Cycles of Love (Second Cycle: Bleed)
Three Days Later…
Purgatory is not quite yet done playing its teasing game
Snaring its victims into its labyrinth of awaiting barbs.
Cackling at the fiendish result of pitting them against each other.
“What are you doing? You’re not supposed to be up!”
The prince pushed his arm through the quilted sleeve, his jaw clenched tight, trying hard to avoid hitting the material too strongly against his still mending hand as he responded roughly.
“I’ve lain in that bed enough. I’ll spend not another minute in it, not while my people need me, not while the kingdom still recovers.”
It was the plain truth, even if he didn’t reveal the other reason. That hellish dreams lay beyond sleep, ones where his failure to reach her in time, resulted in the most unwelcome…
Outcome.
Ones that made him wake in tremoring heart shaking quakes of repulsive sweat and terror.
Merlin rolled his eyes at the one answer revealed. Typical. The prince had insisted when staying at Gwen’s place a full size mattress because the floor was too hard, and yet when he was given the allowance to rest comfortably in his finely cushioned bed, he couldn’t last past a couple of days before disobeying medical orders.
Three days ago when the prince had collapsed outside against the wall, Gaius noticed the extent of Arthur’s improperly cared for injuries. His leg was fractured and his hand needed better removal of the stone, better wrapping, but even beyond that was an emotional weariness that had taken its full toll. Tending to the physical, the physician then ordered the young prince to bed rest for it, and the less obviously seen injury
Merlin understood that well. The prince he doubted had slept at all the night past the quake, his eyes reddened with cracks the day he told him about Gwen’s waking.
Now finally he had rested, and yet disturbingly enough not a single crack seemed removed, their red still cutting through the prince’s vision. Still, Merlin knew no argument would work. It was painfully obvious the prince had enough of being confined to his bed. No order would get past his stubbornness.
Merlin inquired quietly,
“That day, you know when Gwen woke up…did you talk to her first, before you fell?”
Arthur finished with the gambeson quilted undershirt, his answer dismissive even as he couldn’t fully rid his body of the hot chills that would come to him during his ugly dreams.
“No.
Merlin, get my shirt.”
The servant reached for a red tunic, understanding now the reason of the redness not being gone. Nothing was settled. Standing at the prince’s side, he carefully helped the man with getting the worn, by royal standards and yet the prince never wanted a new one, material of the tunic past his head and shoulders.
Protesting moodily at the servant’s ‘kid handling’ of him, Arthur only passively noticed how the sun’s mottled form was already blazing into his room on what was starting out as an uncomfortably muggy day.
“I am not crippled Merlin! I can get my own shirt on.”
Merlin smiled wryly, for the moment playfully forgetting any worries. Sure the prince could, and yet still he regularly expected things like his armor being carried, polished and such. He always wanted…to be waited on hand and foot…well…most of the time anyway.
Truth be it, Arthur was a rare contradiction that Merlin didn’t witness in most other young royals who sometimes were spoilt beyond reason, and left the hard battle to those they commanded. The prince could be the most annoying egotistical royal prat, and at the same, a leader with gallant, brave tendencies who always watched out for those in his care. Unlike some of those other royals, Arthur demanded on being in the heat of the battle, charging forward at the start of each bloody encounter with not an inch of fear.
He often remarked it was what killed you first, fear. No time to be scared, and so never make the mistake of allowing it to seep through.
“Well then you should be able to find it too, shouldn’t you?” Merlin teased back about the tunic, rarely as sentimental as he might have been when he first encountered Camelot, the prince’s dryness over the years wearing off on him some, and his own just a little bit wryer.
Let it be said, Merlin was definitely not like any other servant Arthur had before. Merlin actually answered back, regularly.
Merlin countered, volleyed, and even refused at his bravest…with simple words.
The prince’s look sharpened to the point of a dagger.
The servant gave an innocent crooked smile, habitually used to its effect.
Arthur rolled his eyes, realizing yet one more time with bewildering wonder how the servant’s unexpected comeback tempered his usually fiery spirit. Sometimes he still had no understandable answer to why he allowed it. No other servant would have gotten away with half of what Merlin did.
