Sorry about changing the book title all the time but I was never quite happy with it. However, finally... finally I am!
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Sown on the Son
Arthur was born of magic. Born from the powers of the Cup of Life. Merlyn could barely fathom it. And apparently, neither could Arthur.
While the pair were still stewing in shock, Morgause vanished, seemingly satisfied with what she'd achieved. When Merlyn tried to comfort Arthur, he clenched his jaw and strode from the fortress without a backwards glance, leaving her to hurry in his wake. Swiftly, they were galloping back towards Camelot, Hotshot tossing his head in excitement at the pace.
Merlyn spent the night chasing Hengroen through the trees, trying to wrap her head around the new information. Now Nimueh's anger before she died made sense. Her particular focus on Uther and his condemnation, beyond that of ordinary bitterness; her peculiar knowledge of the secrets the King bore… she had been part of his court. She had been the one to grant Uther his wish, only to be forced to watch her people burn because of it. Gods and goddesses, Uther was the catalyst of the Purge, not some ill-minded magician who broke his trust. He was the one who couldn't handle his own guilt so shifted it onto entire societies of innocent people, killing – mass murdering – for twenty years.
And Arthur found out because of a priestess in some forgotten castle. Not even by his own father.
The things Arthur had done in his father's name, trusting his judgement even beyond his own… what faith to lose.
Arthur rode hard until the depths of the forest darkened too much for even him to continue safely. Merlyn stayed silent until the sweaty horses were cooled and comfortable, Arthur having retreated to his bedroll the moment the beasts were deemed sound. It was clear he wasn't sleeping, even in the near obscurity beneath the canopy, she could see his darker silhouette facing into the trees with his arms folded across his chest, shoulders tight with emotion.
"Arthur," she said softly, placing her rolled sleeping mat at her side and sitting near his head. She fought the urge to reach out and smooth his messy hair. "Arthur."
She knew he didn't want to talk; probably drowning in anger, and betrayal, and confusion, and shame, and who knew what else… but she refused to leave him to simmer like an untended cooking pot. Even if he wished to do nothing more than that.
"Arthur!"
He growled but otherwise didn't move. "Leave me be, Merlyn. I have no wish to talk."
"Then listen," she replied. "Hear me when I tell you none of this is your fault. You had no say in anything that happened before or immediately after you were born. You were a baby, an innocent. Your mother loves you. Your father loves you. Camelot is a better place for having you in it. Do not despair over the sacrifices your mother bore; know she lives on, in you, every day."
"My mother had no choice in her sacrifice," Arthur said, his whisper gravelly with grief. He rolled over to face her, though she couldn't see his features clearly in the dark. "She was given no choice in my conception."
"Yet, given the choice, she said she would still bear you. She only knew you for a few minutes and she already loved you with her whole heart. You cannot waste that love by letting yourself drown in guilt. Embrace it."
"My father murdered my mother," Arthur said, his voice choking. "Because he wanted an heir and she could not provide."
"I know," Merlyn said softly, heart aching with his pain. "I'm so sorry."
She reached out and touched his cheek, her palm scratching against his fine stubble. Instead of turning away as she'd expected, he leant into the caress, shifting so his head was in her lap. She felt the wetness of his tears dampen her thigh and was helpless to do anything but comb his hair and let him silently cry himself to sleep.
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Merlyn awoke the next morning warm but uncomfortable, a ridge of dirt digging into her hip. She shuffled for a better position and squeezed the warm pillow in her arms, letting out a contented sigh before her brain caught up with her and she opened her eyes. She must have rested for only a few short hours because she could still feel the echoes of the smelling salts in her system, which, usually, would have faded overnight. The day was still a deep grey, brighter with the approach of dawn but no birds yet singing for its arrival.
She clutched Arthur's arm, head pillowed on his bicep. Her whole back was warmed by his body, the gentle pressure of it against her own keeping the cool air from invading. His knees were tucked up behind her own and if his armour wasn't digging into her collarbone and the ground wasn't quite so hard, Merlyn would happily go back to sleep.
