Fic: Crossroads Of Disbelief, Merlin BBang
Chapter Five
Merlin began stalking Edgar after that, trying to remain inconspicuous as he followed him about the castle and courtyards the entire next day. He felt he had been doing a decent job of it too. Gaius had been particularly unimpressed when Merlin had stated that he couldn’t help him that day because he had tasks to accomplish that he was unable to disclose.
As the hours had passed however, he had accomplished nothing but building a swell of anger and hate towards the man that he had to forcefully (and continually) remind himself was not Arthur every time he looked at him. Edgar strutted around like the king peacock, feathers on display everywhere he went. It was sickening; and what was worse was that people didn’t seem to notice that anything was wrong.
They followed his orders without question.
They bent over backwards to please him.
They displayed trust in him that Arthur had spent a lifetime earning, and he just soaked it up like a greedy, glutinous sponge.
Merlin had been very serious when he told Arthur he would kill this man for him, and his fingers itched with curses that could bring about his end. If he hurt Arthur again, Merlin was fairly certain that he would tear him limb from limb regardless of his orders.
Still, when the two guards had approached him and then marched him to stand before Edgar later that evening, Merlin had been slightly surprised. Behind the masquerading Prince was his equally masquerading servant Stephen, eyes watchful as they settled on Merlin.
“Well?” Edgar asked impatiently. “What have you to say for yourself?” he demanded and Merlin looked about the great hall as several people stopped what they were doing to watch. His face flamed red in anger, though it could just as easily be mistaken as humiliation.
“About what Sire?” he asked, and the man narrowed his eyes at him, his servant adding a glare of his own. Pompous little snake.
“About this business of you following me everywhere,” he implored, loudly.
“Oh come off it Arthur,” Morgana suddenly appeared from nowhere, a dark haired angel of mercy. “He’s just trying to make sure that you’re okay.” Arthur-Edgar- turned a glare on her, very clearly displeased.
“The boy can answer for himself Morgana,” he bit back and turned back to face Merlin, who stood uneasily between the two knights that had escorted him here. “Unless he’s lost what little wit he had.” Merlin blinked at him, because that was actually a very Arthurian thing to say. “Well?” he demanded, impatience dripping from his voice. Merlin adopted his best timid look and bowed his head.
“I apologize if I came across as suspicious Sire,” he said, just loud enough for those nearest to hear. “I only wished to make sure that you were truly feeling better.”
“You see?” Morgana intoned mildly. “You had him trailing after you like a well trained dog for the last year, seeing to your every need. Is it really surprising now that he remains concerned, despite no longer being your manservant?”
Arthur-Edgar, curse it!- looked to her, and then to Merlin again for a long moment, before sighing in annoyance and shaking his head.
“You may go,” he asserted and waved Merlin away. “But cease your actions immediately or I’ll have you thrown in the stocks.”
“Yes Sire. I apologize for any discomfort I may have caused,” Merlin bowed his head to hide the anger he felt boiling beneath his skin. It warred with the uneasy tightness that had been plaguing him since Edgar’s arrival. He didn’t get much chance to do or say anything else as Sir Kay gripped his arm and dragged him from the hall and back outside. He released him only when they were well clear of Edgar’s sights.
“Are you daft? I implore that I feel he is suffering ill affects and you feel the need to blatantly follow him around? Where is your common sense?” he hissed and shook his head before pinching the bridge of his nose. Merlin stared at him a moment, and then looked over his shoulder to see Morgana and Gwen leaving the building. Morgana looked at him pointedly and he sighed.
Well to be fair he had thought he’d been doing a decent job at remaining inconspicuous.
“Right, won’t happen again,” he announced, clapping Sir Kay on the shoulder absently as he stepped passed the man to follow the women. He didn’t notice the slightly taken aback look Kay followed him with, nor would he have cared if he had. He followed the ladies all the way to Morgana’s chambers and slipped quietly through the open door.
Gwen closed it quickly behind him.