No other servant was as…
Interesting as Merlin.
As…
Mysterious…
To everyone, even him…
Merlin carried a dangerous secret, a criminal one, a life threatening one.
One Arthur knew well now.
Found out in a…cave of all places…
Found out moments from what could have been his own…
Death.
He was it.
A sorcerer.
His bumbling servant was a sorcerer, a bloody powerful one at that.
On shaky legs for more reason than just his injuries, Arthur could feel the water trickling down from his chainmail to his pants, the patterns of wetness left over from when he fell unceremoniously into the cavern pond. The pond he had blurrily awakened from to see the most…
Amazing sight.
There he was, his servant, eyes of flashing gold, words that no mortal Arthur had ever heard of speak, a language so foreign of tongue it existed in no known kingdom. His servant though communicated it efficiently with the dragon, fiercely commanding it with a voice so deep it had lifted at the hairs on Arthur’s neck. Made his bones chill with fear.
All of that awesomeness and now the dragon was gone, Merlin’s eyes were back to their innocent blue, and if the prince wasn’t mistaken, the young man was clearly shaking with terrible fright.
A sorcerer…
Afraid?
Merlin asked the stupid question about how much he had seen.
Arthur answered strongly that it was enough.
Then came out his rash side, as he recalled without having understood a single spoken word, how Merlin had let the dragon flee. He let go the vile beast that had injured, murdered those of Camelot, including an unrecoverable portion of the knights,
Merlin let go such a horrific creature.
Perhaps he should think of his actions, that this young monster could just lift his evil sorcerer hands and kill him in an instant, but Arthur’s instincts were often stronger than his mind.
He engaged purely in the physical now, leaping past the pond, ignoring any hurt in his limbs. He picked up his fallen sword and swooped it up into the air, raised it to do the mortal deed.
A sorcerer. A betrayer. An enemy.
Reaching the servant’s side with alarming speed, Arthur locked at Merlin’s ankle with his. It caused the younger man to sprawl toward the ground, his back hitting the jagged rock with a whoosh of painful air.
Half on his knees, crouched even with a smarting leg, Arthur determinedly lowered his sword to the defenseless servant, before he lifted it high. Squared it in direction of the mortal heart for a questionless kill.
All set to go…
Just one flash downward and his shining blade would contain the lifeless blood.
Just…
“You betrayed me Merlin. You betrayed all of Camelot. Now…
You will meet your deserving fate.”
Instead of striking, he dug the blade against the treacherous sorcerer’s tunic, hearing the catch of voice the metal whispered to the vulnerable skin underneath. He wanted a reaction. He wanted to delay it…at least for a few moments.
Finally the servant pleaded. “Arthur. Listen to me.”
He sounded like the youth who first came to him. Even as Merlin had recently reached a more manly age, it did little to make him less boyish in appearance. For years now Arthur had looked out for his welfare when in battle, always making sure Merlin was safely away from any danger.
And it was for naught.
Who knew what this boy/man had conjured up in his sick malevolent head? Who knew if he sent the dragon to wreck havoc upon the land and people, himself?
“I am a sorcerer…yes…but I have never betrayed you Arthur. Never Camelot.”
Arthur sneered. Lifted the blade…once more. One second was all it would take. He was experienced enough to do it. He was a killing machine, a mechanism, born, trained, skilled enough to end a life in an eye’s blink. He knew exactly which direction the blade needed to drive at, knew the soft tissue it would have to cut through. He knew what would be needed to avenge all the needless deaths this sick creature allowed. All he had to do was lower it quickly. Suck the life out of the traitor.
It was perhaps moments of weakness though, too many memories cemented into his brain, possibly even his heart. Ones of laughter and relieved smiles. Barbs of silliness.
And he couldn’t look past it, the eyes he had grown to know all too well, the such familiar blue that years ago, that very first time, squared courageously as his mouth elicited that word…prat. He had challenged him then, even as it was so obvious how clumsy the boy was at fighting.
