John must have spent over an hour amongst Morris' cluttered house, probably looking like a right creep while he pilfered the small item here or there he felt like he could get away with. But Morris' house was more cluttered than he had thought it would have been, so he was sure one or two items going missing was not going to be missed. A small quill taken from a table holding a good dozen or so, each one was either broken in half or right before the tip, as if Morris had worked himself into a frenzy as he wrote. But the sight had only made John grin with all of the excitement one had when they thought they were in love. John could just imagine how adorable Morris must have been whilst he jotted down all his thoughts amongst the crumbled bits and pieces of parchment ripped to shredded because they weren't good enough. John was sure though, whatever Morris deemed adequate to spend his time on, was absolutely lovely.
Maybe it was poetry, John thought with a stupidly happy grin to accompany the brightness in his cheeks. He could imagine Morris striding across the fields one day, determination in his every step, until he found John hanging up some of the sheets on the drying line. Could imagine Morris clearing his throat and getting his attention, before waxing the most beautiful and the most romantic poem John had ever heard in his entire sixteen years of life. Right there in front of a dozen or so other serving girls and boys, as if he didn't care who heard him confessing a love that could rival the greatest love stories ever told. And to Little John-as people called him, because he had been named after his father-of all people.
An almost inhuman squeal, so high pitched that only dogs may hear it, erupted from John's lips. So excited…so happy…he just knew he and Morris were going to have a very long and happy life together. Spending their days working amongst the castle, and spending their nights telling each other how in love they'd fallen in such a short amount of time. John was a romantic and a naive one at that…young enough to believe a first crush was going to be his happy ending. And stupid enough to have gone and chosen Morris as the one to carry him into all of his highly romantic fantasies. But as his mama had always said, all John would ever need in life was the love of a good woman-or man, as John's case turned out to be.
John was very reluctant to leave Morris' home, he had spent a great deal more than he realized lounging on Morris' bed and imagining him sleeping there. And he was going to leave with a broken quill being the only thing to show he had been there to begin with. That didn't sit right with him, Morris should at least know somebody was thinking about him even during the horrid times that had befallen their kingdom. But he couldn't stay too much longer either…he needed to find out if he was expected to return to his regular duties despite everything going on. Or if the vast majority of people were still being confined to their homes until they got substantial news on what was going to be happening.
Maybe he could write a note! John thought, the idea brilliantly perfect as far as he was concerned. Morris wouldn't even care John had been in his house without his knowledge. Not if John could show Morris how much he cared for him, through the art of quill and parchment. Even if John wasn't the best writer and misspelled words constantly the few times he had tried. But it didn't matter! Because true love was inevitable. And John was sure Morris would be able to understand exactly what he took the time to write. A love like theirs was meant to be, and even a poorly written note would not stop Morris from seeing what was in John's heart.
Now…all he needed to do was find a scrap of parchment that wasn't torn that he could use to scribble his words of love on …he was sure Morris had more parchment hidden around here someplace. He just needed to find it, and so John started up a search. He rifled through a few cabinets but only found barely used bowls and plates and other kitchen stuff. He riffled for a bit in a wardrobe, but seeing dirty and stained undergarments in one of the drawers had his shrieking in embarrassment and slamming it back shut. He even looked under the bed, and all he found was a moth ridden blanket that had more rips in the cloth than it had actual blanket.
It was only when John backed away-pouting to himself since it looked as if Morris had already used all the paper he had-and bumped into the kitchen table did he finally find what he was looking for. A basket filled to the brim with a few dull shades of yarn-did Morris like to knit? He bet Morris liked to knit! He may even make John something to wear if he asked nicely-had sat precariously on the edge of it. And it only took one gentle tap for the whole thing to upheaval on the floor. Yawn went flying in every direction, but John only had eyes for the journal that sat on top. The very sight of it made John grin, tittering onto the edge of over excitement.
"Morris, you sly dog, were you trying to hide this from me?" He asked himself, every one of his teeth showing because of how huge his grin was. And the servant picked the journal up from the floor, wiping his head across it to get rid of any dirt stains he may have caused. Even if he couldn't see any damage, the servant did not want Morris to be upset if he found something later. John played with the edges of the journal, knowing that he probably shouldn't…there was probably a reason his friend and future husband had kept this journal hidden. But it held a copious amount of parchment inside…and he only needed the one piece…and the temptation became too great for the dear, sweet John to resist. "Oh, I'm sure Morris won't mind if I take a little peek. If we are going to be married someday, then it's not as if I won't ever get to look inside of it."
It wasn't too hard for John to convince himself to continue his peeking into Morris' private life, the boy had already taken his house for the time being. And he happily opened up the book so he could thumb through the pages at his leisure. The book was quite thick, with dozens and dozens of thick yellow pages for writing, and a glossy black leather cover. Not the kind that servants usually got their hands on…this was the kind of book one wrote in when they were noble. But perhaps Morris got his hands on it because of Arthur…maybe Arthur saw how good of a manservant his Morris was! And decided to gift it to him! And maybe this journal was hidden because-John's blush darkened even more, a nonsensical giggle bursting from his lips-this was where he wrote his more intimate poems.
Poems that detailed soft lips skimming along this equally soft neck, hands roaming to places that should never be talked of in pleasant company. Poems that spoke of John as if the sun itself was shining out of his arse, and Morris would greedily be the one to take his fill of it. Poems that spoke of Morris' hands disappearing between his legs, being pleasured by pleasuring his lover, showing the upmost care for John and his comfort till they came sweetly together. No mess, no fuss, and nothing he felt would be scary. Just them being sweet as two lovers were touching-the first time for both of them-before Morris tugged him into his arms. And allowed John to sleep within their safe and warm embrace…now that, would've been the most perfect poem anybody could have asked for. A poem John would want to keep hidden away from prying eyes, something he could get a good grin over whenever Morris was working late and John's at home waiting for him with a nice supper they could eat with each other's company.
But as John flipped further and further into the book…he could see that it wasn't poetry at all. Or at least…the words didn't act as if they belonged in a poem. The format was far too different from the brief glances John had seen when he was delivering a special order to somebody the few times he got stuck doing delivery service. And John couldn't make out half of the words written-his reading was no good, but maybe Morris was willing to teach him some!-but he could make out 'Arthur' written on the margins a good few dozens times. Each page…it looked as if every page he came across, seemed to refer to Arthur in one way or another. And of that, John was sure. Nobody within the village could get away without knowing the sight of King Uther or Prince Arthur's name, it was probably the one thing people recognized whenever missives were sent out among the city to keep them informed on matters they couldn't read about.
It was a damn good thing that knight last month had came out and read that latest missive, telling them the lower town would be quarantined until the Sickness had passed. Or they may all still be standing at the gates trying to figure out what that was all about, with useless bits of parchments pinned to their front doors that nobody could read. John had heard from someone that the consort was responsible for that…had informed Arthur many of the peasants couldn't read and wouldn't know what it was written on the parchments. But…that event seemed to be hardly worth a mention at the moment, as John flipped a few more pages.
There was a drawing on this page…an illustration…John made a squinty eyed face and brought the book up to try and make out the figure. It wasn't Uther or Arthur or even Merlin…which would have made sense, because maybe this was a book that Morris wrote his notes in? Detailing his duties and day to day activities and things he needed to remember partaking to his caring for Arthur-and wouldn't that be amazing! Morris was an amazing hard worker who deserved every bit of attention and praise John could heap on him!-But the man in the illustration was obviously a noble of some sort, wearing beautifully made and elaborate looking robes…why was Morris drawing images of noblemen? Unless Morris wasn't a poet at all…maybe Morris was more of an artist! And he drew pictures of people he came across to practice his craft-maybe Morris would draw a picture of John one of these days!
