Fic: Crossroads Of Disbelief, Merlin BBang
Chapter Two
Merlin skidded to a halt outside the Prince’s chambers, his heart in his throat as he straightened out his red scarf and made a passing attempt at flattening his hair. The guard that stood tall by the door rolled his eyes at him, but Merlin couldn’t even find it within himself to care. He was too anxious to see his friend. But he did take a moment to examine the guard, considering that for the last five seasons that Merlin had known Arthur the prince had never, not once, had a sentry posted outside his doors. It must speak of the torments he suffered that he still felt need for protection within his own home.
Merlin reached out to push the door open, but he paused and after a moments contemplation he knocked instead, which had the guard giving him a little nod of approval that he also promptly ignored. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. The ringing in his ear had yet to desist.
“Enter,” he heard Arthur call out and without further hesitation he barged into his chambers, and stopped almost as suddenly. Arthur, who had been posed gazing out the window, turned upon his entry and then frowned at Merlin.
“Yes? What is it?” He demanded and Merlin jumped aside as the servant who had been bustling around the room almost crashed into him, carrying something that suspiciously looked like a vanity table to the other wall. Merlin stared a moment, and then blinked, remembering why he was here.
“I came to see that you were okay Sire,” and he couldn’t help but focus on the bruising upon Arthur’s cheek, vivid in its darkness and even more painful looking upon closer inspection.
“Of course I’m okay,” Arthur snapped and moved towards the chair and table, unbuttoning his jacket slowly.
“Let me, Sire.” The servant that had been busy reorganizing Arthur’s chambers was by the prince’s side before Arthur had even taken a step forward, already helping him ease out of the material. Come to think of it, Merlin didn’t recognize the jacket at all, it must have been something he lifted upon his escape from Baranak’s hold. Merlin wanted to take a step forward, to make sure his friend was truly all right but with this other servant in the room his balance felt off. He was uncertain of his place, and apparently it showed when Arthur looked back over at him.
“Was there anything important you actually wished to impart? A message from the King?”
“No Sire, I just wanted to ensure your wellbeing…” he trailed off at the speculative look that Arthur tossed at him and then felt slightly put out as only then recognition seemed to dawn in his friend’s eyes.
“Merlin,” Arthur finally acknowledged him properly, staring hard and Merlin stood taller instinctively. “You were my servant,” Arthur announced and Merlin felt like he’d been smacked upside the head with a gauntlet.
“I’m sorry Sire, but you did not recall this?”
“It’s been a trying month,” Arthur snapped back before he took a breath and brought a hand up to rub at his face.
“Of course,” Merlin bowed slightly, hurt that he had been so easily disregarded when he had thought they’d meant more to each other than simple master and servant. Then he looked up at the bruise again. Arthur had been struck upon the head, perhaps it had damaged some of his memories. Merlin was instantly worried again.
“Sire, have you had a chance to seek out Gaius yet?”
“Gaius?” He frowned at Merlin, impatience beginning to stir on his features.
“The physician came by earlier, while we awaited the apprehension of Baranak from his hunt,” his servant looked at Merlin with an air of self importance and Merlin felt the distinct urge to throttle him in annoyance, despite having no idea who he was.
“Not that it is your concern, but I am fine,” Arthur announced and that had Merlin taking a step forward.
“Forgive my insistence Sire, but as your manservant it is my concern,” he contended.
“Not anymore,” Arthur announced coldly, and sat in a cushioned seat that Merlin didn’t recognize. “Stephen here has served me well this last month, aiding in my health and escape. As reward he shall by my new manservant.” Merlin stared. Because seriously? Arthur had fired him plenty of times but this was so final, so formal. Apparently Arthur didn’t care for his staring too much, as he glared back, his brown eyes flashing in irritation. “Well, stop standing around being useless. Surely you’re used to finding new employment; if I recall your ineptitude correctly you’ve no doubt been sacked plenty of times.” His servant laughed at the insult and went about filling his goblet with wine.
Merlin blinked.
“You are an aid to Gaius still?” Arthur asked suddenly, looking interested in the conversation for the first time.
“I…yes. Yes I suppose I am.”
“Good. Pass on the message that he should attend to Lord Baranak’s injuries. I will not have the traitor escape his beheading by succumbing to infection.” He ordered, and then turned his attention to his drink. When Merlin didn’t move, instead standing there staring like the idiot that Arthur always claimed he was, Arthur looked back at him and snapped. “Well? Go to your duties and leave me be, before I find a task more worthy of your stature.”