Even as…
That second time odd things had happened. Arthur felt himself falling for no explained reason that day.
Ah…well now here it was.
It would take just one second to spear into the monster’s vital. To KILL what needed to be killed.
His arms would move no further though. The aim felt too hard, too distracted. He’d killed the enemy so easily before, never hesitated in striking, but now his limbs felt heavy, like the push into the heart would be too much a burden.
It was all the servant’s fault, so still, so shaking with fear. Merlin was pretending to be weak, a victim and yet look what he had done. Look what he caused. Look what he…WAS.
A wicked sorcerer.
A wicked sorcerer who for some reason just lay still now, didn’t magically end this. Why not? Why didn’t he fight? Why did he pretend he could do nothing when it was so obvious he was capable of much more?
He’d watched him with the dragon, heard the horrifying decibels the boy’s mouth rose to, volumes Arthur could not even begin to fathom. Volumes that had shocked his being.
Arthur thought it viciously, get up Merlin. Fight you bastard traitor. Fight me! Make your death just.
“I am your loyal servant.”
Oh those words, those traitorous claims. Arthur growled viciously, but still his arms felt like lead, would not move.
He couldn’t listen to him anymore. That was it. If the boy wouldn’t fight, he’d just do it, end it all. Now. He had to.
He snarled back,
“You are a sorcerer, a stupid one to bring your magic to Camelot when you’ve known full well for years of the laws against it.
Well now your stupidity will be met by the slice of my blade.”
Merlin countered fiercely, the servant’s familiar rambling rants finally leaking out.
“If all I am is an evil sorcerer then why haven’t I struck you down yet, Sire? I’ve had many a chance. Why haven’t I taken it? Because even the times you’ve been such a royal prat, I’ve never wished you dead Arthur.”
The prince couldn’t help but smile at the all too familiar name calling. Merlin used such regularly, even once made him ridiculously think he was fat. And he got away with it all. It was hard to gain the prince’s trust, but Arthur had grown in a short time to trust Merlin implicitly.
Those dumb blue eyes wanting him to listen now. Stupid skinny kid. Why did you come to Camelot Merlin? Arthur wanted to ask. Why did you lead me to this horrible decision you’re forcing me to make now? Why did you make me actually…get on with you? When now it must all end. I must kill you.
I will kill you. I will delight in it. I will never mourn you.
FIE…why wouldn’t his arms move?
He had done this so many times, never hesitated, never felt the heaviness. Why couldn’t he do it now?
The smile faded, hardened to a flat line. He was a prince who would one day be king. Enough of this weakness. Magic was forbidden, magic was a sin. Yes, sometimes he didn’t agree with his father’s ways. He had saved that boy Mordred after all, but no good came from magic.
Right?
Perhaps the servant saw the chance, for he went on. Weaved through the cracks in the steel.
“I’ve only used my magic for good Arthur. I swear that. I didn’t know it was forbidden in Camelot when I first came. My mother sent me because I didn’t really fit in…in Ealador. I didn’t know how to channel what I knew. So she sent me to Camelot to…Gaius.”
Arthur scrutinized sharply. “So he’s been helping you?”
It seemed the servant feared what his words maybe told too much of. He shook his head violently, as he lay underneath the harsh light of the prince’s blade, the metal point eerily reflecting his frantic expression.
“NO. I…mean…well you know how he once did magic when the king allowed it, but no more. He…whatever you do to me, Gaius has done no wrong. He’s warned me not to use my magic plenty of times and he obeys the king. Kill me if you want, but Gaius is innocent. My mother is. Do nothing to her. Don’t allow-
Arthur stared. The servant was mumbling, stuttering his words with repeated tremors. He seemed to be understanding that his execution could lead also to those he was affiliated with.
A flash of gold came to the servant’s eyes as he became the sorcerer again. Arthur gasped at its returned appearance. Those eyes gleamed like the shiniest golden goblet. They were repulsively horrifying. They were beastly. It made it easy again, took away the heaviness. Merlin was no longer his ally, but some thing that needed to be destroyed, some evil entity. It was time. He had to do this now. Arthur prepared to drive the sword in stronger, got ready to make the blood…
Flow.