“Have you gone mad?” Morgana demanded immediately, her deep green dress flowing about her as she whirled on him.
“It’s quite possible yes!” he snapped back, and then collapsed on the nearest sofa, holding his head in his hands. There was a moment of stunned silence and he looked up to see them watching him warily. Gwen silently poured a cup of water and brought it to him and he drank it all down at once, taking the moment to gather his thoughts. He smiled tiredly at her as he handed it back, and ran a hand through his flopping hair.
“What was it all about than?” Morgana asked, pulling a chair to sit before him as Gwen perched next to him on the small couch, placing a hand on his knee in comfort. He thought about Arthur, alone, cold and in pain, chained to the floor in darkness. Red, weeping scars crossing angrily over his entire back and shoulders. Scorched flesh and burnt hair across his torso. Merlin clenched his fists. Morgana placed her own hand over his. “Merlin?”
“Did you mean what you said earlier Morgana? About being willing to follow my decision without question?”
“I did, and I still do,” she declared slowly.
“And what of you Gwen? Do you know of what we speak?”
“Yes,” she said and took a deep breath. “Though I am not sure I can believe what has been implied. When I look at Arthur, there is not a question in my mind that he is who he says he is.” She took another deep breath. “That being said, I trust you both to know of what you’re saying. If you tell me that the man walking amongst us as Arthur is in fact not our prince, then I shall believe you on your word.”
It was a bit humbling to have them looking to him for answers and trusting him implicitly. He didn’t want to involve them in this.
“Merlin,” Morgana prodded at his hand after a moment and sat straighter when he looked at her. “What have you learned?”
“Arthur is currently shackled to the floor in the dungeons,” he closed his eyes against their stricken faces. “The man currently being viewed as Arthur is the true Edgar Baranak.”
There was a long, heavy moment of silence in which Merlin didn’t look at them. If they choose not to believe him after all…if they doubted him he didn’t know what he would do. The only thing he knew for certain was that Arthur was his priority.
“How is that possible?” Gwen questioned, shifting closer to him a moment, perhaps in comfort, and he shook his head in disgust at the situation.
“It would not be the first time that magic has been used against us as a weapon.” And every time he was confronted with the darker side of his abilities he could understand, bitterly, why Uther was so fearful of it.
“Okay,” Morgana stood and moved swiftly to the other side of the room to look out the narrow window. “How are we going to get him out?”
Relief flooded him. He looked at Gwen, who had adopted that look of determination that made her such a strong woman. The look that had carried her through her father’s death and had stood by Merlin’s side as he’d defended his birthplace from tyrants.
“I need to learn how Edgar is doing this.”
“Is that why you were following him about all day?” Gwen asked, moving to get herself a drink of water now.
“I wasn’t that obvious was I?” he asked, slightly mortified. He had thought he’d been nearly invisible.
“You’re obviously exhausted,” Morgana excused for him, coming again to sit in the chair. “But none of that matters now. Did you discover anything?”
“Not a thing,” he groaned and flopped back into the cushions, rubbing at his temples. “And with the way he has his guard following him around I can’t get near him.”
“What about his servant?” Gwen wondered, and turned bright eyes on him. “He’s always running about the castle, poking his nose around as he does Arthur’s-” she cut off and shook her head, eyes pinched. “As he does Edgar’s bidding. I’ll bet you could find him wandering about alone somewhere.”
“I could,” he announced, and sat forward, nearly bumping heads with Morgana. He muttered an apology absently as he began to rub his hands together. He hadn’t even thought about approaching the servant, but of course it made sense! Merlin should know as much as anybody that a close servant was bound to always know the more intimate minutiae of their master.
“And how would you get him to speak?” Morgana asked. “I doubt he’d be willing to spill the truth just because you demand it, and revealing to him that you are aware of their plot will only get you killed. We have to remember that everyone else truly believes he is Arthur. They will follow his order and protect him without question.”
“And even if he tells you how they managed it, what if there is no way to break the spell?” Gwen asked.
