The new saga begins o.O
Title: Death, Love and Everything In Between [1/7]
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: MerlinxArthur
Length: This part is 2,089 words. Overall, it's about 13,000 words, chapter average 1,800.
Rating: PG-13.
Status: Complete. Beta'd by princessezzy and the WONDERFUL fortassetu who I totally love, more than life itself. THANK YOU FOR THE AWESOME BANNER! *loves*
Notes: In each part I've done some research to make sure I know what I'm talking about. If you read something and go 'hang on a sec...' check if I've done the research first; if not, please let me know. :)
Research for this chapter.
Tents - This, I'm afraid, is a little bit of artistic license. In everything I could uncover they generally only used tents for military purposes, and wouldn't have really used them for 'camping'. However, I kind of needed to use it, and besides they are used in a similar fashion in the first episode. For more information on all the tents and uses, check here. The shape I ended up picking (for imagination's sake) is this.
Foods - I deliberately chose foods I was pretty damn certain they'd have back then. (Bacon and eggs.)
Arthurian Legends - I managed to unearth some Bedivere legends on them marching off to Mont St. Michel to face a giant. I know this happened in Arthur's reign but again, I'm afraid, it's a bit of artistic license.
Chapter I
“I don’t know, Merlin,” Gwen sighed dreamily as she spun in a circle, wrapping a sheet around her neck and striking a pose. “I just want to go on an adventure!”
Merlin smiled fondly. “What, and changing the linen twice a week isn’t enough of an adventure already?”
Gwen scowled at his sarcasm. “Definitely not! I want… I want a proper adventure, you know, with dragons, and swords, and fighting, and maidens in tall towers…” Her face clouded over with childhood dreams and her arms hung loosely by her sides as she sighed.
Merlin shook his head sadly. “That sounds like fun, but in reality swords are ridiculously heavy, maidens in tall towers do not want to be rescued nine times out of ten - ” Arthur had assured him of this fact. “ - and don’t even get me started on dragons.” He pulled a face, and Gwen looked at him as if he was quite crazy - she did that quite frequently nowadays. “Besides, that’s all Arthur’s business, and I’m quite happy out of it, thank you.”
“Don’t you ever want to do something with yourself?”
“I am doing something with myself,” he insisted. “I’m making a rather rubbish job of changing Arthur’s sheets, and he’s going to get quite cross with me if you don’t help.”
Gwen sighed at him again, but picked up the crumpled sheet from the floor, folding it neatly in two. “Say what you like, but when opportunity comes knocking I’ll be quite happy to ride out of here on a white horse.”
Merlin’s life had always contained a sort of ironic humour, and it was, therefore, at that moment there was a knock on the door.
The messenger tumbled in and Merlin, who had been expecting impatient demands from Arthur, was suddenly filled with an overwhelming fear.
“Arthur’s dead,” he whispered, voice full of desperate terror. “The Crown Prince is dead!”
Merlin had always known, in a sick sort of reverence, that Arthur was going to die someday. It still didn’t mean he could accept it, now it had happened.
Morgana was desperately unhappy, Gwen claiming she was inconsolable; for the first time in twenty years the court was united in its grief.
Save for Uther, and Merlin, whose dry eyes joined and recognised the loathing vengeance in the others’.
A dull gloom, a quenching darkness spread along the castle as Merlin made his way to his quarters that evening. Gaius was silent when he entered, and so he pushed past him (and his wretchedly concerned eyes) to sit on his bed and stare out of his blackened window.
Any other night, he’d be in his Prince’s chamber, talking about nothing and everything.
Merlin had experienced premonitions of Arthur’s death before. The concept was not unknown to him.
“This is where I wake up,” he whispered, hugging his knees. “This is where I always wake up.”
The darkness stretched on around him.
Merlin?
Don’t believe them, Merlin, please…
I’m so frightened…
Merlin?