But this was Arthur. And their position was much too intimate for her to relax again.
Delicately, she extracted herself from his embrace and climbed to her feet, tiptoeing over to the horses without glancing back. She didn't think Arthur awoke with her movements, heavy sleeper he could be, but she was blushing too hard to face him if he had. She wasn't embarrassed to have slept beside him. She was embarrassed by how much she enjoyed it.
The only other person she'd slept so closely beside had been her mother in the long winter months when she was younger, and it was hardly the same thing.
She checked the horses over in the dark, knowing a second hard ride was ahead, but could find no swollen joints or hot spots for concern. Hotshot leaned into her hand when she gave him a quick scratch and her eyes drifted to the still-slumbering prince.
She'd known early into her arrival in the city she had a crush on Arthur. He was handsome and genuine, and when he wasn't being a total prat, his compassion shone with gold brilliance. As he matured, her feelings had deepened into respect and admiration – and, yes, attraction. But for his heart and mind as much as for his physique.
His treatment of her after discovering her secret had poisoned any magnetism she'd felt, turning it bitter with hurt and resentment. His empathy towards his people kept her hope alive; hope for a better time and a change of heart, but the fear had lived fiercely alongside. Something between them had fractured, and though he'd apologised, and his parochial mindset had waned… his recent confessions were not enough to undo the weeks of terror and pain.
It felt like a betrayal to herself to enjoy his touch. Embarrassment at how easily she could be swayed back into favouring him heated her cheeks with shame, but she knew herself enough to know she forgave quickly. She did not forgive him – and she certainly couldn't forget – but it wasn't in her nature to hold grudges. She longed for the man he used to be, proud, compassionate, courageous, but she could not switch off her attraction as easily as he had turned on her.
No. She did not forgive him, but she was only human, and the man Arthur could be lured her in with promises of a better world.
This revelation regarding Ygraine… the foundation on which Arthur had grown was crumbling beneath his feet. With her knowledge of his temper, Merlyn feared who was going to crawl from the rubble. And how exactly he was going to confront his father. With words… or with sword. Because if magic wasn't his enemy anymore, she feared his father would be instead.
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She had her answer when they clattered into the courtyard and Arthur leapt from the saddle, wrenching his blade from its scabbard before striding up the stairs into the castle. Merlyn scrambled from her own steed but, in her haste, caught her foot in the stirrup and fell headfirst towards the ground. She yelped but caught quickly by one of the stableboys, giving her time to kick her boot free as he dragged her upright and away from a startled Hotshot.
"Thank you," she puffed, turning to smile gratefully at the young man as she straightened and brushed herself off. "You saved me from a twisted ankle at the very least."
"Pleasure," he said, grinning cheekily.
"Merlyn!" Gaius called, and the black-haired girl turned to see her mentor striding across the courtyard towards her. "I'm relieved to see you are safe. Where's Arthur?"
Rage flared up so swiftly Merlyn was helpless to do anything but storm over and drag him into the shadows beside the grand staircase. She turned to face him after checking they were alone. "Arthur was born of magic," she hissed, glaring. There was no way he didn't know. "Wasn't he? The King used magic to conceive him."
Gaius looked down, resignation and sadness on his craggy face, but no surprise. "Merlyn," he started softly but his placating tone set her teeth on edge.
"All those people he's executed..." she exclaimed, throwing out her arms before she reined her volume in once more. "He's as guilty as they are. He sacrificed Arthur's mother! He as good as murdered her! And when she died, he blamed magic instead of himself!" She turned away, tugging on her hair in frustration. "How could you not tell me?"
Gaius sighed, and she turned to see the tiredness in his posture, the age of him suddenly apparent. "I feared what Arthur would do if he ever found out," he said softly, and Merlyn nodded, lips pursed and nostrils flared.
"He's found out now," she said cuttingly. "And I'm going to have to stop him from killing the man who killed his mother. Even if I almost don't want to."