Merlin looked at her a long moment, and then stood abruptly, not answering her question.
“I’ve got an idea,” he announced and looked between them. “And I think it will work.”
“What is it?” Gwen asked and Merlin hesitated in answering.
“I…can’t tell you.”
They looked at him, and exchanged a look between themselves that was far too knowing for his liking, instantly making him uneasy.
“Very well,” Morgana allowed and moved aside for him to pass. “But please be careful Merlin. Arthur and I have known Edgar from when we were young, and he is far from an honourable man. After his actions here there is no telling how far he will be willing to go to maintain this treachery.” He nodded, because of course he would be careful, and looked between them both. “We’ll be ready when you need us,” Morgana finished.
He just hoped that when he needed them it would not already be too late.
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He’d of course gone to check on Arthur later that night. The Prince had tried so hard to pretend that everything was all right, as though he merely had a few scratches on his back and the blistered, raw brand on his midriff was nothing more than a minor sunburn.
“The hair will grow back Merlin,” he’d huffed teasingly from cracked lips as Merlin’s fingers had lingered, wanting to heal but unable to do more without the use of magic. Merlin had failed to come out with a rejoinder, because he had absolutely no idea what he could possibly say to that. Arthur was chained to the floor, beaten almost to death and he’d been trying to make Merlin feel better.
It had turned out that Merlin wouldn’t have been able to retort anyway, as the guard that watched Arthur every night had moved to stand in the door then. Merlin had his back to him, but he’d been able to tell by the quick warning look Arthur had flashed, that their privacy was no longer guaranteed.
“Are you finished here?” He asked, his voice rumbling around them and sending shivers of unease up Merlin’s spine. He’d twisted to look at the man but the guard seemed uninterested in him, staring instead at Arthur. Merlin turned back to Arthur to find all mirth and ease that he had been presenting for Merlin wiped clean from his face. In its place was a stony, emotionless mask, his eyes cold.
“Enjoying the view Darcel,” Arthur had hissed, practically baring his teeth in a challenge that Merlin had known would not go ignored unless he intervened.
“Just about,” Merlin quickly cut in uncertainly, and when neither man acknowledged his response he’d carefully lowered Arthur’s shirt back into place and gathered the few ointment jars he had pulled out. Standing up he’d made one last visual check of his friend, glad that he’d forced him to quickly drink and eat before he’d tended his wounds. It wasn’t nearly enough, but at least it would sustain him.
Arthur had ignored him completely as he walked away. Merlin had had to slide by Darcel to get through the door, but he’d only made it a few steps before his rough voice reached his ears again.
“The Prince came by today,” he announced and Merlin had turned sharply, disappointed for a moment that he couldn’t see Arthur through the stone to glare at him. That was something the man had failed to inform him of. “He thinks the prisoner has received more than enough of your tender mercies. You are not to come back.”
His stomach had turned to ice and he had been certain that his feet had turned to rock, unwilling to move a step further away as soon as he’d known that he wasn’t to come back.
“But the prisoner-”
“Will survive until his execution just fine.” The guard had cut him off, and he sounded far too happy to be delivering the news.
“Very well,” Merlin croaked out, but he had merely been waved off as Darcel had clearly been much more interested in staring at Arthur. Merlin had moved to the corridor and stepped passed the bend, then stopped and peeked back around.
It had been several long minutes before Merlin had watched the guard snort and finally move to close the cell’s door, leaving Arthur to his own devices.
Merlin had ducked back into the corridor and moved as quietly as he was able back to the main dungeons and then out into the chill night air. He’d shivered.
Time felt as though it were closing in around him, and the pain within him was becoming more pronounced as the days wore on.
He didn’t like that guard, he made the hair stand up on his neck and his stomach flip with sickness.
It was time to get Arthur out.
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The next morning he couldn’t escape from Gaius’s tasks, the physician more concerned than ever about the volume of his potions as it looked more likely that Camelot would ride against Baranak’s reign every hour that passed. He had Merlin brewing like a madman, even allowing him to use magic to clean and mend his jars and crockery for the medicine’s he would need should they step into battle.
