The Truth Remains the Same [R,3/8]
[2/8]
5.
Merlin was pissed, and not in the good way.
“There has to be an explanation for this,” Merlin said to Archimedes as he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, blinking away the rest of the steam upon it. “This has to be a complete setup, and if we don’t figure out who’s messing in Destiny’s territory, we’ll be in trouble.”
“It doesn’t have to be anything, Magic Man,” Archie said as he pecked at his feathers, resting in the middle of Merlin’s California King bed. “Just coincidence.” He looked at Merlin through the door slowly, lazily. “But that’s certainly not the case.”
Merlin sighed. “I know, I know,” he said, hair drying completely before his breath left his body. “It doesn’t make any sense. My time here is shortening, but it’s not that short.”
Archie gave him a level, unimpressed look as Merlin exited the bathroom, encased in pants and a white undershirt. “You’re in denial, Merlin. This situation makes perfect sense.”
Merlin stilled by the bed, returning Archie’s regard. “You think Nimueh and Mordred are at work?” he closed his eyes, rubbed his nose with the palm of his left hand, thinking; thinking. “If that’s true, then-”
“I’m not the one convinced history will repeat itself,” Archie exclaimed as he took flight from the bed and landed on Merlin’s messy dresser. “For all we know, they could be working independently from her, but that’s not likely. She’s been awake for quite a few years.”
“But she can’t,” Merlin said, flabbergasted, sitting down on the bed in a slump, stared at the thick white carpet under his feet. “She doesn’t have the excuses she did last time. If she’s working with Nimueh and Mordred, it could only mean-”
“Fate’s gotten to her,” Archie finished, concern threading his voice.
“Then…” Merlin looked over at Archie, at a loss, his brain spinning, spinning. “Then that means we’re truly on our own.”
He’d known about Nimueh and Mordred’s rebirths for a little under seventeen years (twenty-five, in Nimueh’s case), just as he’d known about Gaius’. Merlin couldn’t fool himself into thinking Nimueh and Mordred would be innocent of wrongdoing this time round (history repeated itself, whether he wanted it to or not), but he thought he had more time.
And as for whom they’d aligned themselves with again-
“You’ve been lying to yourself for years,” Archie chastised gently. “You’ve been preparing yourself to strike, telling yourself it’s to fight for humanity, for Arthur, but that’s a lie. You’ve been preparing to take on Fate, and if you have to, Morgana.”
“Don’t call her that,” Merlin muttered distractedly. He clenched his fists, was dressed in grey trousers and a blue jumper a moment later. “I don’t want to kill her.”
“I never said you did-aloud,” Archie intoned, rolling his head to Merlin as the warlock crossed his bedroom. “But you can’t force her to do anything she doesn’t wish, not without repercussions for you. And if she’s…on the wrong side, you’re hand will be forced and there won’t be any consequences.”
Merlin laughed. “Thanks, I’m reassured that you’ve thought about this,” he said over his shoulder, walking through the floor to the kitchen, Archie swan diving through the floor a moment after.
His house was nice, but simple. Five sizable bedrooms, one a master suite, three full bathrooms, a restaurant style kitchen, the living room (on the first floor with the kitchen and two of the smaller bedrooms) could easily fit fifteen or so people, and-
Right. Merlin looked around his kitchen, visualized the rest of the estate. The house wasn’t largish, it was bloody enormous; and it wasn’t a house, but a three storey mansion.
Merlin had lived in a lot of small places since the first two times round, and this was going to be his last few years. So why not live in the lap of luxury for a bit?
Merlin turned on the right hob on the first cooker as soon as his feet hit the kitchen floor. There was already a kettle there and, well, sometimes making tea the mundane way tasted better than by magic.
“Go and talk to her.”
Merlin looked at the top of the fridge where Archie perched. “Talk,” Merlin repeated, eyed Archie for possession. “And why would I talk to her? Hm? If she’s decided to go against me again, what would be the point?”
“You know, there was a time when talking would have been your first course of action,” Archie drawled. “But I’m starting to see your reasoning.”
“Do you want to kill her?” Merlin asked, a little surprised. Archie didn’t have a problem with Merlin taking a life (if Archie had a problem with it, he wouldn’t still be there). Merlin did as much when he’d acquired Archie during the plague years, but Archie didn’t make a habit of looking for a reason.