"Merlyn!" the old man cried but she was already rushing away.
She hastened up the staircase and through the door, heading directly for the Council Chambers where the King usually resided during the day. She didn't truly mean what she'd said to Gaius. The last thing she would want is that guilt on Arthur's mind or her own, but the whole situation – the real honest truth of the origin of Uther's hate – gnawed at her like corrosive acid. How could he live with himself after causing so much harm by his own hand? How could he spout so much venom into the air, infecting the people with his false claims, when he knew they were false?
The double doors were shut when she reached the arch corridor and Sir Leon stood guard alone. The sounds of swords clashing could be heard within the room, but the knight still refused her entrance.
"They're going to kill each other!" she shouted at him, trying to shove off his restraining hand. Could he not hear the fighting?
The knight clenched his jaw indecisively; the law of his King conflicting with his desire for the monarch's safety, but at the clear, enraged shout from Arthur, he stepped aside, and she threw herself at the doors.
"Arthur! Don't!" she cried, skidding to a stop at the image of the prince looming over his defeated father. She couldn't see the prince's face, but she could see the fear and resignation upon the King's. "I know you don't want to do this!"
"My mother is dead because of him!" he shouted, the raw emotion cutting into Merlyn's heart like the lash of a whip.
"Killing your father won't bring her back," she said gently, moving closer with the acute sensation she was approaching a wild creature. "You've lost one parent. Do you really want to lose another?"
"Listen to her, Arthur," said the King but Arthur silenced him with the point of his sword. It hovered inches above the man's throat.
"Arthur, please put the sword down," she begged. This was not what he was. He would not kill a defenceless man.
"You heard what my mother said!" Arthur shouted, voice trembling. "After everything he has done, do you believe he deserves to live? He executes those who use magic, and yet he has used it himself!" He snarled at his father, "You have caused so much suffering and pain! I will put an end to it!"
"No!" Merlyn yelled, leaping forward as Arthur's sword arm lifted as if to deal a final blow. She wrapped her fingers around his clenched hand as her other coming up to touch the nape of his neck, desperate to reach him. She felt the tremble in his body; the turmoil as he stopped at her touch.
"No, Arthur," she continued softly. "You are better than this. Whatever happened, however tragic, it is in the past. It's a horrible way you found out, but what matters are the choices you make today."
"He still kills innocent people for what he did," Arthur growled. "He's a monster!"
"Then don't become like him," she said, tightening her fingers around his hand to remind him that he could not kill his father without making her an accomplice. She didn't dare look at the King, keeping her eyes firmly trained on the side of Arthur's face. "You are a better man, Arthur. You are compassionate and kind, like your mother. She said she would willingly give her life for you now she knows you; don't make that vow mean nothing by killing her husband."
"Did you love my mother?" Arthur demanded of the King, his tone harsh and unstable. "Did you love her!"
"I loved your mother with all my heart," he choked out, breath hitching, and Merlyn ducked her head, her disgust for the man conflicting with the empathy swelling at the raw grief in his voice. "There isn't a day that passes where I don't wish she were still alive."
"Then you should not have murdered her!" Arthur hissed but shoved himself away, dropping his sword to the ground with a clatter. Merlyn stepped back as he spun around, shoulders visibly trembling as he marched for the door, not acknowledging Sir Leon as he passed. The knight didn't seem to know what to do himself, stunned by the incident and revelation therein. His eyes found Merlyn's, but she ducked her head and scooped up the abandoned sword, wishing to be anywhere but near the King.
Her dash for the door was stayed by the monarch's call and she skidded to a halt ungracefully, turning to the man with her shoulders up by her ears, the sword hilt clenched in both hands to stop their shaking. "Yes, sire," she asked softly, unable to meet his gaze.
"If I hear any word within the castle of what occurred between Arthur and myself, I will cut out your tongue."
She gulped, a spike of fear shooting up her spine. "Y-yes, sire."
She kept her head low as she scurried from the room, not daring to meet Sir Leon's eyes, though she felt them heavy on her head as she fled.