Despite this fear Merlin was distracted (understandably) in his duties as his thoughts kept drifting to Arthur. He was far from well, and it was obvious that he was not being treated with gentle hands despite his injuries. Merlin’s own hands shook in anger every time he remembered the mockery of Camelot’s crest seared into pale skin. The stripes of angry red flesh that could become infected at any time. The threat of fever. The threat of the cold damp that surrounded him.
The way Darcel stared at Arthur for long, silent minutes.
His fingers slipped and he dropped his third jar that morning (thankfully empty) and Gaius very calmly looked over from his cauldron. “The idea of the horror that can be inflicted in battle is enough to rattle anyone’s nerves my boy,” he had said kindly, despite an undertone of impatience and Merlin hastily mended the glass with a few quick words. He shrugged in apology and went about pouring the recently concocted pain relief liquid into the mass of vials. They worked silently while he finished stuffing the corks into place and began carefully packing the jars into the wooden box set aside for them. It was already half filled, straw padding sticking into his fingers as he worked.
“Gaius,” he pushed the jars closer together and tried to fit an extra one into the row. “How did he do it?” He knew without looking that the old physician had stopped his work at the boiling pot to look over with a frown.
“How did he do what my boy?” he asked and Merlin looked over to find that yes, Gaius was watching him with great attention, his one hand absently stirring the wooden spoon in the cauldron.
“You know-” Merlin hedged and worried that maybe he shouldn’t be asking Gaius this question. If Gaius figured out why Merlin really wanted to know Merlin had no doubt that he would offer to help. The problem was the danger. If Merlin is wrong about Arthur, if he breaks him out and saves his life only to learn that he is indeed Baranak (despite his entire being telling him he isn’t wrong) than he doesn’t want any reason for Gaius to be tried as a traitor and killed for his aid. The girls were already far too implicated.
“I’m afraid I don’t Merlin, you’re going to have to use a few more descriptive words than that.”
Oh sod it, Merlin needed to know and Gaius was the best source he knew how to get answers from. He would have to hope the man would simply be too distracted by his great labours to have the time to think too deeply about Merlin’s inquiries.
“How did Baranak,” he spit the name out with distaste, “convince us he was Arthur? What possible magic could he have used and how would such a spell be broken?” There was a moment of silence before Gaius sighed and went to move the bubbling pot off the fire. Merlin quickly stepped up and took it from him, lugging the ridiculously heavy thing across to the table and placing it on the hot rack.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by your question, only that you didn’t ask days ago,” he picked up a new box of jars and began setting them across the tables mostly even surface.
“We’ve been a bit busy,” Merlin took over stirring duties, knowing that this salve was not to be kept still until it was placed in its final resting place. “I just can’t imagine the amount of power that would go into a spell of this size! Even using memory tricks on one or two people is draining enough, but an entire kingdom? Of anybody that sets their eyes on him? It seems impossible.”
“Most things are possible Merlin, as you should know by now,” Gaius gave him a pointed look. “But you are right, a spell as powerful as the one Baranak used could only come from the dark forces, and after spending days thinking about it there’s only one that I can think of that would work the way it did,” a troubled look entered his eyes and he slammed a jar down forcefully, grimacing at the action and immediately checking the glass for damage. He wordlessly handed it to Merlin to fix the crack.
“And that was…” Merlin coaxed and Gaius’s whole aura darkened.
“One that would involve the blood sacrifice of his first born child, one not long in the light.”
“Blood sacrifice,” Merlin wasn’t sure he understood exactly what that meant.
“Murder is the more appropriate term,” Gaius looked up at him and his bleak look softened at the shock Merlin wasn’t attempting to hide. “It is a very old dark art and it was banished soon after its creation, but obviously those who practice in darkness also live in darkness.”
“He killed his own child?” Merlin felt nauseated by the thought as Gaius nodded in affirmation.