John grinned to himself one again, flipping to the next page in the book…his smile growing strained and stiff at the edges as he saw what was on it. It was clearly the same nobleman-they wore the same clothing they did in the other drawing-only this noble was now sprawled across the ground. His head seemed to have been forced into an unnatural angle, and John couldn't help but wonder if he was dead. There were two others in the picture that was standing above him, one with this large crown on his brow that probably made this man the king. The other in the picture had something yellow-clay? Maybe lemon? Since a servant wouldn't be able to get their hands on those specially made paints nobles used for coloring their artwork-completely smashed on top of its head. It had to be Arthur, the yellow was an indicator for his blond hair…why was Morris drawing people who were dead? Was the nobleman really dead…
John swallowed hard, he had always had a weak and nauseous stomach. Just the sight of a dead body would've been enough to make him pass out. He honestly didn't know how he made it through The Sickness, without contracting it since his immune system was already so weak. Maybe Morris had a rational and perfectly explainable reason for doing such a horrid drawing in the first place…John turned the page. And his happy grin was returned when he saw the same noble leaving Camelot in one of those fancy noble carriages. Whatever had happened in the last drawing, he had clearly recovered from it…but John found something odd about it still. At the top of the page, there was a word written. It was dark and jagged and looked like it might be carved into the parchment from how deep Morris pressed a quill into it. Which would certainly explain all the broken quills on the table.
Brushing his fingers along the unfamiliar letters, John was able to feel how deeply indented into the page they were. This gave the entire paper a foreboding feeling that had John yanking his hand away from the page. He could only imaging the word was something naughty or hateful…John didn't like it. And so, John quickly moved through the next few pages hoping to find…the servant didn't know what he hoped to find. Perhaps something that was a bit more cheery…more romantic? But all he saw was more words he couldn't read, though the style seemed to start changing with each page. On one page, it looked like a bunch of lists, complete with bullet points to enunciate each task that Morris had set for himself. But by the time he reached the next of the pages…there were hundreds of words all cramped up in the space. Some overlapping others. Some so faint John could barely note it being there. And some so deep it looked as if his writer-his Morris-had been angry. Furious.
Vicious.
It looked like the product of a madman.
John skipped a few more pages again, and that was when the drawings started up again. On the left page seemed to be the king's balcony-with the king standing on top-giving some kind of announcement to the faceless people down below. And the right page held…a boy John couldn't see because he carried a large stack of clothing. And he was standing on a staircase in front of another boy…was that supposed to be Consort Merlin? It wore overly frumpy-exaggerated-clothing, and charcoal had been used to color the hair. Some kind of blue paste made for eyes but only made his face look misshapen…
John flipped through more pages quickly, catching a glimpse of a new scene he didn't stay on long enough to study…Merlin and the Prince Arthur figure standing at the altar…was it meant to be their wedding day? Why did the consort have this large and horrid X-jagged and sharp-crossed over his face? John saw a picture of Consort Merlin helping Prince Arthur into his armor, and the consort one again had a jagged X, only this one covered up his entire body. He saw a few more pictures…the stadium but only Merlin was sitting in the stands, his entire figure barely seen as Morris had made sharp lines over his entire body, like he hated seeing the Consort there. Drawings of Consort Merlin walking in the marketplace…Consort Merlin standing near a figure the servant could only assume was supposed to be Gaius…and at least a dozen or so drawings of Arthur and Merlin…
And each drawing had Consort Merlin cruelly drawn over…
Vicious…
Hateful…
The work of somebody who thought him disgusting…
John flipped more rapidly through the pages…were the images scenes Morris had seen for himself? Or had he started making them up as he went along…John blushed at one of the images that had the Consort and Prince lying in the prince's bed. The red coloring taking the form of a blanket covered all the bits he didn't want to see, but it was clear what they were doing. And this one had the worse jagged markings over Merlin than John had seen on the others. So deep, it looked as if Morris almost went straight through the page in his anger…John couldn't see anybody continuing to make love with a servant still inside the space. Everybody knew Arthur liked his space…
So some of these drawings probably weren't real…
Probably scenes Morris had made up for himself…
But why?
And that was before the truly graphic images started to crop up, images that couldn't possibly be real but were still drawn in the pages like different endings of a story. One had Consort Merlin strung up by a noose, rope tight around his neck as his body jerked and spasmed-or at least as much as it could jerk and spasm on a piece of parchment-but the most horrifying part of the image was the man holding the end of the rope. He was the one hoisting Merlin into the air…with what looked like a few bits of mud had been scraped across the page to make its hair and eyes…Morris. Wearing a jagged tooth grin, taking this horrible pleasure at being the one to string Merlin up.
There were other images…
John's hands trembled as he clutched the journal hard enough for the parchment to crinkle and rip…
An image of Consort Merlin tied to a pyre. His mouth opened in mid-scream, smudged to indicate smoke billowing up over his body to accompany the jagged flames. And Morris was the one holding the torch that lit the wood that sent the consort to his death. An image of Merlin sitting in front of a plate of food, a hand clasping at his throat as blue coated along the bottom half of his face…was he choking? Or had he been poisoned…all John knew was the Morris character was standing behind him with a sickly sweet smile. Another image saw Merlin lying in a grassy field, with copious amounts of red splashed across his abdomen, spilling out and staining the grass. And Morris was there again, with the same sickly sweet grin as he held a blood stained butcher knife in his hand…
"No…no. No, no, no, no, no." John choked out through a mouth more dry than it had ever been before in his life, his face going pale as the color left him. "This can't be. This..what is this…are you…why…Morris…please…" John's voice cracked, none of the words coming out of him made sense. But all he could see was the splashes of blood red coloring across the page. The sickly sweet smile on Morris' face. And only one thing made sense to him, though it made no sense at all either. Brain scrambling to get the pieces together in his head, John had to do something about this… "The king…I have to inform the king. He will know what to do. I am sure of it."
John whimpered a little…he didn't want to believe it, but these pictures were impossible to hide too. Morris wanted to hurt the consort…his sweet and generous and loving Morris was a man who wanted to hurt people. And not just hurt people, his loving future husband wanted to slice them in half. Cut out their guts with his own hands. And smile while he was doing it…the room suddenly didn't feel safe anymore. And John latched onto the idea of the king being able to help, maybe he would talk to the other boy and scare Morris back into being the man John was in love with. Or thought he was in love with. Maybe Morris was simply aggressive and was trying to get those urges out, John might ruin everything he had with Morris because he stumbled across a few drawings he wasn't supposed to. But what if this was real…and what if Morris actually planned on trying to hurt their consort. What if…what if…what if…
A shadow behind him shifted, the temperature in the room felt as if it had dropped a few dozen degrees…
The book fell from his shaking hands, trembling so hard, John found it impossible to keep a good grip. And the book landed on the ground with a hollow thump, though it sounded like the sound of splintering glass. This was enough to propel John to get moving. And he whipped around, intent on rushing out the front door and never gracing this man's home again. He made it all of two steps before a guttural gasp escaped his lips…pain so excruciating seemed to echo up his entire body centered in his abdomen. John moved his trembling hand down to it, eyes dumbfounded as if he couldn't understand what was going on with him…
John's hand came back sticky, blood-his blood-coated along the tops of his fingers. Staining them bright in the light, bright enough to accompany the glinting of the silver blade sticking out of his stomach. John's entire body wavered, he struggled to lift his head up to meet the cold and unforgiving eyes that were attached to his future husband's face. And Morris wore the same sickly sweet smile he had worn in his drawings…and it was so much more terrifying in person than it was in a bunch of pictures. A gasp erupted from John, his body jerking though it wasn't any fault of his own, as Morris cruelly dragged up the blade. Cutting through organs for no reason other than it made him happy, and a dribble of blood came from John's lips. It left a bloody trail down his stark white face…down his chin…
"You know John, you were always the noisy sort. But I will have to admit, I thought you had more sense than to go snooping in my things. I would have thought even you knew some things is going to have to stay hidden for just a bit longer." Morris spoke with a tut, voice dripping with condescending as he made the blade twist sharply. John's entire body seized up from the hot white fire racing down his spine, leaving him unable to move or run or hide or, Morris tutted again and shook his head with this false sympathy that made a bloody tear escape the edge of his eye, leaving a sickly red trail that Morris followed with his eyes in mild fascination. Before dismissing it-bored with the display of emotions-so he could look John in the eye, "You know…this is probably the part where I should admit I actually liked you all this time. And how I hoped you wouldn't have gotten dragged into all this. But that would be a lie…maybe you shouldn't have touched my stuff, Little Johnathon."