Merlin sucked in a sharp breath and bowed.
“Of course sire,” and he fled the room. He fled all the way back to his own quarters with Gaius and only after slamming the door shut to their chambers did he stop to truly take a breath. He slumped against it heavily, not at all impressed with Arthur right now.
And that bloody ringing wouldn’t leave him alone!
“Merlin? I would have thought you’d be attending to Arthur right now,” Gaius announced, looking over at him disapprovingly and Merlin couldn’t help glaring back in anger.
“Oh I tried. The sod sacked me. Again.” He announced and stomped forward to collapse on a bench. He ignored Gaius’s inquiring eyebrow.
“I had heard rumour that he had decided to keep the servant that aided him in his escape,” he announced. Merlin glared down at the series of bowls before him.
“Yes. Apparently they bonded during his captivity. He barely acknowledged my existence,” he reached out and pushed at a bowl, only to have it disappear as Gaius reached around him and pulled it away. They were silent a long moment, Merlin trying very hard not to set the table alight in his anger. Behind him Gaius sighed softly, and then moved around to take the seat on he bench across from him.
“Do not take it personally Merlin. A month is a long time to remain captive, and it is no secret that Arthur and Edgar have had ill will towards each other since they were but children. There is no telling what Arthur may have gone through, there is no telling how such experiences can change a man.”
“I know,” Merlin hissed and then checked his tone, because Gaius was only trying to help. “I know what he went through must have been harsh, especially when considering the punishment he allotted to Edgar, but I thought we had moved beyond that of master and servant. I had thought we were friends.”
“That you were friends has not been in question for quite a while now Merlin. But there are some things that even friendship can not over come with immediacy. Give him time, allow him to readjust to being home and safe once more. I’m sure he’ll come around.”
“And what if he doesn’t? What if he decides that I’m no longer necessary to him?” Merlin felt almost sick by the thought. “How am I to protect him then?”
“Have faith Merlin. You will find a way to protect him as is necessary, no matter the state of your association.”
Yes, Merlin thought despondently, of course he would. But what if, after time passed and separation took hold he no longer wanted to protect him?
“I suppose,” he said instead, and rubbed at his head. “Oh, and Arthur decreed that you should tend to Baranak.”
“At this very moment?” Gaius frowned and looked at the bag he had been packing when Merlin barged in.
“I would assume so. Those injuries inflicted seemed rather severe, and without aid the man probably won’t make it to his beheading, or even through the next few days.” Gaius frowned at that.
“It was a rather severe punishment for Arthur to decree, not his usual manner when dealing with such tragedies” he looked back at the bag. “Unfortunately I have obligations elsewhere at the moment. I’m afraid you’ll have to go in my stead.”
“Me?” Merlin jerked around on the bench in surprise. “Surely you can’t be serious? My skills as a healer are rudimentary at best, if anything I’ll probably decrease his chances of survival…” he trailed off as Gaius shook his head at him, a small chuckle on his lips.
“I understand the thought of attending someone who caused such harm to Arthur is trying, but it must be done. Your skills have improved nicely over the last months, but I daren’t say it requires much finesse to clean and then poultice wounds. You’ve done it plenty of times for Arthur after a tournament or battle.”
“Not to this extent. The man’s back looked mangled.” Nevertheless he found himself heading to the shelf to pull out a stack of bandages that he’d require for the task. “And I’m not sure I see the point in aiding someone in such a manner just to have their head lobbed off as soon as they’re fixed.”
“The point is that a person is suffering, and we can lighten their torment.” He handed Merlin a jar of healing cream. “It will need applying every few hours if we are to keep an infection at bay.”
“Of course it does,” he grumbled without any real maliciousness. “Will you be back this evening?”
“I will, but not until late. No need to wait up.”
“Right then,” Merlin dug an unused pail from beneath a bench and filled it half way with water from the fire pot. “Gaius?” He called out, just before the man disappeared out the door. His mentor turned and raised a white eyebrow in inquiry. He looked tired Merlin thought. Tired and old. “Do you…” he broke off, not quite sure how to pose his question. “Do you feel strange at all?”