“It would have had to take place at a cross roads on a full moon. Baranak would have needed to gain material from Arthur himself: a lock of hair, finger nails, blood, that sort of thing, and a silver blade with no impurities would have been needed to strike the final blow,” Gaius paused and shook his head. “I cannot imagine the type of sorcerer who would so willingly slay a babe, truly they would have the darkest of hearts or be lost to the deepest madness.”
“That’s it? A murder with a special knife and a fingernail and we’re all mindwashed into believing lies? Surely that can’t be it?”
“Well no,” Gaius’s eyes refocused, coming back from wherever his mind had been carrying him and he pulled a ladle out to begin filling the jars with the goopy white salve. “It would take time to set in. An incubation period so to speak where both parties involved would need to remain alive. Once that time has passed however, the accursed person could be killed without breaking the spell, locking it forever into place. We’re lucky Arthur escaped before it could truly take hold.”
“How long does it take to set in?” Merlin’s voice squeaked a bit, his chest flooded with the hollowness of fear that generally came with finally understanding the true direness of a situation.
“That is impossible to answer, as the caster sets the time. The longer the incubation, the stronger the hold but beyond that I can’t answer the question,” he sighed.
“How would you break such a spell?” Merlin needed to know and Gaius gave him another assessing look, a glob of salve missing the jar entirely and was ignored by them both.
“I suspect the only way to truly break it would be to kill the one it was cast for. Remove the imposter and you’ll remove the enchantment.”
“But,” Merlin scrunched his brow at this, “if that’s how you break it, than how could Arthur have revealed Edgar to us? Edgar is not yet dead.” Gaius stopped what he was doing altogether and frowned. It became clear to Merlin that his mentor had not yet thought of this. It had to be the curse slowing his mind, along with the constant distraction of possible war.
“Well,” his white brows furrowed deeply, “I must have mistaken something about the spell,” he said slowly, his eyes shifting back and forth in thought before he looked over and met Merlin’s eyes directly. He held the look for a long moment, searching for something from Merlin before abruptly turning back to his work and breaking his hold on the young man.
“Get some fresh air and come back with a clear head Merlin,” he ordered, his gentle tone back in place. “All this talk of darkness shouldn’t take place over healing remedies, it could damage the cure.”
He hadn’t needed to tell Merlin twice, and Merlin retreated from the heated room before Gaius could change his mind. He didn’t notice the worried, contemplating gaze that followed him out the door before the healer went back to his work.
Merlin thought about going to the Dragon, and just as quickly rid himself of the notion. He relied too heavily on the creatures advice at times, and at the moment he didn’t need anyone else’s opinions clouding his judgement.
His head throbbed so insistently he felt as though his eyes might try to squeeze from his head.
Sir Kay ignored him completely as he passed by the new blacksmith’s; the knight having a dent in his armour hammored out. Just off to the side of the knights training grounds wagons were being stocked with barrels and food supplies. Enough for the beginnings of an army.
He sucked in a heavy breath at the sight.
“Well, I say it’s the right thing to do,” a plump woman, bouncing a child on her hip off to his side announced loudly to her companion. “How they could be unaware of the fact that our Prince was rotting in their dungeon is unforgivable.”
“That is a cruel thing to say,” her companion chastised. “How could they have possibly been aware?”
“It doesn’t matter. The things they did to poor Prince Arthur,” the woman clucked despairingly, as though her own child had been the one held against their will.
“You have no idea what they did to the Prince,” the younger woman scoffed, her eyes watching the wagon’s as they were loaded, a frown on her lips. “None of us do, beyond the fact that he was held prisoner.”
“Are you saying you don’t agree with the Prince’s decision? That he should just forgive them their actions against him? Against us all?”
“Of course not,” the woman sighed, her breath hitching. “I only fear for my sister and her family. Not all of us are fortunate enough to reside in Camelot.” With that she turned and stormed off, the woman with the child watched her go before sighing and looking to the boy in her arms.
“Well, I say it’s a good decision,” she informed the kid haughtily and Merlin turned away.