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She carried Arthur's sword to his room, the burnished blade kept as a prized possession instead of within the armoury with the rest of his gear. When she reached the door to his chambers, she paused for a breath before entering. She was unsure if Arthur would find solace in his chambers or upon the parapet and she didn't want to barge in like an unwelcome intrusion if he was inside.
The room was a mess, apples, grapes and strawberries spread across the floor from the upended fruit bowl nearby. His chair had been thrown, impacting his heavy wardrobe with enough force to knock the ornaments atop it to the floor. One or two fragile items were completely shattered but the rest were fine, if scattered across the ground as violent evidence. The chair, on the other hand, had splintered into several large pieces.
One of the curtains had been ripped clean from the wall, the heavy fabric splayed on the floor in a crumpled heap with the ornate rod still threaded through the eyelets. Sunlight shone weakly through the bared window, lighting up dust motes and glinting off the trail of discarded armour leading to the bed. There, Arthur sat, hunched over with his head in his hands.
"Arthur," she whispered and picked her way to his side, placing the sword atop the misaligned table as she went. She lowered herself gingerly beside him, barely a breath of air between their bodies, but Arthur still did not move.
He asked in a defeated voice, "Why did you not let me kill him?"
"You would never be able to forgive yourself if you'd gone through with it," she said, tucking her hands together between her thighs. "How could I have?"
He dropped his arms and turned his head, staring at her with red eyes. "Your life would be so much easier if you'd let him die. You, more than anyone, must understand the horrors he reaps upon the people."
She reached out and took his cold hand, dragging it into her lap. "This goes beyond personal desire," she admitted. "You understand, don't you? This was Morgause's plan all along. Regardless of your father's wrongdoing, she told you in this way, so the betrayal would hit hardest. She wanted you to turn against your father, to kill him. And with him gone by your hand, the kingdom would be in chaos." She twined her fingers through his, squeezing tight and ignoring the twinge through her wrist at the motion. The swelling and sickness from the Cuff had ruined the dexterity in her left fingers. Things like gripping and holding were growing more difficult. "We cannot let her win."
He stared at her, eyes shining with emotion. "How can you be so selfless?" he whispered, reaching up with his free hand to cup her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut at the tender action. "With all I put you through, all you've been forced to weather… gods I'm so sorry."
He pulled away, hiding his eyes behind his palm. "I'm a terrible person. I've hurt you so much. I cannot… Just thinking about what I've done makes me sick – how can you stand to look at me?"
Merlyn thought about it, unsure how to respond. How could she stand to look at him? He had hurt her, with his words and actions both, and still… she sat beside him, aching inside for the pain he suffered. Was she wrong to care despite everything he'd done? Was she so damaged she couldn't function without leaning on him for support?
She gazed at him, eyes flicking over his anguished features, still half-hidden beneath his hand.
"You should have left me to suffer my arrogance alone," he mumbled, voice hoarse and low. "Fled to escape my cruelty."
"I did what I had to do," she mumbled, lowering her gaze to the hand still entwined with Arthur's. His fingers were limp between her own, offering no pressure in his grip.
He dropped his other hand from his face and stared at her with devastated eyes. "That's a poor excuse," he whispered, and she couldn't face his candour.
The truth bubbled up from a place in her mind she tried not to acknowledge: the selfish, irrational area she felt petty even knowing it existed.
"I was afraid my leaving would condemn me," she admitted lowly, pulling her hand from his to rub at her nose when it prickled with allergies, shoulders tight with nerves. "I was afraid I would fail in my task, and you would never see sorcery through clear eyes. I couldn't… I was given a chance to better Camelot, and I refused to take the risk I would ruin it by running away. I would not be a coward." She shook her head, scoffing in hollow amusement. "Though, it seems I was just as much a coward for refusing to run."