“No, not at the moment. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason,” he responded a tad too quickly. “I’ve just had a headache the last little while.” Along with an incessant ringing in his ears and flesh that felt too tight over his body, but aside from that everything was just dandy. Gaius frowned at him.
“It’s possible the removal of the spell that Edgar had cast has affected you more than most. That wouldn’t be surprising considering your level of sensitivity to magic.”
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t,” Merlin agreed.
“It should dissipate as the dark magic is completely eradicated from the area,” Gaius announced, but he still looked concerned. “Inform me if it does not go away.”
“Sure, no problem,” Merlin picked up his bag of materials and the bucket of water, unease at the entire day still shifting under his skin. “I suppose I should see to the prisoner now.”
“Yes. Take care to be careful. While I suspect he had another sorcerer cast the spell he may have magical abilities himself.”
Merlin accepted the warning, despite the instinctive urge to scoff the thought. He highly doubted the man in the dungeons could wield magic, he was certain he would have noticed it in the last month that he had been masquerading as the prince.
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The dungeons were as damp and dark as he remembered, and the glow of torchlight did nothing to dispel the air of misery and hopelessness that were a part of the very walls. Merlin hated this place, hated the stench of mold and straw and stale air that was as much a part of it as the stone. He understood its necessity, and was glad for it when they needed to lock up the truly hateful and criminal that came through their kingdom.
Walking down the long stairwell now he couldn’t muster up any form of appreciation for the place, just unease.
“Merlin?” the guard on duty recognized him immediately, though he supposed that was expected now as he had been the prince’s manservant for the longest stretch of any yet to date. Well, until he’d been fired that afternoon, but he didn’t see the need to dwell on that.
“Ronald,” he greeted formally. “I’ve been sent by Prince Arthur to attend to King Baranak’s injuries.”
“Really? I can’t see why he’s bothering with the lout,” Ronald snorted in derision as he eyed Merlin’s provisions. Merlin shrugged.
“It’s not my place to comment, though I suppose he wants him to survive to his execution.”
“I suppose,” the tall man pursed his lips in thought before motioning that Merlin should follow him. They moved past the main cells and further down the hall than Merlin had ever been, until they came to a larger room with an old wooden table. Wax puddles were globbed around its surface, partially hidden by the tin plates and cups that the guards used for meals. A game of skills was laid out in the centre of the table, and the unfamiliar guard seated by it looked up at their approach, eyes narrowed.
“What’s this now?”
“Orders from the Prince, he’s to attend to Baranak,” Ronald announced and then swiftly moved back along the corridor until he disappeared from sight. The new guard pushed up from the table with a disgusted snort.
“He should be left to rot, traitorous dog that he is,” he spat on the floor and Merlin took care to take a step back lest he become the unwilling target of the mans ire, and made no comment. Instead he watched as the man marched to one of the heavy oak doors inset in the stone wall. There were no windows or bars and the bolt slammed loudly as he slid it from its home.
Merlin’s mouth gummed up a little, apprehension flooding him as the dungeon was revealed to him and for a moment he just stared into the darkness beyond.
“Well, go on then,” the burly man scoffed. “He’s not going to be able to hurt you with the state he’s in, and I’ll be right over there if you need me,” the guard motioned towards his table mockingly. Merlin resisted the urge to glare at him and instead moved to take a torch from the wall. The guard frowned at this, but let him have it, obviously seeing his need for the light.
On the threshold Merlin paused, the coppery sent of blood and sweat already prominent within the room. He swallowed once, thickly, and stepped in.
Tucked away in a corner, facing the door and lying on his side, was Edgar. His eyes were forced open to half mast and he watched warily as Merlin placed the torch in a wall holding. He looked awful, the sweat from a fever already coating his skin and visible even from across the space. Despite this he made move to push up from his place on the ground and Merlin quickly moved to his side.
“No, don’t move. You’ll aggravate your injuries before I’ve even had a chance to look at them,” he scolded, and then flinched back as the man swung an arm out at him, warning him to stand back. The action itself was useless, besides the fact that there was no force behind it Edgar had had to catch himself before toppling over onto his stomach, an act which clearly caused him great pain.
“See,” Merlin pointed out, but remained two steps away as the man blinked up at him, and recognition seemed to dawn.
“Merlin?” he sounded slightly shocked. “What are you doing here?” He looked past Merlin’s shoulder to the door and Merlin followed his gaze, not seeing anything that should have drawn the man’s attention.