“Don’t you?” Archie replied, his gold eyes swirling. “That hasn’t been a problem before. From what I understand, you’ve been underplaying yourself for quite some time. Don’t you think it’s time you finished this? Properly?”
“I-”
“Yes, yes, I know. It’s not that simple,” Archie cut in, sounding tired. “Then prove me wrong. Go see her; take her by surprise and regain control of the situation. Merlin, this is still your time. She’s encroaching on you.”
Merlin blinked at the owl. Archie had a point; a very good one, though Merlin doubted he could ever surprise her. “It’ll let me know once and for all where her loyalties stand and how I have to act.”
“And give you a chance to clear the air,” Archie chimed in.
Merlin snorted. Clear the air with her? He sincerely doubted it was possible. For that, she would have to apologize for her role in Arthur’s death. “Maybe I should visit Nimueh and Mordred, too. Maybe get rid of them before they pose a problem?”
Archie whipped his head back and forth. “There shouldn’t be a need for it. If she’s working with those two buffoons, I don’t see her letting them do much: Control is the name of the game, this time around.”
“Control has always been the name of the game,” Merlin corrected, cutting off the kettle as it whistled. “I’ll have to come back for tea later. I’ve some errands to run.” He glanced at Archie as the bird cleaned his feathers. “I might see her today. Did you want to come?”
Archie snorted, looked at Merlin and rolled his eyes. “I’ll pass, thanks. I like my feathers unsigned, if you don’t mind.”
Merlin mustered up a smile. “It won’t be as bad as all that.” It could be worse.
Archie grunted, flapped his wings. “Are we back to denial again?”
Merlin laughed, shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of wishful thinking.”
★
School life for Corbin had simplified, but that could not be said for Emmy. Well, it wasn’t school that was to blame. Just the acquaintances she met while there.
There was a new student at school. He appeared mid-year, which it could have been worse, what with GCSEs and all.
The new boy was an eleventh year, had a smoking habit and was heavily into the emo scene. The academy didn’t get many mid-year admissions, and none at the new boy’s level, but the new kid didn’t seem to care about that. He seemed to be on a mission from the moment he set foot on the campus, and it wasn’t academic.
They were sitting at one of the tables in the promenade for lunch, Corbin, Emmy and Sean, when the energy in Corbin’s chest flared to life, burning and rattling violently. Corbin nearly choked on the crisp he’d just swallowed. He gagged, hunched over and before he could blink, both Emmy and Sean were patting his back.
“Are you alright?” Emmy asked, handed Corbin his bottle of water, face the picture of concern as she picked up her own fork to return to her salad.
Corbin nodded absently, casting his eyes about the promenade, trying to find the cause of his discomfort (and being a little angry that Emmy and Sean-who’d’ patted him once before snatching a few crisps from Corbin’s plate before he’d recovered-weren’t a little more concerned) . The energy didn’t normally warn Corbin so aggressively, or much at all. Corbin liked to think it let him live his life, and if he got into a little trouble, it was there to bail him out. Which was the case, most of the time. It had a funny definition of help, actually. It was there when he’d nearly cracked his head open seven years ago, and protected him from bullies, but if he was disciplined by his mum (she loved to swat him with a spoon when he tasted dinner before it was ready-why did she have to be so cruel?), it stayed out of his way, and up until last year when his father finally…left, he seemed to heal faster, and the pain wasn’t as bad, but didn’t stop the beatings. So yeah, funny way of helping.
“Name’s Timothy,” the raven haired new student said, appearing out of nowhere, munching loudly on an apple, pale and gaunt cheeks bulging. “But anyone important calls me Mordred. That’s who I was, once upon a time.”
“The Mordred?” Emmy stuttered, incredulous, the lettuce on her fork going limp.
Tim-no, Mordred grinned. “Yep. Pleased to meet you, Emmeria Ortiz.”
Emmy tittered, a habit she’d picked up on her twelfth birthday, to Corbin and Sean’s chagrin.
Alright, to Corbin’s chagrin; Sean didn’t seem to mind, the tosser. “Anyone important calls me Emmy.”