It took Uther a matter of days to point the finger at witchcraft. What mere mortal, after all, could possibly defeat the Crown Prince of Camelot? Merlin had expected it - the whole court had - and knew, now that Arthur was gone, his own fate was not far beyond him. With no one left to protect him, he found himself devoid of the ability to care.
He had visited the dragon, once, and screamed until he ached, but received no reply. He couldn’t help but wonder whether the dragon had shrivelled and died along with his Prince, its one hope of freedom - of a glorious future for Camelot - destroyed.
Merlin had failed.
But if the dragon was gone, whose little voice could he hear whispering inside of his head?
Merlin?
Please, hear me Merlin…
A week passed, and Merlin was discovered. Whether Uther’s calculating brain finally put two and two together, or if Gaius betrayed him, or if Uther simply needed someone to blame he would never know; they came for him in the night - Merlin was awake anyway, for his life was a living nightmare, and he could not confront those of his dreams - and placed sacking over his head, cloying and warm, and bound his wrists in chains in case rope was not strong enough. He would see no face for hours - or minutes? So hard to tell… - save for that of his rescuer, and so he dwelt in the cold and the dank, and yet he still could not cry.
He tried to remember, but he didn’t think he’d ever cried in front of Arthur. He’d cried because of him, and not just out of frustration; there had been the occasional terror, or loneliness, but never this sorrow. Arthur had never actually gone before.
A person can only die once.
Once is more than enough.
Death, he thought, lying with no possible semblance of a future, would be the easy way out. He was going to burn, he knew it; Uther would not settle for a hanging or even the axe for the murderer of his heir. He would burn. Merlin couldn’t help but feel it was appropriate, a self-chosen death; he could stop any of these guards, given the chance.
He simply didn’t want to anymore.
And it was because of this, this effortless feeling that sunk into his arms, that he lay in the dark and felt exceedingly sorry for himself.
And yet he still could not cry.
Faint shouts and thumps of guards inaudible to him, he had no idea of his rescue until Morgana whipped off the sack from his head, the vague remnant of magic still glowing in her eyes. She led him stiffly by the hand through the myriad of handy tunnels running throughout Camelot, to where Gwen stood, face streaked with tears, holding a horse with trembling hands.
“You must ride east for half a mile, then wait in the tent that’s out in the woods,” she muttered to him hurriedly as Gwen helped him onto the horse.
“I’ve never ridden before!” he whispered down to her, looking more than a little frightened, and she smiled.
“I’ll point her in the right direction. It’s just a matter of jumping off at the other end.” She laughed at Merlin’s horrified face. “Joking!”
“Arthur - ” he began, but found himself incapable of finishing. “My magic.” Merlin stared off to the pink horizon. “How long have you - ?”
“I’ve always known, Merlin,” she said absently, and not a little sadly. “Takes one to know one, hmm?” There was a pause in which even the horse did not make a sound. “Arthur cannot be dead, Merlin,” she said softly, and Merlin looked down with angry eyes. She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. He can’t be dead. I placed a protective ward - it was so strong - ”
“Someone evidently found a way to break it,” he snarled, and Morgana shook her head.
“Even Nimueh couldn’t break it. Why do you think she needed you to do her dirty work?” She sighed. “The thought of a sorcerer strong enough to break it scares me, Merlin, and I simply won’t believe it. Thinking Arthur is… enchanted somehow is the lesser of two evils. Nobody has been allowed to see him, save for Uther, and he is blinded in his hate for magic…”
“What was the price?” Merlin asked softly. “If this ward is as strong as you say it is, there must have been a price.”
“My sanity,” Morgana said softly. “Not today, not tomorrow, but someday.”
“Morgana,” Gwen said quietly, her voice broken.
“Go, Merlin. Hide. I’ll come find you when it’s safe.” He hesitated, staring down at Gwen, his mouth opening, but Morgana cut him off with an almighty “Go!” and the horse kicked into life.
He left Camelot behind with his heart.
As Merlin stared at the pile of cloth that used to be his tent, he decided that it was at times like these he wished he’d spent more time on his survival training with Arthur.
There was someone in his camp.
