... previously ...
Letter to Arthur
It should be so easy to confess. It only needs three words.
I have magic.
I have lied.
I'm a sorcerer. (Or is that four?)
It probably doesn't matter. I doubt I'll show you this letter anyway.
xoxOxox
Why should it be so hard to tell the truth to a friend?
I am light.
I am destiny.
I am Emrys.
I'll explain that one to you later.
xoxOxox
Why should I even care what you think? I'm of no importance to you.
Merlin the servant.
Merlin the idiot.
Merlin the ****
That is completely untrue, by the way.
xoxOxox
Why am I scared to tell you?
Why am I so afraid of what you will say?
What use is all this power if I don't have the strength to confess?
xoxOxox
Just three words.
Don't hate me.
I love you. (Ignore that, I've had too much cider)
I am magic.
I do wish I wouldn't build certain chapters up so much - makes me nervous that they won't live up to expectations.
11. A Poet's Confession.
It was the morning after the banquet and Merlin staggered into Arthur's chambers, his stomach clenching, his head pounding, seriously wondering why the sun had decided to shine quite so brightly this morning. Servants weren't usually allowed to take part in such celebrations but, considering how much everyone had suffered during the latest attack, the King and Prince had been exceptionally generous and Merlin had quite happily sampled the excellent cider that was on offer.
Rather a lot of cider as it happened.
"Yes, I know ... I'm late ... sorry," he muttered, instantly moving to pick up the clothes that Arthur had thrown on the floor.
"It was a rather good banquet last night, wasn't it. Merlin?" Arthur asked gleefully.
"Hmm."
"Had a few drinks?" he shouted and Merlin winced, quite convinced that the prince was talking loudly on purpose.
"Perhaps a little more than a few," he admitted, starting to sort the clothes into piles.
"Fancy an apple?" Arthur asked innocently and Merlin groaned at the comment.
"No, thanks. I'm having nothing to do with apples, in any form, ever again."
As he turned around and looked up, he noticed that Arthur was now sitting at his desk, holding the proffered apple in one hand, a very crumpled piece of parchment in the other, and wearing an expression that seemed to indicate that his servant was in a lot of trouble. Merlin tried to focus on the paper, noting that it seemed to be a little singed around the edges, when a sudden, inexplicable feeling of dread started to steal over him.
"I found this by the fire this morning," said Arthur in a tone of voice that was just a little bit too casual to be reassuring. "It appears to be ... a poem."
"A ... poem ...?" A memory started to surface and the feeling of dread became very much stronger.
"A poem which, if I'm not mistaken, appears to be written in your hand." The memory slammed home and Merlin quickly put a hand on the edge of the desk to steady himself.
"Ah no – not me. I-I'm just a farm boy – n-no education ..."
"Yes, I know that I've often called you an idiot, but that doesn't actually mean you're uneducated, and I know very well that you can read and write."
"Yes, perhaps, but ... poetry? Nah."
"Oh, come on, Merlin, there's no need to be so modest. You wrote this, didn't you?"
"Ah ... I think so but, I don't really remember."
"Really? Why have you turned such a fetching shade of pink then?"
"It's just ... well ... I made it all up, of course."
"Oh, I don't think so. I think this is all true. Well, in fact, I know that most of this is true."
"Y-you ... do?"
"Yes, I've known about your magic for some time." Merlin was sure his heart had just stopped.
"You know?" It came out as a high pitched squeak. Arthur was no longer looking at the parchment, instead, he was looking straight at his servant. Merlin swallowed hard.
"So, the question now has to be ... Is it all true?"
"Well ... ah ... as I said ... I don't exactly remember. You know? Last night? The cider?"
"Right, so ... a couple of questions perhaps?" The prince continued seriously and Merlin just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "Emrys? You said here that you'd explain that to me."
"I did?" Arthur just waved the paper in his general direction whilst Merlin desperately tried to remember what he'd written the previous night when he'd been so hopelessly drunk. "It's what the Druids call me. It's ... Welsh, I think."
"Right ..." Arthur drawled, "... and that translates as ... idiot?" Merlin grinned, despite himself.
"Ah ... immortal I believe."
"Immortal?"
"Don't ask me – I've never really understood it either."
"But it has something to do with destiny? You mention that here too."
"Yes ... my destiny to protect you ... your destiny to become a great King ... that sort of thing."
"I ... see ... " Merlin bit his lip and stared at his friend, completely unable to tell what he was feeling at that moment. "So ... " Arthur continued in the same annoyingly calm tone. "This is all true then? Your written confession."
"C-confession?" The prince just waving the parchment in his general direction again. "W-what are you going to do with it? Are you going to show it to Uther?" He looked up at Arthur with large wide eyes and was surprised to see the prince squirm in his chair and suddenly appear a little uncomfortable.
"Ah, definitely not but ... I do have one more question for you," he said, holding the parchment out to Merlin.
"Oh?" the warlock asked, moving forwards nervously.
"Yes," Arthur continued, as Merlin took the poem and frantically scanned it. "Would you care to explain that penultimate line?"
A/N. Get out of that one, Merlin!
As I stated in TETS – when I originally wrote this I had Merlin re-read the letter and quickly burn it. "No!" several people said and, anyway, how could I do a sequel if it was burnt so, obviously, Merlin messed that one up to – scrunched it up, threw it at the fire and ... missed. Typical!
I've been eating my chocolate Easter bunny this afternoon and am hoping it's not a plotbunny - unless beheading them helps? (Oh no ... there's another mad idea for PoiPig!) Still not getting the upcoming chapters written fast enough.