“Your wounds need attending. I’ve been sent by Arthur to have a look at you,” Merlin announced for what felt like the umpteenth time and moved to pull his bag off his shoulder to drop beside the bucket of warm water. When he looked back Edgar was staring at him again from under his floppy pale fringe, his eyes dark and intense in the firelight. It was the same searching look he’d given him when he’d been standing on the platform, and Merlin looked away uncomfortably. He found it slightly difficult to breathe when the man looked at him like that; he couldn’t help feeling that he was letting him down.
“Well, that was thoughtful of him,” Edgar declared, anger simmering beneath the weak words.
“Considering the torture you no doubt put him through I’d be thankful for this act of mercy.”
“Why? So I won’t be too delirious to recognize when he’s about to have my head chopped off.” Edgar snarled in derision and Merlin’s own irritation flared as it rarely did around anyone but Arthur.
“It should have been chopped off immediately considering the levels of betrayal you heaped upon this kingdom. Against Arthur.”
“Really? Is that what you truly feel?” He asked and looked up at Merlin so imploringly that his immediate response of yes was thrown off and a great sense of horror filled him at the thought. He swallowed and looked away to his work, moving to drop a bandage into the water.
“It doesn’t matter what I feel,” he said instead after a too long silence. Before him Edgar sighed, sounding weary and in pain.
“I am not Edgar Baranak,” he spoke softly. “I am Arthur, though I know you can not see it.” And then he shifted slowly onto his stomach, pooling his head into his arms and laying his back bare. Exposed. Unprotected. Trusting. Merlin’s hand stilled as he was stirring the cloth in the water, fingers clenching around the material as he thought back to when he first saw this man standing on the executioners block.
And then he saw Arthur standing beside his father on the balcony, face bruised and eyes hardened as he stared down.
Edgar, this was Edgar, despite what he said Merlin could see it clearly.
It was Edgar, who was trusting him with complete ease to care for his wounds despite the fact that Merlin knew him to be an enemy.
“Well,” the prone man suddenly snapped, no energy left in his waning voice. “Get on with it then, before I actually die of infection.”
Merlin shook himself loose from his thoughts, looked fully upon Edgar’s back for the first time, and grimaced. It was a mess. Long stripes crossed over one another, resting atop a mass of swollen flesh that was visible even beneath the blood. The skin was torn for each lash, but a few in particular looked pulpy and deep, their edges gaping open and ragged, blood still weeping sluggishly.
He didn’t know where to start.
“Just start at the top,” Edgar muttered into the quiet that had overcome them, startling Merlin again and with the direction he finally he set about his task.
Much like when he was being whipped, Edgar barely made a sound. Merlin secretly believed the hisses of pain and mostly concealed grunts were worse than actual cries, and he gentled his touch as much as possible. Traitor or not he couldn’t bring himself to hurt this man any further.
The guard came in once half way through, watched silently a long moment and then disappeared back to his station. Edgar didn’t relax for several minutes after that.
Merlin smeared poultice as deeply into the wounds as he could, and pulled the wider cuts together with special string and needle. When he finally sat back it was to see that his patient had passed out cold. Lines of pain were visible around his eyes and mouth even in rest. Merlin stared.
Then he stood abruptly, cleared his things, and left the cell.
“I’ll be back in the early morning. He’s running a fever and his dressings will need to be changed,” he announced, and may as well have been speaking to a log as the guard just waved him off disinterestedly.
When he reached his rooms again he went immediately to their cleaning station, and the jug of water that was always ready for them. His hands were shaking as he poured it into a bowl, and he ruthlessly scrubbed the blood from his fingers, scratching it out from his cuticles and nails until the water was pink and his hands felt raw.
The ringing in his ears persisted, his head feeling fit to burst soon and in his minds eye he kept seeing Edgar, looking at him imploringly, as though Merlin should be helping him even though he didn’t expect him to.
Merlin collapsed on his bed and threw his arm over his eyes, blocking out the sunset.
He felt…he didn’t know how he felt. Off maybe. He wanted to see Arthur, but the dark haired prince had made it clear that Merlin was not welcome.
And their enemy Edgar had made it clear that he was welcome but not expected.
Merlin’s head hurt.
This was the lousiest day ever.
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