Merlin grasped magically to turn the blade on his prince and yet…
Something held not right it seemed.
The gold in his eyes faded away, turned back to innocent blue. His ragged sigh signaled failure, emotional…
Pain.
“I can’t do it.”
Arthur felt like he was flipping through a thousand shocks, a new one now as his servant’s eyes returned to their natural blue, actually started to moisten, fill with unshed tears. It drilled without his wanting at Arthur’s heart. He should have done it when he had the chance, but once again he showed his weakness, held back for some unexplainable reason. If his father had seen all this, Merlin would be in a dungeon now. Merlin might even be…
Dead already.
The servant spoke quietly, complete resignation, with just one inch of foreboding for those he loved.
“I can’t kill you, even though I know you may not stop with me. I can’t kill...
Sire, my father suffered enough. Please leave my mother…
In peace.
Or from the grave I will haunt you. I promise you that Arthur.”
The prince held still, didn’t lower the blade further, an emotion too deep now by Merlin’s words. He had to speak of his mother of course. Arthur never knew his own, never saw her, and that would always be his biggest pain, regret. Hole in his soul. If only he could have known her for a few precious moments. Seen her. Feel her. Smell her…he imagined her scent was heavenly, her voice gentle and…
Oh yes. Loss of a mother was something he understood too well. It made sense Merlin spoke so fiercely about his and Merlin had good reason to be worried. When his father would come to find out he was a sorcerer, he would possibly go after her too, bring her to judgment. And yet as far as Arthur knew the woman was not responsible for any crime. He actually liked her, but no telling how the king would react. He sometimes seemed so blind when it came to magic. And as for Merlin’s father…
Wait a minute.
His father?
“You told me once you never knew your father. Are you saying now that was another lie?”
The servant shook his head.
“I didn’t know him, no lie.”
He paused heavily.
Arthur nodded his head, actually listening now, betraying what his sharp brain’s instinct screamed at him to do.
“Except for one full day, and one inch of another. I saw him. I spoke to him. I learned why I am…what I am.”
Arthur cocked his head at that. He actually…saw him? When?
“What do you mean? Who was your father?”
Perhaps the sorcerer was recalling sweeter memories, because he smiled fondly for a handful of seconds, before the moisture crept more into his eyes, a tear even being allowed passage finally, traipsing down his cheek.
“He was magical too. For that he was hunted…for years. He had no choice but to leave the woman he loved, never find out of his son…until…”
“Who was he Merlin?”
Arthur asked pointedly, needing to know now, for some fathomless reason.
“Balinor. My father was Balinor…Sire.”
The answer brought a new shock. Arthur’s eyes widened with it.
Merlin’s father had been…
Balinor?
It confounded him, before it all came together.
But of course. Now it finally made sense. Merlin had been so moody then as they took that trip, so quiet and disturbed by something he wouldn’t reveal. Then when they found him, after Arthur’s bout of sickness from his injuries, and the man’s first refusal to help, Merlin seemed happy when the man changed his mind. Not just happy, but…fulfilled in some way.
Arthur recalled it now with a new sense, that fateful morning, when Balinor was stricken by a sword, stricken down. Merlin had later revealed, a year ago, that Balinor had actually saved him in that battle, sacrificed himself because Merlin had not been quick enough with the sword. Arthur had thought then, kind of oddly gallant. But now it was clarified. Balinor was only protecting his son just like his own father would do for him.
Balinor. Merlin had indeed known him for only one day. He watched his father die in front of him, after being with him for such a short time. So of course there had been tears in his eyes that his silly servant tried to hide. Of course that death had meant so much to him. Arthur had told him then his theory of no knight being worth his tears…their honor being beyond that, and yet how callous those words must have seemed. It was not a knight, a man who was going to help them even, but the boy’s father.
Balinor had been Merlin’s father. Balinor the Dragonlord.
Wait a minute. Balinor had been…a Dragonlord so…
Merlin…
Was he?