Mordred inclined his head regally, reached out and took Emmy’s hand. “I’m honored, Emmy.” He kissed her hand, a brush of lips against skin.
Of course, Emmy was smitten.
Corbin didn’t like that, not one bit. Neither had Sean, but Corbin figured it was for different reasons.
“How do you know her?” Corbin and Sean said simultaneously, Corbin didn’t bother to look at Sean. When it came to Emmy and protecting her, the time for fun was over.
Mordred smirked at them, a bemused sort of look crossing his face, like Corbin and Sean were some kind of dog and pony show: entertaining, but ultimately useless. “I saw here in a vision, several weeks ago,” Mordred declared, blasé. “I came here just to meet you,” he looked at Emmy, earnest.
Emmy ate it up, her eyes big as saucers. “You have visions too? I thought I was the only one.”
Corbin’s chest throbbed, the early defense system (for lack of a better word) coiling in his ribcage, preparing to strike. The power heated his skin, and words whispered in the air in a strange tongue. Corbin glanced at Sean, Emmy and the Mordred bloke, noting that no one else seemed to have noticed the quiet words. Corbin closed his eyes, listening. The words-the voice-was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Maybe he was finally going mad; but Corbin didn’t think it was time for that, not just yet. Corbin opened his eyes, stared at Mordred and Emmy’s clasped hands.
The energy vibrated like a plucked string, beating against Corbin’s chest. It burned bright, and-
“Uh, yes,” Mordred blinked, dropping Emmy’s hand like a dead weight.
The power in Corbin’s chest calmed to a slow burn.
Huh. Corbin shared a look with Sean. He glanced at his chest, raised a brow.
“What do you want with Emmy?” Sean asked, not bothering to be cordial. Corbin hid his smirk; he could always count on his best friend to follow directions when it counted.
“There’s something coming,” Mordred said without preamble, his blasé tone dropping just as fast as he’d dropped Emmy’s hand. “An event. We think Emmy can help us. In fact, we know it.”
“Know it?” Emmy said, nose scrunched up, tone threaded with both flattered delight and curiosity.
Mordred shrugged, eyes skating over Emmy’s face. “It’s Destiny.”
“What sort of event?” Corbin asked, folded his arms over his chest, felt the heat and power through his jumper.
Mordred looked at Corbin and Sean in turn, his bright blue eyes taking on an intense edge. “What are you to her?” he asked, blunt.
“Her protectors,” Corbin and Sean said together, their tones brooking no arguments. “And if you’re going to be doing anything with Emmy,” Corbin continued.
“It will be with us, too.” Sean finished, clipped.
“Kinky,” Mordred wagged his eyebrows, apparently unconcerned with their half veiled threat.”I’m liking you two more and more.”
Mordred stood, a sheaf of paper floated onto their table out of nowhere. “Tonight, meet me there,” Mordred glanced at Corbin and Sean. “All of you. You’ll get more information when you arrive.”
Sean snatched the paper out of the air. “The docks?” he said, after a survey of the paper, incredulous.
“We need room to operate,” Mordred said, inclining his head and walked away without another word.
“I take it your sparkly senses were tingling,” Sean said as soon as Mordred was a good distance away.
Sean insisted on calling Corbin’s early defense system that, when no other name was forthcoming except, well, early defense system, but Sean ignored the (constant) suggestion, deeming it unworthy a name for what it did-the metaphorical vagina jokes it gave Sean. It didn’t tingle but burned, but that lead to all sorts of STD jokes-and Corbin would rather be female than diseased.
“Thought it was going to attack him when he held your hand,” Corbin commented to Emmy and Sean both, ignoring Sean’s snickering like the gentleman he was. “I don’t trust him.”
“You’ve been wrong before,” Emmy pointed out, lips curled. “This could be another one of those times.”
“It was once,” Corbin countered, irritated. “How was I supposed to know Jessica was harmless at the time?”
Nicholas, Emmy’s older brother, had met Jessica Talbott on a tour of Greece with his girlfriend Daniella during their gap year. Nick invited Jessica back to his home and upon meeting Jessica, Corbin’s early defense system burned so bright and hot, he’d passed out.