And the monster that lurked behind the face of John's future husband ripped the knife out of his stomach. It was brutal and harsh, unforgiving and unconcerned…as if John was nothing to him other than a pig. A pig he had slaughtered because it was of no use to him, and John finally felt his knees give out. John would have expected Morris-his kind and loving Morris-to race to catch him before his body could substation anymore horrid damage. But he didn't. And John landed onto the ground with a heavy thud, vision starting to black out as all the blood pouring out of his gaping abdomen wound stained the rug beneath him ruby red.
The last thing John saw before he lost consciousness, would be Morris' boots appearing in front of his face…
X
Morris sniffed his nose in disgust at the useless lump of wood that was once his 'friend'. Or at least that was what John would have called their acquaintance. Morris preferred to call the boy by what he was…a scapegoat. Morris had only allowed John to breathe the same air as him because he thought the other and his simpering ways would become useful to him. John could've either provided an alibi for him if he proceeded with one of his plans against Merlin. Or he could have been somebody Morris threw under the carriage and framed…he had been more than prepared to plant evidence in the boy's home. Enough so John would never see the light of day again, leaving Morris to roam free.
But stupid John had to go and stick his nose where it did not belong. That was an entire year of Morris' life going to waste in a second. An entire year he had spent nurturing John's stupid little crush on him…as if Morris would be interested in another person whose status was far below Morris' own. He was only disappointed he didn't take more time with his kill, carving up John as if he was the turkey being brought out during the Yule holidays. And he couldn't do it now…it would be boring without John there to scream through it. But one bored kick at the shin of the boy's feet proved what Morris already knew…
John was dead.
And good riddance to him.
Only a fool was content with going as unnoticed in life as John had been. But at least Morris had made his death something of importance. It would sate the blood thirst in Morris' soul, keep a tight lid on the monster trying to roar to life inside of him. For a time at least…until the next time somebody pissed him off so much he couldn't resist the urge to make their death far more meaningful than whatever poor excuse of a life they had been living before Morris crossed paths with them…
Morris wrinkled his nose and tossed his blood soaked knife on the ground next to the body. He didn't usually like using knife's during one of his kills-few and rare as they had been so far-as he preferred something a bit more personal. Hands around the neck to choke the life out of somebody, their eyes so rounded and pleading for their lives, was a personal favorite of his. But a knife would do in a pinch, quick as it was when he aimed for a specific spot…humans, such fragile things they were. Things that didn't understand the meaning of life and were content to waste it away on serving those dressed in gold and satin lace…
Well, not him.
Morris stepped over John's body without nary a glance down at the filth staining his floor, and picked up his journal. Morris had blood on his hands that stained the edges of his book but he didn't care. He took a seat beside his bed, resting his book on top of his knees as he stretched languidly beside John and his cooling body. And Morris smiled as he flipped through the pages backwards. Rereading all his plans and fantasies, things he wanted to do or see happen to Merlin. Graphic details that went from something small, like shoving Merlin off the tallest tower in the kingdom. To something worse, which involved him selling Merlin to a brothel so he could be a personal whore to the hundreds of men that visited it each day. Plans on how he could get rid of Merlin's body if he decided the more personal route of killing. Plans on how to get Arthur's attention after the consort was no longer in the way. Plans on what he would get to do to the kingdom once he had full control. Plans on how to get rid of Arthur, when he was no longer needed.
Morris memorized every single one of the etchings in his book, knowing he wouldn't be able to see any of it again. It was kind of stupid of him, to detail his greatest work in a journal for any noisy thief to come along. If Morris hadn't made it home by the time he did, it may have been too late to stop John from doing something incredibly stupid. Well, needless to say, Morris had seen the error of his ways. And the first thing he would do was have this journal burn. Till the smoke stained the pages and all the fire made the pages crinkle and disintegrate in front of his own eyes.
It would be glorious…
And it would be sad…
Like saying goodbye to an old friend.
One that had seen him at his worst, especially during the last few months.
But…
Morris stopped near the beginning of his work, flashing that sickly sweet smile as he reread what he had done to that noble who had visited almost two years ago now. The one who'd left Camelot in a hurry after undergoing a sudden food poisoning incident. He had been the first person Morris had tried to kill…stupid he had been back then. How was Morris meant to know the water hemlock he had slipped in his salad wouldn't kill him off. It was his first time! And he had only slipped in about a half of the dose a nobleman of his size would have needed to drop as if he was a horse that had been tranquilized.
Foolish noblemen shouldn't have shown up in Camelot just to wave his precious daughter under the king's nose. Trying to do his best to tempt Uther into allowing a marriage between such a drab and boring girl to the prince. Morris would've done the same thing to Merlin if he had gotten the chance. Uther's fast and sudden announcement of the wedding had thrown off the entire kingdom. And Morris hadn't had enough time to pull off something without drawing suspicion to himself.
Even now, after what he'd just done with Arthur, suspicion was sure to drop on him if Merlin pulled through only to die sudden soon after.
Fucking waiting around to see what happened…
It was such a bloody pain.
Just like it was going to be a bloody pain for Morris to get his rug clean from the blood John had stained it with…he should bring him back and kill him again just for that offense. But he sadly, did not have such abilities. It didn't make the want in his gut soften any. Especially when he admitted it was most likely for the best if Morris just got rid of the whole thing. It wouldn't do for another body to drop if somebody visited him-John was the only one stupid enough to do it-and noticed a single spot of blood he might've missed.
But first…he was going to get his bloody broken quill out of the boy's pocket. Stupid boy thinking Morris-incredible possessive as he was-wouldn't notice one of them had gone missing.
X
"I expressively ordered Arthur not to go! And then he leaves and disobeys me anyway! What mutiny is this! He should have stayed put like I told him too!" Uther Pendragon shouted, and he was just shy of foaming at the mouth because of his anger as he paced up and down the length of the room. It had been a tiresome night for him, which had gotten even worse after he'd been informed by those two bumbling knights that his son had been seen racing away from the kingdom on horseback. It had been a long night of going back and forth, trying to decide on whether or not he should send some of his knights after Arthur to bring him home. But that…that would have only given Arthur the men he had been requesting to begin with. And Uther was not going to give into Arthur's childish tantrum, and allow him the manpower he wanted. Difficult as that decision had been for him to make… "God help him if he doesn't return in a single piece and I get my hands on him! I don't think I can understand one single thing that was going through his fool head! He may be my son, but I expect him to follow my orders just as I would any of my other knights!"
Morgana Le Fay stood in front of him, standing beside the long table in her room. She had finally gotten undressed in the late hours of the night, so her hair was in loose ringlets around her face after being held up in her pins all night. And her dress had been traded in for a more comfortable dark dressing robe that was modest enough to cover her in front of the other man. But Morgana could not say she was very pleased by the other King just showing up in her room like this. Though Morgana'd been expecting the king to show up at some point after she had saw Arthur off. That was the only reason she hadn't gone down so she could see Merlin…Uther loved complaining to her about all of these petty matters. It was only a matter of time before the king sought her out. And it was better for him to do it inside of her chambers, rather than doing it while Merlin was trying his best to get some rest.
Allowing Merlin his privacy from Uther was the least she could do.
Though did it really have to be before she even got a breakfast tray brought up to her room by one of the other servants she'd have attending to her while Gwen was out of commission.
"Are you really going to stand there and call what Arthur did an act of mutiny? I think that's a bit overdramatic, don't you think so?" Morgana asked in a drawled tone, stifling a yawn that was unladylike. Like most people in the kingdom, she had not got a whiff of sleep all night, and it showed in the bagginess building under her eyes. But Uther hardly seemed to notice, sending a sharp glare in her direction. Morgana sighed, "You might want your son to follow your orders, but you aren't just his king. You are also his father, I would actually expect a little rebellion now and again. But ordering him around doesn't exactly work like a charm nowadays, does it?"
Morgana said this very slyly, a barely there smirk playing on the edges of her lips, so small Uther would be sure to miss it happening at all. She would never say this, least of all towards Arthur himself, but she was almost proud of the idiot. In all the months of horrid behavior, shocking Morgana more and more with each outrageous thing he'd done, it was nice to see him finally doing something right for a change. Even if Uther would not see it the same way she did. But then again, she was still holding judgement on Arthur until she saw whether or not her friend pulled through this alright..
