Weep You No More Sad Fountains - Chapter 8
Weep You No More Sad Fountains
Chapter 8
Duty
“There's a drumming noise inside my head
That starts when you're around
I swear that you could hear it
It makes such an all mighty sound”
Drumming Song, Florence + The Machine
The King came striding through his doors, completely unaware as to the scream it gave the hinges, and continued in this charge of fashion until he reached his bedside. Merlin, occupied with cleaning the fireplace, equipment in hand, was most astonished as to have such a sudden loud entrance, now the air was still and motionless. He wondered if the King had even noticed his pretence with making the effort of stating his own. He wondered what could vex the King so, as to physically display his disapprobation.
Carefully, Merlin set what he held aside, and from his crouching position, appeared so that he might be in view.
The King’s back was turned, a wall solid with stone muscles. He breathed heavily, the rush of air into and from his body both visible and audible.
Carefully, Merlin approached him to an appropriate distance, as to stimulate their friendship however not to seem invading or commanding, then spoke softly and with quaint confusion, ‘What is the matter, Arthur?’
The King remained in his statue form, so much so in time that Merlin believed he either didn’t hear the question or was so entrapped within his own thoughts, other sounds were banished.
He prepared to speak again, howbeit, the King stopped all his thoughts with a simple sentence, and the tone in which it was given had the cloak of a proud man, however, it covered a tentative and sensitive nerve, ‘My council would,’ He paused, trailing to find the right words ‘Find it advisable, and desirable, that I marry... and soon.’
Firstly, Merlin was surprised by the intensity in which sensations gripped his heart, however, passed the moment and avoided the unexpected pain by discovering the details as to why the King spoke with a voice which knew its words could harm, however believed a cause was overpowering it.
‘Did--’ Merlin was most struck with the difficulty he had in talking, and wondered if he was coming down with a cold, ‘Did they suggest any... suggestions?’ Merlin knew his question lacked conviction and sophistication, but he was too distracted with the need to see Arthur’s face and what he truly thought of the matter: where his words may be someone else’s, Merlin prided himself with understanding Arthur’s eyes, and the words they spoke.
The King answered his silent wish and faced Merlin.
His face was stricken, pale and conflicted: lines and shadows were not in the familiar places Merlin knew them to be, and the furrow of his forehead was one of a spirit trapped.
It took him some moments to realise he was holding a breath, and that Arthur was doing the same.
Strange, strange vibrations teased the muscles on his brow, causing a worried look of fear to permeate through; Merlin hoped his emotions were not so transparent to the King as he felt them forming.
What silence took them now!
And how very strange it was, to be so silent in each other’s presence!
‘They did,’ the King broke, ‘but if I am to marry, to secure my throne and kingdom, as is the custom of my position, I would rather choose who would take the place.’
Merlin did not like the volume Arthur chose: it was dreadful and grave.
He did not understand it explicitly, he was too provoked by the chills on his bones, and what he was meant to understand he knew not what for the King held him captive with those eyes, as if the predator knew the damage that would be dealt, maybe not only on the prey but also on themselves; all these sensations made Merlin not wish to know who, for they seemed capable of great destruction.
Yet, due to the situation Merlin and Arthur were given from their position, and what current minds were striving to hasten, the answer would be inevitable.
The calm before the storm was silent, and Merlin waited, still.
‘I think... Guinevere might be able to fulfil that role.’
Oh, oh what tremors did succeed those words, and Merlin did not know why. The King seemed remorseful and his eyes begged for mercy yet Merlin could not place what they asked.
Guinevere.
Merlin was dear friends with her. She was a sweet girl: short, plump, bright hazel eyes, complimented and made sophisticated by the darker hazel of her skin. She was an exotic creature in appearance, and this seemed to make her unique, that made sweeter by her blissful ignorance of it. She was pretty, curled hair natural and fragrant. Good-tempered and docile was she, always wishing others well and not thinking for herself. She was kind with a generous heart, and if Camelot were to have a Queen, Merlin could think of few who could match her in charity and beauty.
The fact she was a peasant girl, one who served, might even spark her as a favourite among the people.
One of us is there, she raised her stars: would be the motto to the new chapter.