"You are the furthest thing from a coward," he admonished softly. "The last word I'd ever use to describe you is 'coward'. Impulsive, yes. Reckless, most certainly, particularly when it comes to your own safety." His eyes cut sideways at her, and he quirked a challenging brow while a half-hearted smirk lifted his lip. But then he added gently, "Compassionate, selfless, earnest, and, yes, brave. They are all things that ring truer than coward."
The flattery itched at her senses, feeling both unworthy and confused.
He spoke again before she could muster words, his tone resolute; "I will fix this. I will undo what I have done, I promise you."
Her eyes darted to his, seeing the determination but unable to muster any happiness. "Gaius hasn't found a way to be rid of the Cuff; I do not know if one exists."
"There will be one, somewhere, someway." His lips curled in a grimace, self-loathing heavy on his face. "You should have forced me to see your way," he grumbled. "You should never have made that thing –" he jutted his chin to her wrist, "– no matter what I demanded. I was a pathetic excuse of a prince, and I didn't deserve your obedience." He mumbled to himself, "I hardly deserve anyone's obedience," before huffing with bitter amusement. "Like father, like son."
"You are nothing like the King," she snarled, angry he even suggested it. "You made mistakes; people were hurt – I was hurt – but it does not make you equal to that vile excuse of a man. He does not learn from his mistakes. He refuses to believe he made any!"
Arthur eyed the way her clenched fists trembled with rage, and compassion twisted his features. "I have been so caught up in myself I did not stop to think about how this has affected you."
She ducked her head, shaking it in anger before meeting his concern. In truth, she, too, felt a keen sense of betrayal. Uther Pendragon broke her trust when he revealed himself to be a spiteful, arrogant worm casting his shame upon the people like an ill-tempered child instead of a victim of ignorance and misfortune like she'd believed for so long.
"I defended him," she began quietly, trying to articulate her emotions so she didn't lose her temper as Arthur did and start throwing things. "Since I had arrived in Camelot, since I learned of the Purge, I sympathised with the trauma he must have suffered to be so cold, to hurt so many innocent people. To learn –" her voice shook, so she took a breath to keep composure, "– to learn it was all his fault; that everything he did was because he couldn't handle the blame of his own actions… Arthur… I can never forgive him."
Arthur's voice was gravelly and solemn as he replied, "Nor can I."
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Across the land, with her golden hair flying wild behind her, Morgause galloped across marshy terrain. Her pale stallion flew over the ground, his long legs eating up the turf with ease. His thick neck and white hide glistened with muscle and sweat, tail streaming behind them like a banner. Despite his large size – bred to be a charger – he was nimble and sure-footed, dodging potholes and bog with ease. He was a trusted steed, having carried her over distances that had killed lesser beasts and she knew he would not fail her now.
Her plan had failed for the most part, as Uther still lived and breathed. But all was not lost. Contact with her sister had been made, and it appeared sweet Morgana possessed the ancient gift of the Seer. She would need guidance, training, and care. She strained under the constraints of her kingly guardian, longing for the freedom Morgause could grant. And it would be met; she refused to leave her kin to suffer the tyranny of that beast any longer than necessary.
Where Nimueh had failed, Morgause would succeed, for her plan was not so simple as to kill the King. She had mightier goals.
And her work had already begun.
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TBC...
So sorry about the short chapter. I didn't realise how small it was until I came back to edit it - but it's heavy and complete in its own right, so I'm not going to flesh it out needlessly. Although, I'm not entirely happy with all the thought additions so might return at a later date and smooth them out a bit. Let me know if any of it confuses you and I'll get to it more quickly.
On that note, I hope you enjoyed it.
Ahem! Regarding the future!
I'm wanting opinions on Aithusa. So... I didn't realise but Canon kinda has the dragon as a male - heavily alluded to by Kilgarrah. Whereas I - possibly influenced by the majority of the Fanon - have always believed Aithusa to be female.
I enjoy twisting up Canon but I usually like sticking to the facts. I'm just not sure which way to swing (it's also not a big deal for plot, more for personal satisfaction).
Aithusa male?
Aithusa female?
Halp please!