But, for whatever reason, upon waking and near passing out all over again, Jessica touched his chest, and the burning eased. Even with their combined efforts at interrogation, Jessica swore she didn’t know how she did it; if she did it, but Corbin hadn’t been convinced.
“One time,” Corbin reiterated, shaking a finger at Emmy. “Doesn’t mean it’s wrong now.”
“Maybe,” Emmy said, looked in the direction Mordred had gone, looking wistful.
Corbin sighed.
★
“This is mad,” Sean despaired for the umpteenth time as the car came to a halt at the shipping yard.
From lunch time, straight through classes, with texting during trips to the toilet and between lectures, Corbin and Sean tried to convince Emmy it was a bad idea to go see the Mordred bloke wanted to no avail.
Corbin wasn’t surprised. Once Emmy got it into her head to do something, come hell or high water, she was going to do it.
Emmy was the first out of the black cab, her grey eyes flitted about with expectation and delight, even at ten pm. “I’m so excited,” she said. “Maybe here we’ll get answers.” She glanced at Corbin, so much hope in her face. “Answers for all of us.”
The ship yard looked just as ominous as the ones Corbin saw on the telly, times ten. Hell, the brick building-their destination, by the looks of it-looked like a set piece of all the gangster films he’d seen, or of the buildings he’d seen in most of Noelle Clark’s gritty films-the ones asking for a shoot out or a regrouping after a bank heist.
To make matters worse, there were three (count them: one-two-three) black cats that scurried past them as they made their way to the entrance of the building. Two of whom went under a ladder balanced against a hollowed out supply ship, the other getting into an epic battle of wills with an open umbrella just sitting inside one of the dilapidated outbuildings they’d passed to the warehouse.
Corbin shared a glance with Sean.
They were doomed.
“Right,” Corbin said as they made it (safely-surprisingly) to the door. There was a buzzer beside the burned, rusted, metal door.
With shaking fingers, Emmy pressed the buzzer. The buzzer didn’t buzz; instead it gonged the chorus of Canada’s national anthem.
“See?” Emmy tittered nervously. “What more proof do you need that we’re safe.”
The door opened on its own power with a clichéd creak of rusty hinges.
Corbin pinched the bridge of his nose. Nope, that wasn’t ominous. Not at all.
As soon as they stepped foot inside the warehouse, Corbin’s chest came on like a house on fire.
The inside of the warehouse, unlike the outside, was massive, doing a pretty impressive impersonation of what Corbin thought the TARDIS would look like, if all its rooms were placed side-by-side. There were stairs that lead up to a backroom and balcony on the right side of the building a few (dozen? The place was big enough to fit of the yard’s largest ships inside it, easy) meters from where he, Sean and Emmy stood. The place smelled of rosemary and other such herbs, would’ve been black as pitch if not for all the candles scattered on almost all available surfaces, even the stairs, save for a circle in the center of the large space, quite a few meters wide, lit with a spotlight of its own unknown power source, given there was no spotlight present when Corbin lifted his head and looked at the ceiling, expecting to see it. It wasn’t there, of course.
Yes, that was normal.
“Welcome.”
Beside him, Emmy and Sean jumped, obviously surprised by Mordred’s abrupt appearance in the circle they were standing just outside of. Corbin hadn’t been surprised, his trusty defense system having slowed down time so he could see Mordred slowly materialize.
Why Corbin’s defense system hadn’t gone berserk yet, given this entire situation was an obvious setup, was beyond him.
Corbin slipped his hand into Emmy’s, lending her strength. They’d tried transferring power before, he and Emmy; it didn’t work, but Corbin thought it was the thought that counted.
Don’t fail me tonight. Corbin tightened his hold on Emmy’s hand when, in a puff of smoke, another figure appeared. Not when I’ll need you the most.
“I didn’t think you’d grace us with your presence,” the voice-female-said before all the smoke cleared.
Once the smoke cleared, Corbin wished it would come back.