Therefore, due to her good disposition and sweet sincerity, Merlin found it most perplexing that he felt such stammers in breath.
Suddenly, his air was shallow at the thought of the King attached to someone else, and the only cure that Merlin found satisfying is if he had time for personal thought.
‘She will be good for the Kingdom, sire. Do as your heart wishes.’ With these glazed words, with glazed eyes did Merlin turn and start to exit the room, mindless as to his previous task.
But before he could leave the room, the King approached him quickly, footsteps loud and echoing, placing his hand upon the handle as so Merlin could not leave.
Merlin felt himself descending, and wished for nothing more than some quiet and solitude, yet he was met with beseeching eyes, a sorrowful face, and tender lips.
Merlin looked at what was presented, and found, in its melancholy state of vulnerable anguish, that it gave him more pain than he could fully describe.
No words seemed to be able to be spoken between them: their fates were sealed.
They were still for some moments, just gazing, processing at what could and wouldn’t be.
Yet in the darkness, Arthur offered something to this effect: with deep eyes he spoke with a solemn voice; it was quiet, and far too intimate,
‘I do value your friendship, Merlin.’
And the force at which he tried to convey all his being into those few words, the precise pupil which pierced Merlin’s soul; Merlin found himself most destitute in spirit, or maybe bursting with it. Arthur seemed unsure in how Merlin would react, and the desperation was permeating through his features; Merlin then wished to calm his anxiety, soothe him.
He was too overwhelmed to decipher his own heart, but he somehow knew which words he wanted to say, and they came naturally.
‘You will always have it.’
With this final whisper, and broken syllables, Merlin darted slowly from the room, unable to be held prisoner by that gaze any longer. His mind had never been in such perturbation; and it needed some great effort not to collapse until he was given the chance of quiet reflection.
XxXxX
Merlin walked through the corridors, unaware of what transpired around him.
When he came to Gaius’ apartments, he entered them mechanically.
He did not hear the door close behind him, for his mind was so loud.
What strange chills did cascade down his torso!
What shocks of pain did wrap his heart!
What strength in straining did his eyes tear abundantly!
He stood in the study, not fully conscious of his surroundings, more looking inwardly.
The idea of Arthur’s being possessed by anyone certainly did vex him greatly. He thought of what duties the King would now have as a husband, and found that in his family portrait, there was no place for himself.
A new tremor!
In matrimony, Arthur would be a willing slave to his crown, people and wife. Merlin thought of all their past history and how quickly it could all be made meaningless. The worth he was to Arthur would collapse. The only binding contract that kept them together was that of their destiny.
So was it Merlin’s fate to forever be in Arthur’s shadow?
He found that image unpleasing; however he knew he could bare it for the King.
With the King in his new circumstances, Merlin would most likely be pushed beneath, but he found he felt very intimate towards Arthur, and although their friendship was strong, would it have any time to grow now? He cherished Arthur’s company, but a life in the dark would be most cold indeed.
He then worried for Arthur’s happiness, and if married life would be satisfying to him. He hoped the King did this for his own interests and not from persuasion. If Guinevere was unfit to stand on the monument, then who was?
Camelot needed an heir.
And, after these lamentations and the similar passed, one thought called out to him, as Merlin now found himself pacing.
If Arthur were to be with somebody,
Merlin turned in his strides,
Then, surely, that somebody would be,
Merlin stopped, and froze, froze in ice,
... me.
Merlin cried in sudden ambush of feeling.
His heart seemed to disintegrate within his chest and the more he tried to move or breathe the more it tore.
He collapsed to the table, arms spread, desperately gripping for a surface; however his legs were numb and heavy and pulled him to the ground.
The thud he was senseless of, for the bleeding on his brain was anguish enough.
He was so aware of these emotions before, and realised that maybe he had kept them secret to prevent such a downfall.
However, he was enlightened, now, and he yelled once, twice for Gaius, somebody to help, for it felt as if a demon ate its way into his breast and now feasted on his heart. He felt his nerves buckle in pressure, sharp snaps of sensations sending blinding torment through his limbs.
An unstoppable sensation escalated in his stomach; he knew not what to do. His thoughts rose in fear of what was happening to him and his heart beat faster, harder than he ever thought possible, with sore heartstrings he thought it might leap out of his very chest!