He’d gone to collect water - that much he could cope with, just about, though he had fallen in twice - and had returned to find someone standing in the middle of his rune circle, warming their hands on his half-constructed fire.
It couldn’t be Morgana. Unless Morgana had suddenly lost all her hair, along with what remained of her femininity.
Merlin tried his best to sneak. He sort of failed around the time he fell over a log and ended up flat on his back, staring up at the intruder, who peered down at him jovially. “Hello there! You must be Merlin.” A hand was proffered to help him up, and because he was less of a fool than some would believe he took it. “I’m Sir Belvedere, I’ve been sent by the Lady Morgana to help you.” Merlin remained remarkably silent, and the knight raised an eyebrow. “I took the pleasure of tying up your horse, seeing as I met her halfway back to Camelot.” He gestured behind him; she was grazing happily with Belvedere’s, in a clearing beside them. “Your tent is packed and ready to go. Would you like some breakfast, first?” He motioned towards some bacon, sizzling in a pan.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin replied, “but where exactly am I supposed to be going, and where is Morgana?”
Belvedere nodded. “Morgana has found herself incapable of leaving the castle, I’m afraid, so has sent me in her stead. And as for where you’re going, Morgana’s aware of a sorcerer outside the lands who might be able to tell of Arthur’s affliction. I’m to accompany you there with this.” He dug around in various breeches until he found a folded envelope, sealed with a rune which contorted violently on the page. When Merlin tried to reach out for it, Belvedere put it away. “Sorcerer’s eyes only, sorry,” he smiled, and Merlin looked at him suspiciously. “Would you care to mount up?”
He clambered up on his horse whilst Belvedere went about destroying what was left of his ‘camp’, then climbed on his horse with a graceful movement and set the two of them trotting along. A silence which was thankfully more amiable than uncomfortable settled between them, until a (rare) thought occurred to Merlin.
“Belvedere,” said Merlin slowly, frowning. “Are you the one who went off with Arthur to - ”
Belvedere sighed. “I wondered when this would come up. What are you about to say, Mont St. Michel? The Giant?”
Merlin opened his mouth, closed it, and nodded sheepishly. “Um, sorry?”
“You’re thinking of Sir Bedivere,” he said gloomily, nodding once. “It happens.”
“So…”
“I’m Sir Belvedere.”
“No relation?”
“Not even a relation.”
“Oh.”
Belvedere sat up in his saddle for a moment. “Though I do have a twin brother,” he said with a smile.
“Oh?” Merlin inquired, looking hopeful. “What’s he called?”
“Fred.”
“Oh.”
Merlin had begun to feel sympathetic to Arthur’s saddle sores, and he’d only been riding for half a day. When he finally clambered down, he went and sat in a river for a bit, looking around hopefully for rose hip and finding nothing, slinking back to the camp glumly and collapsing next to Belvedere with a sigh.
“I made you some eggs,” he smiled, and passed them over. Merlin looked at him like he was a god and tucked in. “I suppose this technically counts as an adventure, doesn’t it?” he said dreamily, pushing a yolk around in a messy circle on the wooden plate. “I have so wanted one of those for such a long time.”
“You and the rest of the world,” Merlin sighed. “I’d have anyone take my place right now, but I’m not so cruel.”
Belvedere nodded absently, and Merlin got the impression he wasn’t really listening to what he was saying. “I suppose I shall have to die at some point,” he sighed glumly, and Merlin choked on his eggs in astonishment. “The brave knight perishing so that the quest can be victorious? It’s Custom and Tradition, after all.” Belvedere sighed. “I’ve never really wanted to die for the line of duty. I suppose that’s why I’ve always been a bit of a useless knight.”
“I don’t think you’re a useless knight,” Merlin whispered softly, and Belvedere smiled.
Merlin?
Merlin?
Can you hear me, Merlin?
Please, help me…
Merlin?
Merlin gasped and shot up in his bed, chest heaving as he gripped the sheets in blind terror. “Arthur?” he whispered.
Merlin?
Chapter II