Physically, the woman was around an eight-point-two out of ten for attractiveness, Corbin estimated. Peaches and cream skin, shiny shoulder length brown hair (he’d get back to that in a moment), curves in all the right places. Given a chance (and enough lager) Corbin would hit it. But she lost all points for her leather (“leather” Corbin felt obligated to say, actually) kink-she looked dipped in it, and not in the good way-her hair done up in partial braids like a nineties American grunge video (or one of those films Mel Gibson had been famous for in the eighties, where they rode round the desert looking for water and driving petrol trucks like faithful steeds). And by size if her pupils-miniscule, compared to the navy blue of her eyes-a staggering heroin habit.
“Nice,” Corbin heard Sean say beside Emmy.
Corbin sighed.
“I thought it would take more time to convince you to come,” the woman said, looking at Emmy. He and Sean might as well not been there for all the attention she gave them. Luckily for Emmy, they were. “But Mordred assured me you’d come.” The woman smiled. “I am Nimueh.”
“You’re Nimueh,” Emmy trilled next to Corbin, oblivious to the danger around them. How that was possible-
“Like the Lady of the Lake,” Emmy cut off Corbin’s thoughts, grinning at Nimueh. “Like Merlin’s lost love?”
Oh. Corbin rolled his eyes. Tragic romance: this is how she’s oblivious. It was left up to him to save them all.
Nimueh looked a little green under the magical (how did they get themselves into these sorts of things? Really?) spotlight. “Yes, something like that.”
“Tell her why she’s here,” Mordred chimed in next to Nimueh, eyeing Emmy in a way that rose Corbin’s hackles. His chest thrummed with energy, the fire from earlier curling inside him and resting just above Corbin’s heart, building slowly, taking shape. To what, he had no idea.
Corbin schooled his face to keep what was happening inside him under wraps for now, wary. Alright, not so much wary, as it would be horrendously stupid to give away perhaps the only chance they’d have of getting out of there unharmed.
Nimueh (and Mordred, like a dog) stepped closer to them, stopping just shy of the candles, her face lit with grim determination. “In a few years time, there will be a battle,” Nimueh began, a dark anticipation shining through her eyes. “A great wizard has been planning to destroy the world as we know it.” Nimueh took a breath, her eyes downcast, and shoulders heavy and sagging. “And if we don’t use your powers, Emmeria Ortiz, to stop it, it’s the end of all things.”
It was theatrical and vague on details, just enough to rope someone like Emmy in. How anyone could fall for Nimueh’s poor attempts at entrapment were beyond Corbin. Mordred had been two times more convincing. Nimueh should have let him do all the talking.
“Right,” Corbin said. This was all grievously suspicious and pure rubbish. Though, the words were coldly familiar-the intent of the words-urgent, commanding, like he should try to pay attention to Nimueh’s words, even though the words themselves were off. But, nonetheless-
“Where’s the proof?”
“Corbin,” Emmy hissed, like she was embarrassed by him. Frankly, if anyone should be embarrassed, it was Emmy. Oh, and Nimueh and Mordred for thinking he and his friends were dumb enough to believe their tripe. And Sean-for being so easily distracted by faux leather.
“Who are you?” Nimueh asked, pure arrogance singing through her question. “We offer good will to Emmeria and her friends, but understand this: if this wasn’t an offering of good will, you and your friend would have been locked out of here.”
Inexplicably, Corbin sincerely doubted that. “We’re Emmy’s family, and that’s all you need to know.”
Nimueh gave him a once over, glaring the entire time. “Mordred, attend to Emmeria’s family, please.”
Mordred bellowed foreign words fast, like he thought something was actually-
A strong wind overtook Corbin, his hand ripped from Emmy’s as she screamed and Sean hollered. Once the wind was gone, Corbin shook his head, trying to regain his equilibrium.
Emmy was frozen in place right where they’d been only moments before, her hands tied behind her back, her mouth sealed shut with some sort of magic-green in color, like vomit. He and Sean, on the other hand, we now pressed back to back by some invisible force several feet away from her. Rope flew down from the ceiling, tying he and Sean together, tight, it all happening in a smattering of breaths.
Corbin heard more chanting, this time from Nimueh, and what he saw wasn’t overly reassuring.