A cold sweat broke on his skin, forming a layer of dampness that seeped into his bones. He never had felt so cold, never had felt so pale. Blood rushed this way and that, unyielding for escape.
He laid there in panic, blows of spasm red inside his core, seizures and feverish muscles possessed him and visions blurred before his eyes.
He sobbed, too great an event unwilling to be contained.
And it was too late.
Oh what instruments of evil were composing his tragedy?
To fall before the lion: hopelessly devoted to one that could not be yours.
He knew not why he wished for Arthur not to marry, for he understood its importance and the sense of it. And yet his unexpected love for the man did taunt him and plague him so.
No matter what could happen, how events unravelled; they could not be! Not only was Merlin a peasant, and to try to even attempt at being superior to his station was a most dangerous act, but furthermore, Merlin could not give Arthur an heir; and to disgrace him so, Merlin could never wish for selfish reasons.
Guinevere could.
But the evil that hurt Merlin most poignantly was now she could not make him happy.
Merlin thought, had heard, that love was to be all made of sighs and tears: such intense emotions felt so strongly that physical barriers were overcome; it was to be all made of faith and service: Merlin had serviced Arthur mostly loyally and would continue to until God thought it necessary to have his final breath; that love is to be all fantasy: for in reality, such a good thing is impossible; love is to be all made of passion, and all of wishes, all adoration, duty and observance, all humbleness, all patience and impatience, all purity and all trial!
Merlin wept.
And so was he for Arthur.
Merlin knew not how long had passed, maybe thought he should attend some chore as to not be missed, but found that all energy had been released from him.
Guinevere would make an elegant, fine Queen, one that Camelot could respect and admire.
Merlin thought of the duties she herself would now have to endure, and found where one might feel resentment, he felt compassion.
He would not dwell on the injury that he had felt, nor entertain the idea that the King felt the same.
How could he?
Where liquid salt was irritating his eyes, he feared them red, he wiped all evidence and sniffed.
Guinevere would try to make Arthur happy, of this he knew, and Merlin resolved to feel all happiness also in the match, despite his personal emotions, he would promote growth where he could.
He felt almost able to recover, maybe not internally, but able to make an effort in appearing all cheerfulness, all sensible behaviour, until he heard a knock on the study’s door and the accompanying voice,
‘Merlin, are you in?’
Insufferable, sweet girl! Could she not give him peace?
Merlin summoned all of himself and focused the energy, of what he had, into presenting himself in a friendly, welcome manner.
Adjusting his clothes, he approached the door and opened it.
Guinevere stood on the other side, her white underclothes surrounded by the dulling yellow. She smiled, portrayed all looks of excitable energy, and briskly entered the room after an exchange of smiles.
Merlin still felt himself shaking.
She had seated herself by the table, a welcoming aura emitted in her gaze; she clearly wished to communicate some news, however maybe found it rude if it was not initiated by another or didn’t know how to proceed to introduce the topic without appearing improper.
Merlin took pity, sat opposite her, and thought that the greatest kindness he could give her was to at least listen.
‘Why all the smiling, Gwen?’ Did he start, and blinked heavily as to contain himself.
She glowed as she spoke, ‘I believe, Merlin, that something amazing will happen, you must know what it is? Or do you not? I dare say that I was ignorant of it before, but with its happening I’m sure my feelings will become clearer.’ She spoke too quickly; Merlin thought, however overlooked the fact kindly and widened his expressions.
‘You must tell me Gwen, you seem fit to burst!’ He joked almost light-heartedly. He felt immensely guilty to the possibility that she might be able to sense his unease, he didn’t wish that, so he made an ultra effort to appear calm, interested, collected, and where appropriate, politely indifferent.
He wished not to be selfish.
However he knew this danger had been averted, for she started, blushed to herself while inclining in thought, then once her reflections were complete, looked on Merlin and resumed conversation.
‘I think- no I dare not say- but I must- oh how am I meant to feel Merlin? Tell me how; you are so wise in strange circumstances!’
‘If you told me what news excites you so, then maybe I could help,’ Merlin chuckled. He hoped it seemed real.