"Not another word out of you, Morgana! Do you hear me!" The king bellowed, proving to Morgana that the king wouldn't see these events the same way that she would. Uther only saw his one and only heir abandon his throne and his duties and all of his people for one boy. Whereas Morgana saw it more like…the prince owed Merlin this. It was only right for Arthur to do such a dangerous quest after what he's put Merlin through. Though it was the king that had told Morgana to stay silent, it was also the king who started up again not moments after he resumed his pacing. "I cannot believe you are saying this is only an act of rebellion! Going out with a handmaiden, or disappearing off on one of his hunting trips when he knows we have important guests arriving is an act of rebellion. This is…this is…I do not even know what this is! I thought my son was far smarter than to do something like this! To go chasing after some fake make believe flower for that ridiculous boy!"
Whatever half-baked amusement Morgana may have gotten out of seeing Uther so riled up, seemed to drop the second he brought up Merlin. A ridiculous boy, Uther had said…a boy who was so ridiculous, he was the only reason the king's only heir still had breath left in his body. Morgana's lips thinned, trying to suppress the natural urge she had to yell at him, to defend Merlin against such a tyrant. Uther wouldn't know anything of what's been going on in the background if it bit him on the ass or did a little jig on top of the table in front of him. Instead, the lady looked away, the tips of her fingers playing with the hem of the decorative cloth spread across the table.
"I think the only thing ridiculous about any of this, is making Merlin participate in this complete farce of a marriage." Spoke the lady under her breath, just loud enough for Uther to hear her words. And the king shot her a disapproving look over the top of his nose, Morgana held her hand up placating and dull, "I know, I know. I should keep my lips sealed and just let you vent to me all your problems." And Lady Morgana slid between her chair and the table, though she didn't sit down yet either…it was just bothering her too much. How Uther wanted to vent to her, but wouldn't allow her to do the same? The only reason she hadn't started arguing back in Merlin's defense was…King Uther was exactly like his son! Impossible to talk to, and would refuse to listen to reason if it contradicted against whatever it was they wanted. But honestly…how could she stand here and just pretend as if she didn't know what she knew! Before Lady Morgana could think twice on her question, she was asking the king, "Were you really just going to allow Merlin to die? Did you bring that poor boy here, all the way from everything he knows just so he could die saving your precious Camelot? Not willing to lift a single hand to try and save him after he saved Arthur?"
Uther's nostrils seemed to flare out with his anger, and that is all the answer Morgana needed. Her own nostrils flared far too similarly to the king to be coincidental, the taste of poison was on her lips. Vile and strong and disgusting…how could a king-a man whose sole duty was to protect the kingdom-sacrifice the life of a simple boy? A completely ordinary boy who had gone and did something extraordinary! Merlin wasn't even magic! A being that would-while Morgana still thought it wrong-have at least explained Uther's reluctance to get involved. Unless King Uther's pride was so fragile and wounded, he would have the boy killed himself just to reclaim some of the defiance Merlin'd always shown against him. Or did he really desire Arthur being married off to a Lady of the Court so badly…
Disgusting behavior from a king…
Merlin deserved far more than what he was getting from them.
"What I decide to do with the boy is none of your concern. If I want him on his deathbed, then that is where he will be. And if I want him flogged for his incompetence in front of the entirety of the court, then that will be my business too. And if I punish Arthur for defying me for this boy, then let me tell you, it won't be any of your concern." Uther hissed, one fist hitting harshly against the edge of her table. But Morgana didn't flinch, used to these macho displays of male chauvinist displays, and she instead settled for glowering at the floor. The only thing she's ever seen Merlin being 'incompetent' at, was listening to the order of others. But considering how badly shaped they would all be if Merlin had done what he was told, she hardly thought it as a bad thing. Uther seemed to regain a hold of himself and his anger though, as he shoved himself away from the table to continue his pacing, "Perhaps I should just keep Arthur under a lock and key from now on. Surely a few weeks locked away in his room would do him some good. And a bit of distance away from his consort, or anything that might remind him of Merlin may actually get his head on straight."
Once again, Uther proved how similar he was to his son with his first thought jumping straight to imprisonment. How many times had Arthur thought-or planned-to have Merlin chained in some way just to make himself feel better. But Morgana didn't know any of this, and she simply shook a few thick strands of hair away from her face. Because of how ridiculous of an idea that was, Arthur wasn't a rebellious teen that would need to be grounded a few times to straighten up his behavior. Arthur was an adult who needed to step out of his father's shadow to start learning what kind of man he was going to be. He couldn't do that if Uther kept hindering him by making decisions for him.
And Uther was wrong if he thought keeping Merlin and Arthur away from each other would fix anything.
It would only make the explosion-when they finally got back in each other's orbit-so much worse than it needed to be.
"You aren't going to get away with chaining him up every time he disagrees with you. And I believe this has to be the first and only time he has ever outright defied you. Do you really think a first offense equals being locked up as a punishment?" Spoke Lady Morgana, and she tried to imagine Arthur locked away in his room. For days? Week? However long it took for Uther and his anger to wane? Uther was a stubborn and prideful man, he could probably hang onto that anger for months. "But I do ask you, what happens if Arthur returns the flower and Merlin has healed? Do you really expect to keep Arthur away from his own partner who is in recovery? Keep them separated even though they've both gone through something traumatic? I can hardly see Arthur being able to stay in one place for long…not if he's got Merlin on his brain."
Morgana would forever be the last person to trust Arthur to be near Merlin after the whole 'bruising' incident. But nobody was able to deny what the prince was doing at the moment…Arthur getting a flower wouldn't make up for anything he had done to Merlin already. She would honestly wholly enjoy having Arthur locked up for a little while, see how he liked being in his room like Merlin'd been. But surely even Uther could hear how it was utterly ridiculous to actually execute it. It wasn't like Uther was locking Arthur away for abusing his spouse. He wanted Arthur locked up for disobeying him…did Uther plan to do this for the prince's entire life? Was Arthur going to be thirty with the king still expecting every decision be ordained through himself?
If that was the case, Morgana had to fear what kind of future they could be expecting after Uther died, and Arthur was left on his own for the first time.
Unfortunately, Uther didn't actually answer her question.
"What is with this bloody boy and people going against what I have decided for him? First there's Arthur wondering off, and now I have got you trying to tell me this 'traumatic' event will be enough to bond them. Please, they are married. They aren't lovers." Uther snarled, as if there was a distinct difference with the two words. Morgana looked away again, sucking her top lip into her mouth. One would have thought lovers and marriage is two things that went together, just like bread and butter. But in their society…it never meant that. And Merlin was left to suffer because of what 'society' deemed was acceptable. "But I can tell you, whatever this boy has done to my son, it won't excuse him from being punished. My son is not going to disobey me! I can see this being just the beginning of a slippery slope. Just a first step towards my son being more disobedient."
Morgana wondered whether or not she should point out how absolutely mad in the head Uther was sounding. Arthur doing the right thing for once would hardly mount to him having any kind of lasting personality change. Uther was his entire world, Arthur practically breathed everything that was his father. As soon as this whole thing was finished and Merlin was back to his old self, she fully expected Arthur would return back to his old ways. She was only surprised the prince hadn't dismissed her when she had first approached him or hadn't started trying to kick Merlin when he was already down. Either way though…Uther was worrying far too much about the future decisions of Arthur.
"I hardly think this is anything more than a simple fluke. I bet all you need to do is give it some time. Arthur will return and everything will go back to the way it was." Morgana said, with a slight bitterness to her voice that went unnoticed. She didn't want things to go back to the way they were…didn't want to go finding more bruises on Merlin just because Arthur had gotten over whatever guilt complex he was having at the moment. "So I'm sure all this worrying will be for nothing. You'll see I'm right once he returns. Arthur isn't exactly the type of prince who will be willing to betray his father. You made sure of that."
Morgana's voice had gone quiet when she said her last words, finally taking a seat at the table. She pulled her journal close to her, ignoring the way Uther was starting to look at her, and she started to write. As she always did, journaling was a favorite of hers. To get all her muddled thoughts out on paper so she was able to see them for herself, watching the words flowing out of her…journaling had helped her get through many of the horrid events in her life. The death of her parents…living under a new roof with a new family…learning how to be the ward of the king which involved so much more than just being the daughter of a powerful noble…this latest event would be no different. Except for Uther hovering over her, placing both hands on the table so he could lean over and glowe at her.