A muffled scream came and Corbin saw Emmy as she was lifted off the ground by some invisible power, and floated into the candle strewn circle. An invisible dais rose from the ground like water or sand, solidifying into sarcophagus-shaped tableau right at Nimueh’s waist. Emmy landed atop it none-too-gently, the ropes around her wrists loosening themselves and tying her to the table, once Nimueh muttered dark words under her breath, forcing Emmy’s arms above her head on the table.
Mordred, appearing next to them like the cheap parlor magician he was, smirked at Corbin, seemingly content they’d do no harm. “If you’ll excuse me, we’ve work to do. Our Emmeria’s quite unique.”
“No offense, Emmy,” Sean shouted, “but your predicting powers are utter crap!”
Mordred stopped in his tracks (Nimueh didn’t, she collected what looked like a bowl and a few bottles of greenish-black liquid, Corbin noticed), turned back to Corbin and Sean, eyebrow quirked. “Why would we need her Seeing ability? We need her telekinesis.”
“How did you know about that?” Sean asked as Corbin said, “Do you think we’d let you tie us up if Emmy had the ability?”
Corbin did his best to glare at Sean. Honestly, he was surrounded by idiots.
Mordred shook his head,tsking. “I Saw her. She has the ability, whether she’s mastered it or not, it doesn’t matter. We’ll do it for her.”
“I told you we should have trussed her, tossed her in the closet and thrown away the key,” Corbin said to Sean, struggling ineffectually against the ropes.
“Bully for you,” Sean snarled back, squirming just as much as Corbin. “But excuse me if I thought it was a bad idea. It’s Emmy we’re talking about. I’ve grown attached.” Sean replied, like it was a valid reason.
Before Corbin could spontaneously gain telekinesis powers and club Sean to death, Nimueh started speaking again.
The words sounded a bit like welsh, with a short detour to Germany and maybe Spain. She hissed them over the bowl she’d gathered earlier, a gaseous blue smoke bubbling over the brim, crawling over a struggle Emmy and to the ground, invisible legs seeming to help it spread the length and width of the circle.
Nimueh’s voice grew louder, began to echo around the empty space. Whatever she was saying, it didn’t sound overly friendly.
“Wait, is she going to take Emmy’s powers?” Sean asked, incredulous. “That’s horrible! Someone should do something!”
Corbin sighed.
There were a few things wrong with the situation, if Corbin had his say (and he did). One: The entire situation seemed amateur and cliché. Nimueh and Mordred should be ashamed of themselves. Two: Corbin didn’t think they’d have much longer before Emmy, let alone him and Sean, were dead. Three: Sean and Emmy deserved each other on shear short-sightedness and idiocy alone. Four: Why the hell hadn’t his early defense system been more defense-like of their apparent downfall earlier? Didn’t this count as a dangerous situation? And five: For the love of God, why wasn’t he scared?
Corbin didn’t feel brave, not exactly. He felt unimpressed, like the show of magic, danger and theatrics was beneath him and really, how had Nimueh and Mordred lived this long?
Corbin liked to think his lack of fear of his impending demise was because of a hero complex a meter wide, but it didn’t feel as such. At the moment, he felt reckless, unwisely advised, and deep down, protected.
A dull gleam caught Corbin’s eye. Nimueh (and Mordred beside her, chanting whatever incantation she was) held a dagger coated in the greenish-black liquid from earlier. She held it above her head, staring down at Emmy, who’d as some point lost consciousness.
Nimueh belted at the top of her lungs, what sounded (and felt, to Corbin’s mundane ears) like the crescendo of the spell and brought the dagger down-
And was smacked clear across the warehouse, Mordred joining her not a moment later.
Corbin gasped and Sean screamed as some invisible-thing-scraped Nimueh and Mordred off the wall it’d flung them at, and repeated the process over again.
Oh. That would be me. Corbin looked down at his chest, which glowed brighter than a night light (he could see it through his jumper), his clothes smelling like they were on fire, but somehow not bursting into flames.
The ropes around he and Sean sizzled and before Corbin knew it, they were free. He didn’t waste any time. He was to his feet and by the dais before he’d thought about it, quietly going mad: The energy tied to his chest acted independently of him-he could see it. A large, gold, arm-like sentient thing bursting from his chest like a reject of Aliens.
“Screw my life,” Corbin muttered, the ropes tying Emmy to the dais falling away with just a touch of his fingers.