‘Do not think me improper Merlin, it would pain me deeply to think I had your bad opinion, but-‘ and here, her eyes sparkled in total wonder, then stimulated her words into life in a hushed whisper, ‘I believe the- Arthur, will propose!’
Merlin harnessed what quivers came to him into what would appear to the ignorant astonishment and surprise, ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes! He has been most kind to me recently, and with the council talking of his marriage, for he has told me as such, I thought to myself why would the King tell me such a thing, it is none of my business. Then, I realised, that maybe his plans were to be directed to-- well me! I thought of him, and thought him handsome,’ here she blushed again, and with forced encouragement from Merlin, proceeded with her intimate thoughts, ‘I think quite well of him. He is an excellent knight, do you not think Merlin? And what astonishes me most is how very huge his heart is! I have never met such a man whose heart is so open and so caring. He has singled me out on numerous occasions, and with no other ladies at present, it is only natural for one to feel attached to such a great man.’
Merlin, through this entire conversation, was able to steel his skin, his eyes, but not his heart as it slowly, and yet quickly, crumbled.
‘Merlin, as his personal manservant,’ she now seemed embarrassed for crossing such barriers, ‘do you think my thoughts irrational?’
Poor Guinevere, her eyes hopeful, her lip worried.
How could he hate her?
He sighed.
‘I- I think them perfect. But I did not tell you anything, you must understand.’
The words burned, poisoned his lips as they passed, and the joy they brought her only dulled the ache temporarily.
‘Oh Merlin! Do you not think him the most courageous man? He is so very superior to other men, do you not think?’
He could not stand it any longer: all previous perturbations prevailed his best labours, and he wished for her not to see him cry.
‘I really think it best you leave now. The hour is late and with each passing moment it becomes more likely that Gaius will return. Therefore, I urge your parting: he is old and does not like delays and obstacles when his bed is so very near.’
She seemed flustered by the sudden outbreak, but understood.
‘Of course, oh dear, Merlin,’ and she held his hand, which he tried not to hurt, as she looked into his eyes with such gratitude, ‘thank you,’ she whispered, before smiling and leaving.
He walked with her, not wanting to be rude and to be assured of her absence, and when she left the study he did close the door behind her.
He rested his head against the wood, the dull ache of it a disagreeable irritation which he could not care for now.
He felt incredibly culpable: he had resolved to appear the utmost pleasing of people, demonstrate civility and intimate friendship, to help her and guide her; however he found that his own misery did not match his want to please her!
He knew not what to do.
He sighed, and stayed in that position, leaning against the door; silently weeping for a time he did not care about, in the silent study.
XxXxX
The wedding was something beautiful.
Merlin found he was able to conduct himself into a happy state, for Arthur at least. He was all smiles, all laughter, all joyfulness, all approving.
For Arthur he did this.
But in the silence of his room, in the darkness before his dreams, did he feel it.
His eyes were covered and closed: eddying darkness seemed to swim round him, and reflection came in as black and confused a flow. Self-abandoned, relaxed, and effortless, he seemed to have laid himself down in the dried-up bed of a great river; Merlin heard a flood loosened in remote mountains, and felt the torrent come: to rise he had no will, to flee he had no strength. Merlin lay faint, longing to be dead. One idea only still throbbed life-like within him--a remembrance of Arthur: it begot an unuttered prayer: these words went wandering up and down in his ray-less mind, as something that should be whispered, but no energy was found to express them.
To be forever devoted to another, forever tied, to watch them become something magnificent, is the position I am. It is my destiny.
But what sweet sorrow it is!
But human woe was near: and as Merlin had lifted no petition to Heaven to avert it- as he had neither joined his hands, nor bent his knees, nor moved his lips--it came: in full heavy swing the torrent poured over him. The whole consciousness of Merlin’s life lorn, his love lost, his hope quenched, his faith death-struck, swayed full and mighty above him in one sullen mass. That bitter hour cannot be described: in truth,
The waters came into his soul; he sank in deep mire: he felt no standing; he came into deep waters; the floods overflowed me.
Merlin, with a green and yellow melancholy, would stand like patience on a monument, smiling at grief.
Was this not love indeed?
Chapter 9