"You know Morgana…I'm just now starting to realize you didn't seem so surprised when I first came in here and told you your prince was gone. Now…why would that be?" Uther drawled out slowly. Morgana's quill paused briefly over the parchment for a second before she quickly resumed her writing…of course, the king would pick up on that. Instead of thinking about all of the extreme measures Uther had gone through to be sure Arthur'd turn out to be nothing more than a carbon copy of himself. The way he had all but picked Arthur's friends throughout the child hood years so Arthur would only associate with those Uther'd allow. The way Arthur was only ever allowed to study what the king determined a future king needed to know, refusing to let Arthur look into other topics and foster an interest that would give him enjoyment but not benefit the kingdom. The way the Red King made it so Arthur would only ever turn to him when he needed help because Arthur didn't 'have' anybody else he could go to. And there were thousands of other smaller things Uther had done to ensure Arthur never stepped over the line…like withholding parental affection if Arthur made the simplest of mistakes. Making Arthur work harder to get a single ounce of approval, only to get an extremely small reward-like a single pat to the shoulder before walking away-whenever he pleased him. "I suppose it means you must've had a hand in this, didn't you? You knew Arthur was gone long before anybody, and you didn't bother to bring it to my attention?"
Morgana's hand jerked, creating this long and harsh looking-a ugly scar that resembled her inside at the moment-across her otherwise neat page. Didn't bring it to his attention…did Uther seriously think she was going to 'bring it to his attention?' The King clearly hadn't realized Morgana had all but manipulated Arthur into going in the first place, that he would probably be sitting in his room still if she hadn't approached him. But what else was she supposed to do? Let Merlin die? Nobody'd given her another choice in the matter than to do what she did. She, unlike the rest of the royal family, actually held a heart that left her aching whenever she saw an injustice unfolding before her eyes. And Merlin had been the biggest injustice she had seen in her entire twenty three years.
"Perhaps you should bother taking a look at your son, and see he's old enough to make his own decisions." Morgana said with a tight tone of voice, dipping the edge of her quill into the little ink pot sitting next to her and resuming her writing. As if Uther wasn't upset with her. "Arthur is just shy of turning twenty one summers old. One would have thought you might have actually been proud of him. He's doing the exact thing you have forced down his throat since he was born. Doing whatever it takes to protect the people of this kingdom. And like it or not, Merlin is a member of this kingdom. Why wouldn't Arthur's own consort deserve the same protection you would have enforced if it had been any other noble that drunk that cup."
Morgana knew without looking up at Uther-the denial already brimming on the edge of his tongue-that he knew she spoke the truth. Had it been any other noble, Uther would've already had about a dozen or so knights chosen to retrieve the flower and bring it back to Camelot safely. A possible war brewing on the horizon or not, Uther wouldn't have wanted to do anything to make a noble family withdraw their support towards the Red Kingdom. He would have found a way, and everything would've turned out okay. Merlin might not have the backing of an entire family that Uther would want to keep on their side, but she had thought Merlin would've at least earned his place among all of their fancy ranks by this point. Enough to at least be noticed or honored after all he'd done for their kingdom. But Uther's own pride was going to be the death of him, Morgana swore it'd be.
Because all he could see was Merlin's common heritage, and not his heroic deeds…
"Do you seriously think what Arthur is doing is protecting our kingdom? He's weakened it, practically diminished our forces in half with his sudden departure from the city. He's left and it is because of that decision, our city will suffer." Uther snarled in response, Morgana glared down at the table, quill quite stiff between her fingers. Uther trying to lay the possible falling of their kingdom at Arthur's feet was no surprise, but she could hardly think of that being Arthur's fault. Good as he was with a blade, he was still only one man. Uther was seriously trying to over exaggerate if he thought their defenses had been cut in half without Arthur among them. The men who had went and been trained by Arthur himself would surely have the skills one needed to drive back Mercia's forces for a time, at least. "But I suppose I'll amuse you, Morgana. Why don't you go ahead and try explaining to me why Arthur, running god knows where with no guards or armed escort or anything to stop him from simply running headlong into danger…is somehow protecting our city and our home…our kingdom?"
Uther sneered this at her, clearly still greatly upset by Morgana and her perceived 'betrayal' against him…for not telling him of Arthur's decision to leave. It was as if this whole thing was like some kind of game to the king, Morgana thought with disgust coiling through her. As if Merlin's life was nothing more than a game piece he needed to get rid of…but Morgana was going to refuse to partake in any such games. She didn't care if the Red King expected for her to come up with several very convincing points as for why Arthur leaving was a good thing, only for the king to show his own superiority by knocking her points down with his own reasonings. She didn't need to play to know she'd been right to convince Arthur to go.
"He would've had guards to accompany him, if you had simply allowed it."
Morgana's simple sentence seemed to make something heavy appear in the air of the room. Uther looked as if he had sucked a lemon, but Morgana felt strangely light as she casually went back to her writing. She was positive she had gotten her point across to Uther. Had cleverly turned his little game back onto himself….if Arthur died out there, then it would have been the king's fault. Because Arthur had requested guards, and he had been denied. And now he was fighting alone, and the king still so stubborn, he refused to send any of his men after him. The Lady Morgana would have never been able to live such a harsh and stifling life. Always believing herself correct and not being open to the view points of others…how was she meant to learn things if she never saw things from another perspective? How was this kingdom supposed to thrive and grow and change to something even greater than it was now, if everybody stayed in their lanes. Never venturing out to see what life is like on the other side…Uther was a very small man for not being able to see past his own nose. So stuck in trying to preserve what the past held, instead of making way for what the future could be.
A future Merlin could bring, if only given a chance…
"He is just a boy."
Morgana was brought out of her thoughts when Uther spoke up, looking towards him surprised. The king sounded so weary and so old, as if he had aged about a dozen years right before her eyes. Sometimes she forgot the king actually cared for his son somewhat, or cared as much as a man like Uther could've cared for somebody else. She wasn't entirely convinced Uther knew what it was like having actual human emotions…but King Uther was far more blinded than she feared. If he thought the prince was nothing more than a simple boy. Morgana knew all about boys, and Arthur might be the Boy King for all she knew but there was a certain something that made Arthur stand out above the rest.
"Have you seen your son recently? Because I seem to recall there was once a time where you said Merlin was no longer a child because he had married Arthur. Don't you think the same thing should apply to Arthur?" Morgana pointed out, refusing to believe there was a rule for Arthur and a rule for everybody else. Watching as Uther scowled defensively, clearly wanting to claim a marriage didn't mean anything. But it did, whether or not the old king wanted to admit it. "But perhaps you don't see your son as well as you seem to think. If you did, you may realize the Arthur I saw deciding to take on this task despite all the things you said to him is not the same Arthur that threw his massive fit the day you told him he was to be married off with a strange man from another kingdom."
Morgana was almost pleased by the baffled look Uther sent her way, though what she had said was only half the truth. She still saw Arthur as the arrogant boy who thought he could truly do know wrong in the world. But that boy would have refused to hear her out the second she dared say Uther might've been wrong. Whatever reasons the prince had for actually listening to what she had to say, whether it be because of Merlin or just because he felt bad for being the cause of Merlin's state…this was clearly a major change in character. One that's so drastic, she was surprised the king hadn't started screaming about the prince being under witchcraft or some such nonsense. Now, if only Uther could go through the same dramatic change just to see not everybody fell in line with the perfect row of boxes he tried to craft for them all in his head. Some people were meant to live as others deemed weren't allowed by proper society.
Merlin was one of them.
But she didn't know if Arthur would be another.
"That little argument has already been said and done. And I've already forgiven Arthur for his outburst, he's proven he's more than willing to do what it takes to ensure the marriage sounds as believable as we are trying to make it." Uther said firmly and Morgana wondered how he could not hear the vein of absolute hypocrisy in his words. He made it sound as if Arthur had been in the wrong for the way he reacted, as if Arthur was meant to apologize despite all of this being Uther's fault. It was honestly no wonder how absolutely screwed up in the head Arthur was if this man was his role model. "Besides, you know as well as I and Arthur do, that I had no choice in this. And couldn't stop it no matter how hard I tried. Do you really think I would want my only heir married off to that boy if I had any say in it?"