Everywhere he went people prepared to set off for battle. Was it wrong that while he was terrified about what was happening around him, his real fear lay in what was happening beyond his sights, deep in the basement of Camelot’s dungeon’s?
“Merlin!” He turned as Gwen came rushing up beside him, her face pinched. Several people around them stopped to stare at him a moment, before launching into hushed conversations that no doubt centred around his falling out with ‘Prince Arthur.’ Looked like they’d finally heard. His stomach churned unpleasantly.
“Gwen,” he greeted softly, noting the worry in her eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“Walk with me,” she requested, already wrapping a hand around his elbow and pulling him along. Sir Kay was no longer at the black smiths yard. She led him down passed the main bustle of the towns square, and out of the protective gates of Camelot until they were away from the prying ears of pedestrians. “What have you heard of Arthur?” She demanded in her soft, worried tone, and the hair on the back of his neck stood uneasily.
“Nothing since yesterday evening. The Prince” he spat the title acidly and Gwen flinched slightly at his tone, “decreed that the prisoner no longer needed attending. Apparently I have tended to his wounds well enough that he can now be left to his own devices.”
“Morgana has been barred from visiting Edgar-” she cut herself off and huffed in irritation. “From visiting Arthur as well,” she announced and the feeling of unease within did not help Merlin’s headache. He rubbed at his temple. “She fears the reasons that Edgar would have secluded Arthur so severely.”
“What reasons?” He demanded sharply, and she gently touched his arm in an effort to calm him. It didn’t help in the least, but he was loath to shrug off her hand.
“She wouldn’t say, and I’m uncertain even she knows what she fears. Her nightmares have been terrible these past few days. She has barely had sleep, and now that we know that Arthur is in fact Edgar she has been even more concerned.”
“She’s far from the only one,” he muttered and looked back towards the castle. “I need to find Edgar’s servant and have a little talk with him,” he declared, though that had already been decided the night before and she was well aware of his plans as she had been there when they were made.
“I don’t mean to rush you, but Morgana thinks you need to hurry.” No kidding, he thought uncharitably and took a breath to control his temper. This wasn’t Gwen’s fault.
“It’s not exactly an easy task,” he declared defensively. He knew better than anyone that he needed to get Arthur to safety. “Especially not now that it seems they’ve decided to ride to Baranak’s land and declare a hostile takeover.”
“She says she can arrange to have a horse prepped this evening, discretely, but one horse is all she can get at the moment. Even then, you’re going to have to steal it once you get Arthur out of the dungeon.”
“Oh, it’s as simple as that is it?” He sighed. “When is the army planning on heading out?”
“At first light.”
He thought about this. It would be easier to remove Arthur from the city and try to get him to safety without the majority of the knights present. It would make sense to wait one more night before getting him out of there. But an ache in his chest told him that waiting was a bad idea. A terrible idea. He had promised Arthur he would get him out, and he wasn’t going to waste another night just because it would be easier.
But there was a reason Edgar hadn’t killed Arthur yet, that the execution would take place a fortnight from when Arthur was imprisoned, keeping him in torment instead of simply removing the one serious threat to his new position as the crowned prince. The spell must need a fortnight to complete.
Merlin needed to fix this sooner than later.
“Tell Morgana to have the horse placed in the woods, by the old stone at the giant chestnut tree. Do you know the one I mean?” Gwen nodded confidently, her dark eyes still lit with concern. “I’ll need food and blankets, a cooking tin, bandages, and a fresh set of clothes for him. Can you arrange for that?”
“Of course,” she agreed, and a little of his worry lifted from his shoulders at her confidence.
“I don’t really have a plan yet,” he admitted, dropping his voice as a pair on horses went trotting by.
“I know, but you’ll come up with something,” she smiled. “You always do.”
Right. Because he was Merlin, and protecting Arthur was what he did. He took a breath, nodded to himself, and set off to find that weasely little servant of Edgar’s.
He had work to do.
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