gives you human emotions."
"Not merely emotions. Sensations." Illyria told him. "Until this... leakage, I would not have understood the distinct feeling of touching an object without my outer armor over this form." Illyria ran her right hand over the stone wall. "It is... interesting. New." She approached him.
"Do you experience the tactile sensation differently now?" He asked her, raising an eyebrow as she walked closer.
Before he could realize what she was doing, or stop her, Illyria had reached over and taken his hand in hers, grasping it for a moment, before holding it more loosely. He was taken aback, almost speechless – and the sudden cold sensation threw him off as well.
Wesley almost wrenched his hand from hers but stopped himself as her alien, crystalline blue eyes looked into his, as if she was searching his expression for some sort of answer. Illyria had no idea just what such a gesture meant...
"I did not retract the outer layer, the armor, until after the leakage began." She let go of his hand, then brought her own hand up to look at it. "An interesting sensation." Though what sensation she was referring to – human tactile generally, or more specifically something else... Wesley wasn't sure. And that... concerned him, though he wasn't entirely sure why.
Nor could he quite place the chill that had gone through his body when she touched his hand – a chill he was quite certain was separate from the lower temperate of Illyria's body. Nor, was he entirely sure chill was perhaps the best way to describe it...
AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin
"Arthur – he knows?!" Merlin could hear the plaintive note of terror in Morgana's shocked explanation.
"He doesn't know about you – your magic, that I'm helping you with it. He doesn't know that I have magic." Merlin told her, realizing he probably should have made that clear first. "He does know, he's noticed... that we both seem to be gone at the same times, regularly so."
Letting out a sigh of relief, Morgana slumped back against the wall, sliding down it a little, though not sitting on the floor. She took in a long breath and let it out slowly. "If he doesn't know – what does he think?"
It hasn't occurred to her either. Of course it hasn't. Clamping down on a strange – he didn't bother to identify the thought. He couldn't.
"He thinks-" Merlin flushed, despite himself, "He thinks that- that you and I are..." He flushed more, unable to put it into words.
Fortunately, Morgana seemed to understand what he was trying to get at – probably from all his flushing. "He thinks, you and I- are... that we're... together?"
Merlin found his voice and nodded. "Yes." He managed to get out.
"That- why would-" Morgana started, and Merlin felt again what it was he was trying not to identify – that flash, moment... after a moment, Morgana began again, "This- well... I suppose he'll be rather insufferable for the next few weeks, won't he?"
"And then some." Merlin agreed, happy for something easier to latch onto. "And he had the nerve to say that I'm a terrible liar!" Merlin protested, still annoyed about that bit for some reason.
"Well, in all honesty," Morgana told him with a slight smile, and Merlin couldn't help noticing how it seemed to light up her face without being dazzling, "it is best that he thinks you're a terrible liar. That way he- well, he won't even consider that you might be lying when you really are."
"I suppose." Merlin agreed, sounding just a little sullen about it, "And its not as if I can stand there and list all the times I've successfully lied to him." He tried – and failed – to chase his thought about Morgana's smile from his head. He took a moment to clear his throat and move just a little. "The point he did make stands, however. Someone else might notice as well... even if they draw the same... wrong conclusion as Arthur, they might-"
"They won't be willing to keep it to themselves. Not necessarily." Morgana finished. "Arthur has- well... he's trying not to a hypocrite, to say the least. But if Uther..." She shook her head. "We'll just have to be more careful... maybe..." She frowned, "Maybe we should meet less often, or something."
"Unfortunately, I think you're right." Merlin agreed softly.