Puissance: Chapter Eighteen
Title: Puissance: Chapter Eighteen
Author: ArthurMerlin
Artist: blood_songs90
Pairings/characters: Arthur/Merlin (minor: OC/OC, Gwen/Lancelot)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 30,798
Warnings: None
Summary:The turbulent times of Prime Minister Arthur Pendragon, in which war looms, betrayal waits in the wings, and unexpected love blossoms.
Disclaimer: Neither ArthurMerlin nor blood_songs90 owns any aspect of Merlin. No copyright infringement is intended.
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Chapter Eighteen
“Arthur, wake up,” Merlin said, shaking Arthur’s bare shoulder gently. The Prime Minister mumbled in his sleep and tried to pull the covers up higher, but Merlin kept tugging at him.
“Merlin,” Arthur said groggily, “I like you better when you aren’t waking me up.”
“Oh really?” Merlin said with an infectious smile on his face, as he leant down and gave Arthur a sweet good morning kiss.
The two men kissed for what seemed like forever, until Merlin pulled away and said, “turn on the tv.”
When the picture sprang to life, Arthur was heartened to see images on the news of the royal plane landing at Heathrow and King Johan returning safely to British soil. Since the Americans had joined the war effort, things were going exceedingly well; the Russians had been pushed back, and were now bottled up in Turkey and their middle eastern conquests.
“You don’t want to be late today, do you?” Merlin said, hauling Arthur out of bed. Today was a crucial day in Arthur’s premiership; today he was going to meet with Mordred in Vienna for peace talks. If all went well, he could end this war within 24 hours; a war which had already cost millions of lives, and over 20,000 British servicemen and women.
“Now, I want you to have a decent breakfast, so I’ve made some scrambled egg on toast for you,” Merlin said, “and there’s two glasses of orange juice on the table; both are for you, I want you to get plenty of vitamin C.”
Arthur grinned. He loved how Merlin fussed over him in a way that Gwen never did; he loved that Merlin cared about every aspect of him so much that he paid attention to every little detail; and he loved that he could tease Merlin about it.
“Yes, mother,” Arthur said sarcastically as he sat down to eat his breakfast.
It wasn’t long before Merlin joined him, after he had done some last minute packing for their trip.
Arthur spent a few moments as he toyed with the remains of his breakfast to wonder why Mordred had offered to come deep into allied territory for a peace conference, when his troops were capable of fighting on for months, if not years. But he decided not to question small mercies, and ran over the peace terms in his head again. The conference was being held in Austria, but Arthur had been chosen as representative for the United Nations and would be conducting the negotiations one-on-one.
He was just rehearsing what he was going to say when Merlin’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to the real world, “time to go.”
…
Mordred walked into the room, dressed immaculately in a black lounge suit and bottle-green tie. He scanned the room, making eye contact with each person in turn, before moving like a ghoul - almost floating over the floor - to the table in the centre of the room. As Mordred moved to sit, so too did Arthur and the others.
“I am come to find a way to peace,” Mordred said, in English with an accent which was a strange combination of Irish and Russian.
“Indeed,” Arthur said, “you have read our terms? In short, Russian forces must withdraw from all allied territory. Russian forces must not be stationed within the marked buffer zone. Russia must prepare the occupied territories of the Middle East for return to sovereignty, under the auspices of the United Nations.”
“Prime Minister,” Mordred said, his head slinking downwards, but his eyes remaining fixed on Arthur’s, like a snake, “you speak as if I am the aggressor here?”
“That’s because you are,” Merlin said, but Arthur shot him a look and he quickly and quietly apologised.
“This conference is not about assigning blame, Mr President, it is about finding a pathway to peace.”
“Quite,” Mordred said, “but I fail to see how the terms you present favour Russia in any way. We require concessions… to safeguard our national security and the will of our people.”
Arthur and Mordred stared each other down, before Arthur asked the obvious question; “what concessions?”
“The right to govern the lands which belong to Russia. All of the land belonging to Russia, as it stands today.”
“In other words, you want to remove the term to return sovereignty to the Middle Eastern states.”
Mordred smiled wickedly, “that’s such a vulgar way to phrase it, Prime Minister.”
“But accurate nonetheless,” Arthur responded, “it’s out of the question. Russia must return to her borders as they stood before this conflict.”
“Prime Minister, is that your final word?”
Arthur didn’t waver as he answered, “absolutely.”
“Very well,” Mordred said.
Merlin noticed as Mordred discreetly reached for his pen on the table. He pressed the lid, and a compartment opened along the side of the pen and released a puff of gas.