And Morgana sneered, feeling this righteous fury coursing its way through her veins…it seemed as if Uther had forgotten all about how she had been there. The day he had shown Arthur the contract to prove he wasn't trying to play some awful kind of joke on him. And Uther's kingly signature had been the one on top…he had more say than anybody else in the kingdom as to what his son's future would look like. Bad enough to decide the fate of his own heir, but then he goes and dragged another boy into the mix. A simple boy who didn't want anything to do with the throne or the power of the crown or the prestige such a position in the court was meant to give him.
"There were other options too could have employed!" Morgana exclaimed, rising to her feet to plant her hands on the table as Uther was, her mind already racing with the ways Uther could have handled this situation if he refused to believe how strong his own hand was in it. "Perhaps you could have allowed their marriage to wait? You could have held out until just before the prince turned twenty one summers. At least they wouldn't just be thrown headfirst into this! They would have had a good nine months or so between Merlin arriving and that day, to get used to the other. To know what to expect. But you're the one that'd refused to wait. You wanted them married now! You cannot tell me with all the councilmen sitting around your throne, that not one of them was able to find some kind of loophole that would have stopped this marriage in its tracks! But what do I know of it? For all I know, you didn't seek their council at all! Maybe you pushed this marriage through because you were simply hating the thought of being bested by Merlin's mother. Because you were angry she ran away years ago and you hadn't bothered to keep in touch and realize they were not in the place where you went and threw them off like trash until Merlin was deemed old enough to be brought back to court-"
Uther's fist banging on the table was loud enough to make the entire thing shake, and for Morgana to jerk back away from it in surprise as her brain finally caught up with her mouth. Uther was looking at her as if he wished he could poison her with the look of his eyes, and Morgana feared she might've finally gone too far with her defiance. Uther might make allowances for her for the most part, but he had never been able to take someone telling him he was wrong. Actually, Morgana was probably the only one that had ever tried telling him what he was doing was the wrong thing. But clearly, Uther still wasn't willing to hear a word on his own failings.
"That is enough out of you, Morgana. You have absolutely no idea of the other circumstances at play here. You don't have any idea what other forces play in the background that you do not know about. Or how much of a risk it would've been for my son if we waited-" Uther cut himself off abruptly, as if he finally realized he may have said too much on the subject. But it only made Morgana narrow her eyes suspiciously…could there have been something she didn't know about the contract? Perhaps something even Arthur himself didn't know…Uther had made it sound so dire. More dire than Arthur losing the kingdom if the prince didn't go along with this facade. But King Uther cleared his throat roughly, and straightened up, moving on before she could ask the million and one questions racing throughout her mind faster than she could keep up with. "Just know this, Lady Morgana…if my son does not return within the next few days, I fear it will be your fault for allowing him to go to his death."
And with those parting words, Uther swept out of her rooms in a flurry of long and rich robes. Morgana stared blankly in front of her, seeing but not really seeing anything either…it…it would not be her fault if Arthur died. It couldn't be. Sure, she may've convinced him to go, but none of this would have happened to Merlin if Arthur had simply listened to him for once. If Arthur'd taken the cup and dumped it out the second Merlin had said it was poisoned…everything would be okay right now.
Everything would have been okay…
So why did her chest tremble and ache at the thought of being the reason for Arthur being out there. She should've said good riddance for everything he's done to Merlin. But…maybe she'd also be mourning for the lost childhood companion she'd once had. The boy whose room she would sneak into whenever her entire world felt like it was too big for her to keep up with. The boy who had confessed to her in a moment of weakness when they were young, about how scared he was to not meet all the expectations his father had placed on his too scrawny boyish shoulders.
But of course…those were all memories of a person she feared Arthur was no longer.
Morgana still collapsed into her chair, as if her legs didn't have the strength to hold her up anymore.
Because Uther had called her 'Lady Morgana.'
A title that made her nothing more than what she was, a chore the king was forced to put up with because of the ridiculous promise he had made to her father sometime before he had died…
X
Arthur Pendragon had been extremely reluctant to stop riding his horse throughout the forests of Balar…especially since they were so close to the caves. Close enough he could almost feel the shift in the air that told him to get ready for battle. That he was probably going to end up running into the creature he had been warned about soon enough, even though he had reached the forgets not that long ago. And was therefore, still hovering on the edges of it. Arthur Pendragon would have continued on if it was his choice, the caves were probably a handful of miles deeper if he was remembering his geography right. And even with little to no sleep-he had rested briefly for an hour when his horse could run no more, but had only ended up tossing and turning until he couldn't take it anymore, mind full of the turmoil he couldn't process that caused him to break out in a cold sweat every time he tried-he felt he would have reached the caves eventually.
As long as he kept walking.
But his bloody horse needed to stop for water, and the creek they'd came across was too convenient for them to risk going on ahead only for his horse to collapse from exhaustion. And leaving Arthur taking longer than he should have to waiting for him to recuperate. It was strategy and all…making sure his one and only horse stayed battle ready so it took the least amount of time keeping him away from Merlin. And while Llmel dunked his head into the creek bed, Arthur kept a close eye about the territory. As far as Arthur was concerned, Balar Forest may lay in Camelot's kingdom, but it was enemy territory. A place that beast roamed freely, taking whoever was unfortunate enough to wonder into his home…
The journey just to get this far had been exceedingly rough as Arthur had been forced to take the mountain route. That path was more dangerous as bandits seemed to lurk there with the hopes of grabbing unsuspecting travelers and robbing them of their belongings and/or women. Luckily, Arthur hadn't crossed paths with any of them, or his gloves would've been stained so red, sticky with their still warm blood. But the mountains were the quickest path, cutting a straight line through his travels so finely, any inconvenience from a group of bandits was a good enough trade off to risk it. And yet, being here now…the blond prince was disgusted to find out absolutely breathtaking these forests were.
It certainly didn't look like the monstrous place guarded by an equally ferocious creature.
It looked like the kind of place Merlin might enjoy visiting one of these days. This big open field with plenty of space a man could run around in to get rid of all the access energy he had in his body…with plenty of trees hanging around the edges for him to hide behind if he decided he didn't want to see Arthur hanging nearby. But…would Merlin even like being in this huge space? Would he like being in the middle of nowhere, the only person for miles around to help him if something went wrong being Arthur…would Merlin accept his help if he needed it?
Arthur had been doing this a lot in the last few hours…asking himself all these questions but having no answers to show for it…nothing but the endless road in front of him had given him plenty time to think about a few things. Like if Merlin would like that stupid low hanging plant that had nearly taken Arthur off his horse an hour ago. Or if he would have wanted to come so he could see more of what the kingdom had to offer, instead of staying inside the walls all the time. Or if he would enjoy eating the bread Arthur had packed away in his bag to snack on…did Merlin like bread? Surely he must, who didn't like bread? …The prince didn't like not knowing if Merlin liked bread or not.
That felt like something he should know about his consort…
Like he should know whether or not Merlin would like being in this damn field…or perhaps one similar to it. Where Arthur had a reasonable expectation to not being attacked by some kind of savage beast living in it. Arthur should also know whether or not Merlin would ever be interested in Arthur coming to visit at Gaius' one of these days. Or if he would be opened to coming to the training fields and watching Arthur train. Or maybe they could do something Merlin liked to do…someplace Arthur was able to ask all his questions.
What was Merlin's favorite food?
What did he like to do other than getting into trouble?
What places did Merlin dream about seeing but would never get a chance without Arthur there to bring him?
Did he like the accommodations he had at Gaius, or could the prince do something to make the rooms more comfortable for him?
What stalls in the marketplace would he like to visit the most?
Would he ever want to go horseback riding so Arthur had the chance to ask all these questions without being interrupted?
…What things have Merlin kept bottled up all this time?
…Why was Merlin's only way out, was to hurt himself?
…Why didn't he come to Arthur if he was having problems?
…Why didn't Arthur notice he was having problems?