Oh heavenly Camelot!
He let the dragon leave. Once again, maybe it was he who sent the dragon in the first place. Maybe this had been his final vengeance. Arthur had let too much emotion seep through about who the boy’s father was, but now enough of this. Balinor had seemed a good man, and maybe in some ways he was, but too he was this thing that Merlin was. He was magical with who knows what agenda. Merlin was his offspring, just as vile possibly. He should have done more back then. If Merlin was so sickeningly magical, why did he allow all this MISERY? Merlin was pure evil if…why didn’t that evil DO SOMETHING?
“Why don’t you get up Merlin? Why don’t you strike me? If you’re as EVIL as your father was-
The servant cut through fiercely. “He was NOT evil! My father was a GOOD man! But your father hated his kind so he hunted him down…he never allowed him a life of peace! He forced him to move…to keep moving…to become a hermit.
Magic is not a CRIME Arthur. It should not be judged so awfully. My father was born like this.
I…
Was born like this.”
It was the strongest defiance from his servant.
And then it sunk out of him without warning, with alarm.
Arthur knew he couldn’t care though, couldn’t allow any vulnerability. Who knew if the sorcerer was just waiting? Who knew if…
Oh all of Camelot…his father was Balinor. How complicated could Merlin be? His simple servant so much disgustingly more. So many lies and secrets.
He thought of it now, how in Ealador Merlin had wanted to confess something to him, had seemed scared to. Oh he fooled him even then.
“It was you…not Will who caused that wind, wasn’t it Merlin? Was it you too…
Who defeated the first dragon? Or did you just let him go…
Like you did this one?
I mean come on Merlin! How is it that I could deliver a mighty blow…
Whilst lying unconscious?”
Now it was all found out, the service of the servant/sorcerer.
“It was me, and believe it killed to allow Will to make up that lie during his last breathing moments. And yes it was me again…and yes…
I let him go.”
The truth was too ugly. Too disgusting. This thing before him was not the ally he had thought him to be. He was not even a powerful sorcerer, but one who should feel shame for his allowance of so much carnage. The sick boy allowed his own friend to pretend on his death bed he was something else.
Arthur’s eyes filled with revulsion. Maybe his servant was just a coward, a lying treacherous weak sorcerer who allowed the deaths of others ever so…
Easily.
Arthur screamed, uncontained.
“We marched into this cave MERLIN! Half of the knights are DEAD because you did nothing. All the loss in the kingdom, those innocent children nearly perishing! Camelot only begins to recover because you stood and just WATCHED. You let your own friend die in DISHONOR for something he didn’t even do? This goes beyond my father! I WANT to kill you now! I will!”
Merlin cried out, one last time, tears too free in their passage now. “NO! I told you allowing Will to make that excuse for me hurt so awfully. I loved Will like a brother. I have hated keeping this secret. Kill me. I don’t care. Just…
I’ve done all of this…
In service to you.
I’ve stayed in Camelot keeping this secret…
To protect you.
I know so many lives have been lost. But I have done my best to save those I can too. I’ve…
Kept you safe Sire. For that there has to be sacrifice.
I’ve learned that the hard way.”
Merlin turned his head away, looked at the walls of the cave, not caring it seemed to see what his prince would do next.
Arthur didn’t know why, but he believed him about Will. Maybe it was all those tears that came, the strangled effect of his voice. If this was a façade, Merlin was too good at it. But then Merlin had been a pretty good liar too.
Resolve fastened, even if it didn’t bring him any satisfaction, Arthur lifted the sword high.
Merlin turned at that moment, met his eyes.
Whispered. “Do it.”
His arms were no longer heavy. His instinct was strong. It would be one clean swipe.
There was little fear in the servant’s eyes now, just resignation of what was to be.
Fiercely…
Swiftly…
Arthur brought the blade down.
“I knew you would hate me when you found out. I knew it.”
The words startled his drive. The blade landed off kilter, but enough to make the servant gasp with pain. It hit somewhere. It cut through something. But the heart?
Continued here