Arthur looked down curiously, but Merlin sprang into action.
“Arthur!” he shouted, tackling Arthur to the ground. He pulled the handkerchief from Arthur’s jacket pocket and held it firmly against the older man’s mouth, despite Arthur’s surprised protests.
Merlin scrambled to find his own handkerchief as he caught the first slight smell of something amiss. After some fumbling he grabbed it and pushed it hard against his own mouth and nose.
It was then that Merlin spared a glance upwards and saw that all the aides in the room - British, Austrian, and Russian - were choking and starting to fall to the floor. Panic surged through Merlin’s veins, giving him unusual clarity and seemingly slowed down time. Every action seemed magnified in time and significance, and Merlin became peculiarly aware of his own clumsiness. He chastised himself mentally for worrying about looking clumsy, and tried to focus on finding a way out of the room for himself and Arthur.
Merlin’s eyes were beginning to water and blurred his vision somewhat, but he caught glimpse of the door and began to tug Arthur towards it. Luckily, Arthur’s brain had caught up with the situation and he began to crawl towards the door of his own accord.
Merlin was in front, and as he crawled out from behind the desk towards the door, he felt a sense of relief that they were going to make it out. But, as he thought that, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach as Mordred kicked him. Merlin rolled over onto his back, the handkerchief slipping from his face, and groaned in pain.
“Merlin!” Arthur shouted, “cover your mouth!”
Thankfully Merlin was sharp enough to hear Arthur’s screamed warning and he hastily recovered his handkerchief. But his relief was short-lived, because he looked up to see the barrel of a gun pointing directly at him. Mordred’s wicked grin was imprinted on Merlin’s brain as he silently offered up a prayer that he might see heaven when the trigger was pulled.
But it never happened.
Arthur barrelled into Mordred, knocking him to the ground in a tangle of limbs. The horrifying sound of a shot rang out, and Merlin shouted Arthur’s name as he feared the worst; but Arthur kept struggling with Mordred, and Merlin saw that the bullet had impacted the wall near the ceiling.
Mordred hit Arthur in the face, sending blood flying from the corner of his mouth. But Arthur merely punched back and tried to keep himself on top of Mordred.
It was then that Mordred hit Arthur in the arm with the butt of the pistol, and Arthur cried out in pain. Opening his mouth as he did so, he realised he had lost his handkerchief in the scuffle. He slammed his mouth shut and tried to hold his breath. Mordred, however, was breathing normally and seemed to be suffering no ill effects. Arthur looked up into his eyes and was shocked to see them completely black. He smiled evilly and started chanting something in a language that sounded like Arabic, or Hebrew; Arthur wasn’t entirely sure. Mordred seemed to grow even stronger as he chanted; visibly his frame seemed to expand and his punches to Arthur’s face hurt more and more.
That didn’t bode well for Arthur at all, who struggled with Mordred as long as he could, but grew weaker and weaker as no oxygen filled his emptying lungs. Yet, with one heroic swing of his arm, Arthur managed to shove the gun from Mordred’s grip, and it flew across the room colliding with the wall and settled on the floor.
Arthur collapsed on top of Mordred then, who shoved Arthur off of him and scrambled to his feet.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with, do you?!” Mordred’s voice echoed around the room, “this world is mine now! Mine! You will bow down and worship me as the god-made-flesh that I am; nothing can harm me!”
He kicked at Arthur’s mid-section; robbing Arthur of the little air he had left.
Mordred leaned over to grab Arthur round the neck; his contorted face full of rage, hatred, and an unearthly power.
The sound of a second shot rang out in the room, and Arthur assumed he must be dead. He closed his eyes and saw blotches of colour on the inside of his eyelids, and silently he prayed for a swift end. But he opened his eyes again and was about to allow himself to breathe his final breath when he saw Mordred’s lifeless face collapse to the ground next to him. His large, dead eyes stared into Arthur’s own - now back to their normal brown - as a trickle of blood ran from his mouth down his chin.
The next thing Arthur knew, he was being hauled to his feet with another handkerchief held over his mouth and led out of the room.
When the door shut behind him, Arthur gasped in a breath and tried desperately to fill his lungs. He panted for a long while before he turned and saw Merlin doing the same. In Merlin’s hand was the pistol, still smoking from its last shot.
“Merlin” Arthur gasped, “you saved my life.”
“And you… you… saved mine,” Merlin panted in reply.
Arthur couldn’t hold back anymore, he flung himself at Merlin and kissed him. The other man dropped the gun to the floor and held on, kissing back.
...
Chapter Nineteen