Arthur's head snapped up, his horse still drinking heavy gulps from the river, when he heard what sounded like the snapping of a tree branch. Maybe it was just a raccoon or a squirrel or a hog or a deer…but Arthur still scanned his eyes along the line of the forest to make sure nothing was coming out charging at him. He didn't see anything, but Arthur withdrew his sword out anyway…for all he knew, the beast that guarded these forests might be watching him. Arthur usually wouldn't think a simple animal could be smart enough to both evade him, and stay in the background as it determined whether or not Arthur was a threat, but this was a magical creature. Which meant it had to differ from normal animals in ways other than how it looked or what it could do…
Or maybe an animal was just an animal, magic or not.
What did Arthur know?
Arthur glanced back towards his horse, but Llmel didn't look as if he was concerned, still drinking from the creek as if they had all the time in the world. Surely his horse would've picked up on some kind of negative energy in the air if there was this threat zeroing in on them…Arthur strode away from the horse so he was closer to the trees. Readjusting his grip around the handle of his blade and scanning the area cautiously. But the only thing he saw were more trees, trees that grew darker and more sinister looking the deeper they went. But this path was the only way to get to the caves…and Arthur refused to take a long detour to go around it.
When Arthur finally determined nothing was there-or at least nothing that was going to attack them-he started turning back around to go back to his horse. They had already rested longer than Arthur wanted too…a giggle reached his ear. Soft and airy and blowing on the back of his neck. Arthur hissed sharply and whipped around, slashing his sword dangerously across the air to take out the giggling threat. But instead of taking off a head from the stranger who had somehow managed to sneak up on him, Arthur's blade went through nothing. And sunk itself into the broad, thick, lines of one of the trees.
Arthur blinked, staring at where his sword stuck in the bark of the tree…there wasn't anybody there? But surely Arthur didn't imagine the giggling…he had felt the small tufts of hair on the back of his neck blowing. As if somebody had been breathing against him…Arthur scanned the forest again. But there wasn't any chance some stranger in the middle of nowhere had found their way to him, giggled, and then disappeared back into the forest as if they had never been there. And the prince did not believe in ghosts either…Arthur clenched his teeth sharply and grabbed onto the handle of his blade with both hands. Letting out a loud grunt as he started working on getting it detached from the tree.
He kinda needed his blade if anything happened…
Arthur gritted his teeth even harder and tried wiggling out his sword some more. He could feel it inching out, but god, had he sunk it in deep…had that giggling been Merlin? This was such a strange and sudden thought, that Arthur stalled trying to get his sword free for a second so he could really feel the cold chill roll down his spine, before he resumed his pulling again. Being too focused on the tree, this whole new zest trying to overtake him as he ignored the upsetting thought. Arthur didn't believe in ghosts…but that didn't stop the 'what if' from trying its best to invade his mind.
What if Merlin was already dead?
What if Arthur was only going on a fool's mission?
What if he worked so hard, only to fail in the end…
What if…
There was a cold sweat trying to break out across the back of Arthur's neck, and he finally managed to yank his sword free of the bark. Arthur nearly fell backwards, having not realized it was so close to coming free, but quickly righted himself. But it didn't look damaged…his sword looked completely fine. There were no scrapes in the blade or unsightly dents or odd looking angels making the metal look twisted. The tree had only a thin line as evidence of his sword ever being there in the first place …how could there have been so little damage? How come his consort was suffering, and Arthur's sword couldn't even have a little nick in the side…
Arthur's hand shook around the handle of his blade, causing it to shake with him…Merlin should have been here. He should've been grinning cheekily, peeking out from behind the tree as to hide himself away, his free giggling flowing in the breeze. That earlier giggle…it might have been nothing but the wind and the prince had only heard what he had wanted to hear. Something a carefree Merlin would have done…this carefree Merlin would have spun on his heels and dashed into the forest. Giggling as Arthur gave chase as if they were playing some kind of game, being strangely graceful and beautiful as he danced around all the trees in their path.
Like some kind of weird wood nymph coming to life from the pages of a storybook…
Merlin would never get the chance to masquerade as a wood nymph though. He would never get to wear those stupid and strange looking dresses a wood nymph-would Merlin be open to wearing a dress to play his part-usually wore in the stories. He would never get to relax among the forest looking more at home than he had ever looked among Arthur's court. He would never get to giggle as if everything in his world looked several shades brighter than Arthur's own was. He would never allow Arthur to hear him sound carefree…always on guard when the prince appeared.
As if Arthur was going to hurt him.
But Arthur had already hurt him.
More than once.
Several times.
Both physical and mental.
And…
And…
And…
It was as if this sudden burst of rage suddenly seemed to fill him up until his soul was overfilled with it. Something he had been holding back this entire time, keeping a tight lid on it so he wouldn't explode at the wrong time…but the little line he'd left in the tree seemed to mock him. Fueling his hatred-not at Merlin, it would never be directed at Merlin again-towards his own self. Loathing…that was what Arthur was feeling. So deep and strong and cutting…Arthur could have lifted his own sword and poised it against his own beating heart. Preparing to cut it out himself, living just long enough to present the still beating organ as a sign of his immense apology for what he had done to dishonor his boy…
And Arthur lifted his sword…
The tip of the blade gracing his shoulder as he moved it up a bit higher…
And Arthur let out a mighty roar, the kind of roar that had the trees shaking as birds took flight to escape the monster below them, before he swung his sword with both hands as hard as he could at the tree. He didn't allow it to get stuck this time as he jerked it back out just as fast. And swung it again, making a much deeper scar. Something the tree would never be able to heal from…again and again and again. Until his arms ached as his shoulders burned. Till wetness build up in his eyes and his throat burned from the force of his screams echoing along the land.
And still, Arthur continued to swing.
Again.
And again.
And again.
And again…
Till his throat was raw and the tears streamed down his face in full force. But still, he continued as if he was some kind of odd madman. He didn't care if he was scaring his horse. He did not care if he only ended up attracting the beast that guarded the forests straight to them…let that thing come and try taking him out right now. Not a force in the world could have taken him to his death with this rushing burst of incomprehensible anger. It hadn't even been known to him that he could feel this strongly about…about anything!
Arthur's next roar came out of him like a punch, more birds in the trees taking flight…nothing, Arthur thought madly as he hit the tree again. Nothing was ever going to be the same…Arthur and his entire world had completely broken at the seams. The prince felt broken at the seams, as if he was gutted with all his organs spilling out of him. He didn't even care if his sword, his only line of defense, ended up as nothing more than a useless bit of metal. Blade broken in half because Arthur decided that the best use for it would be as a battering ram…it didn't matter if this was Arthur's favorite sword. The one he'd held onto for years, a gift given when it had been decided Arthur was skilled enough to take on his own group of knights to train and mold into the next army of Camelot…it had always been considered a precious keepsake.
Merlin was more precious.
God, why hadn't Arthur realized that before it had came down to this? Why did Merlin literally have to drink poison just to get his attention? Why did Merlin have to dig his own claws into his arm and tear the flesh away from his skin before he noticed his consort was in such dire strings? Merlin's life blood should've belonged to him…Arthur should have been the one to decide if Merlin's blood should flow free. Or stay safe and secure inside his own body, keeping his heart pumping…how many drops of precious blood had Merlin lost because Arthur was arrogant to think Merlin knew it belonged to him.
…Merlin had bloody well starved himself because Arthur was a sick human being who didn't see somebody silently crying out for help. Some people might have tried comforting him as they pointed out Arthur wasn't a mind reader, how was he meant to know if Merlin didn't tell him? But Arthur wasn't interested with excuses-he SHOULD'VE known. He should have known Merlin would try and seek out some kind of control in the only way a man in Merlin's position could…by controlling what they put in their own body. Got, Merlin's plate at dinner had been so small and scrawny. Arthur should have taken it upon himself to pile it up high with different flavored meats and cheeses and breads and wines…gave Merlin a variety to try out and decide what he liked. Tempt him into eating…and if Merlin refused more than a few bites? Well…Merlin's body belonged to him. Arthur should have chosen something for himself and fed Merlin food from his own fingers before allowing him to starve.
Taken a cheese cracker and slid it between Merlin's lips.
Placing a hand against Merlin's jaw to encourage him to chew.
Not satisfied until he pressed his fingers against the apple of Merlin's throat and felt it bobbing up and down beneath him as he swallowed the cracker down.
And restart the entire process until Merlin had eaten enough to satisfy not the consort-who would probably try and bite off his finger if he actually tried, but Arthur was still willing to risk the blood and the pain and learning how to use his hand with only four fingers, as long as Merlin ate-but until he had satisfied his own self. Merlin's body was his…his…his…it should be brought to a weight Arthur deemed acceptable. A healthy weight so he didn't feel as if he was picking up a toothpick if he ever got the chance to hold Merlin in a situation that wasn't life or death.
Arthur screamed again, loud enough he could've scorched the earth where he stood. Marked this place as the place where he made his last great stand, and Arthur slung his sword towards the tree faster and faster and faster. Until it felt as if the breath in his lungs was escaping him faster than he could keep up, as the sweat rolled down the sides of his face to mingle amongst his tears, going down his shoulders and back and spine till he was soaked with it.
And still…Arthur kept going.
He kept going because he didn't know who he was going to be if he stopped.
He kept going because he had betrayed his father to do this.
He kept going because Merlin needed him to be his hero…
And Arthur didn't know how to be his hero.
He kept going, because Arthur feared it was the only thing he knew how to do.
Hell…Merlin was bloody depressed! He was depressed and he was angry and he had lashed out the only way he knew how to lash out…was Merlin even a bloody whore? Or had Arthur been the one to drive him to it so he could feel something beside all the pain Arthur had done to him. Had Merlin resorted to such a filthy thing because Arthur wouldn't give him the time of day…or had Arthur only been mistaken. Morgana, when she'd been yelling at him in the hall just before the banquet, had claimed Merlin was too depressed to be taking on lovers. Maybe Merlin had taken on one or two-as opposed to the hundreds Arthur'd thought he had-and the rest of his time had been spent doing nothing but drowning.
Drowning…
Drowning…
Drowning…
Much like Arthur was now.
And he hated this being just one more thing Arthur didn't know how to handle. Just one more thing where Arthur was left with figuring out on his own. Because the only person that could try telling him was wasting away in a coma because Arthur-he hit at the tree again-was-HIT-such-HIT-a horrible-HIT HIT-person -HIT-and he didn't deserve Merlin's time or forgiveness. Arthur didn't deserve to be in Merlin's presence after what he had did to him. Arthur didn't deserve to sit at Merlin's side. He did not deserve to feed him food as if the morsels passing through his lips were the most beautiful thing in the world because it was sustaining the luscious creature at his side. He didn't deserve to claim ownership over Merlin-body, heart, mind, and soul-for mistreating it with such heavy handed hands.
He didn't deserve anything.
Let along a husband like Merlin.
Arthur-completely broken down-brought his sword up one last time high above his head, released a mighty roar that could've had the power to shake mountains where they stood and drove his sword as deep as he could into the earth. The sword-with a lackluster shine from the sunlight against that blade-only went in about halfway. But Arthur barely noticed, his hands clasped around the handle, as if it was the only thing keeping Arthur in one piece. Arthur's head was bowed as he fell forward, landing on the ground hard enough for his knees to bruise even while wearing his protective armor. And the prince leaned forward till he felt the top of his head pressing against his gloved hands.
And Arthur shattered.
Letting out all of the repressed emotions he had been holding in ever since he first realized Merlin's life wasn't as happy-go-lucky as he always considered it to be. His shoulders started to shake, these heart wrenching sobs that would've made his own father stop and take a moment to find out what was going on. But Arthur wasn't thinking about his father, he didn't care what was waiting for him when he returned. Arthur's mind was an endless swirl of…Merlin…Merlin…Merlin…the name making his heart sting as he cried. Each tear standing for another time Arthur had failed him. Each tear being another reason for why Arthur had to do this. Each tear….being a reason why he had to stand and march on.
Merlin had always danced to the sounds of his own drums…
And Arthur desperately wanted to follow the same path, since heaven only knew Arthur could never follow his own…
Arthur curled himself tighter against his blade, holding on the handle so hurt that he could feel the indentions forming in the center of his palms. Splitting his skin…possibly making it bleed as his entire body shook worse than a new born deer…had the prince broken Merlin? It was the one big question that he had to know…the big question that Arthur was desperate to know. He would give up his ability to suck air into his lungs if he had broken Merlin's spirit just as badly as his body was. Because by god, if Merlin felt even a fraction of the way Arthur felt right now, he didn't know how Merlin had been standing through the banquet. Didn't know how Merlin had went in there and put on a show all his own without trying to bash Arthur's head in with the goblet itself. Didn't know how he had been able to sit there at Arthur's side…how he had allowed Arthur to touch him for a single second…Arthur felt as if he would punch the first person who came near him.
His skin too overly sensitive to be touched by anybody…even his own armor felt stifling and tight in a way it had never been before…
Arthur didn't know how long he sat there sobbing his heart out into the handle of his blade. He didn't know how long he sat in that spot, wishing with all his heart, that Merlin was situated at his side, giggling happily as he regaled Arthur with some story that may or may not be true. He didn't know how long he had spent begging for some higher power he would never be able to understand, to switch his place with Merlin. Allow Arthur to collapse here in the ground suffering from the poison and the effects with nobody the wiser…and allow Merlin to have a new life breathed into him as he jolted awake like a lovely sleeping princess in Gaius' chambers.
But eventually…things do have to come to an end. And Arthur stopped crying when he felt as if he had no more to give, his eyes raw and red. But frighteningly still, his body not moving as he tried commanding it to do so…Arthur felt like he was in a fog. Asleep, but aware of what was going on around him. While being forced to take in one breath after another-pressing hard against his blade as if it held every answer in the universe-and knowing his prayers to these higher powers had gone ignored and unanswered. Because Arthur was still here and that meant Merlin was still dying and Arthur…Arthur was a failure.
A failure whose own horse had stopped drinking long enough to come check on him. The 'click, click, click' of his hooves on the ground forcing Arthur out of his numbed state. And Llmel nudged his large head against Arthur's arm, his nose nosing at the large knot in the center of the bow Arthur had made out of Merlin's neckerchief around his bicep. Arthur sniffed once very loudly-his father would be ashamed to see his extreme lack of noble manners-before lifting his head from his sword. He had to squint in the burst of sunlight that greeted him, and his own horse made his huffing sound before it pressed harder against Arthur's precious reminder of Merlin. He looked down and saw the ribbon for himself, before looking back up at his horse.
"…Can you smell him Llmel? Can you smell Merlin lingering on it even after it's been away from him for so long? I bet you can do it. If only you could talk and tell me…maybe we could talk of the boy who changed everything. Heaven knows I can't talk to anybody else." Arthur said softly, his voice cracking, burnt raw from his screaming that it hurt to even try. Swallowing only had the burn intensify, and Arthur would have killed to have a bit of water of his own. But he didn't dare make for the creek…Arthur could withstand a bit of pain as proof to himself on how far he was willing to go for Merlin. He would do anything for Merlin…if only it wasn't too late. Arthur rubbed roughly at his eyes, legs feeling shaking and weak and as if he was about to collapse if he stood for too long, but he didn't care. Arthur pulled out his blade from the ground-the metal dull and cracked and frayed but would still work in a pinch-and pushed it into the sheath at his side. "Come, Llmel…we have work to do."
Arthur clambered up onto his horse, and holding the reins with one hand, he pressed his second against the neckerchief tied to him…hoping the touch would be enough to stir Merlin's faint scent into the air. The scent that lingered long after a lightning storm has passed by…but there was almost nothing to it. It had been sitting in Arthur's drawer for to long, only a faint trace of Merlin remained in the fabric. And only if he breathed in deep enough…Arthur's face went strangely blank. He hoped that the lack in scent was not a foreboding sign that Merlin had gotten worse in the day or so he'd been away from Camelot. But just standing around here musing over things he couldn't possibly know the answer to weren't going to get him anywhere.
Arthur snapped his reins hard, encouraging his horse into this steady trot, taking them deeper into the sinister shadows of the trees that tried warning him away. But Arthur wouldn't be warned away, the prince thought with an odd, determined glint shining in his eyes, pushing further into the forest where other men would have turned away. After all…Arthur had promised to Merlin many moons ago, that he would always be safe beneath Arthur's roof.
It was high time he kept his promise.