“Mate,” Sean said, voice filled with awe as he stood on the other side of the dais by Emmy’s head. “You’ve got a Magical Hand of Doom in your chest.”
Corbin followed Sean’s gaze and sure enough, he did.
If Corbin squinted, and turned his head just so, he could see a bit of a golden outline of the energy. It seemed (and felt, once he thought about it) like the ball of energy had mutated into an arm. And the way it smacked and flung Nimueh and Mordred about, it certainly seemed to prove Sean’s claims.
Had the power been laying in wait to attack? Corbin knew it was defensive, but offensive?
The Bee Incident came to mind and Corbin snorted, delighted. Brilliant.
After checking Emmy’s pulse and making sure she was sleeping and not, say, possessed by dark magic, Corbin turned his attention back to the Magical Hand of Doom (Christ, the name had already stuck).
Both Nimueh and Mordred were prone on the floor, just outside the circle. Bloody and broken, both their breaths sounded more like wheezing, though Corbin wasn’t altogether sure Mordred was breathing steadily. Corbin didn’t check.
“Who are you?”
It was Nimueh. She didn’t lift her head, the invisible Hand still doing its best to flatten her. “Why are you protected?” she said, her wheezing weakening.
Those were questions Corbin asked himself nightly.
He watched as the energy continued to hit Nimueh and Mordred, not killing them, oddly, but seeming to beat them out of existence.
Corbin could see both their bodies losing their corporeal forms, fading, getting lighter. Nimueh’s eyes never left Corbin. She watched him with dead eyes, waiting for a response.
“I don’t owe you an answer,” Corbin said, lifting his chin.
As soon as their bodies faded to nothing, the energy having sent Nimueh and Mordred to wherever (Corbin couldn’t begin to guess), he turned his attention to Emmy and Sean.
They were looking at him.
“Why are our lives like this?” Sean bemoaned into the awkward silence that ensued.
“Because we’re magical?” Corbin suggested, reaching for his mobile.
Just as usual, the energy at the center of his chest faded away, quietly, steadily. Corbin expelled a breath, relieved for things to be back to normal-
Corbin bit his tongue, cutting off the girlish shriek. What he freaking freak just happened?
Oh, as soon as the threat was gone, the fear set in. All the bravado and lack of abject fear disappeared with a blink, and like magic, good old brave Corbin Smith returned like he’d never left.
Corbin couldn’t be happier.
“Calling Nick, Emmy, to get us the hell out of here,” Corbin muttered. Not that Emmy or Sean heard.
“She tried to take my powers!” Emmy shrieked from her perch on the dais. She was sitting up at least, her feet dangling over the side as she waved her hands about her, glaring at Sean.
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have believed them!” Sean bellowed back, pacing in front of her, flailing his arms left and right, face red with anger. “Just because a watery tart says it’s the end of all things, doesn’t mean it is.” Sean stepped closer, glared at Emmy. “And just because an emo kid crooks his death-like fingers at you, doesn’t mean you should discount me.”
“What?” Emmy said, face twisted in confusion.
Corbin rolled his eyes. “You sod,” he snarled as the phone rang on Nick’s end. “Kiss her.”
Sean caught the clue just as Nick picked up.
Corbin walked to the warehouse door, dodging the knocked over candles, the gunk that was Nimueh’s spell, smiling despite himself.
Corbin looked over his shoulder, grimaced.
Sean and Emmy were snogging like their lives depended on it.
They continued, even after Corbin explained the situation to Nick (leaving out massive bits, of course) and said his goodbye.
It was about time.
Besides, Sean and Emmy would suss out it was time to leave-eventually. And Corbin didn’t have an urge to talk about all that happened.
Corbin leaned against the ancient door frame, rubbing his chest absently. He looked out and to the midnight sky littered with stars this far away from London proper, the moon large and soothing, the crisp air around him carrying his plumes of breath into the atmosphere.
There was plenty to think about. Tonight was a night of questions and revelations, and very few answers. Corbin seriously underestimated what the thing in his chest could do. Or, magic in his chest-which was starting to become the appropriate terminology, whether Corbin liked it or not.
Not only that, it was sentient when pushed and didn’t seem to have a problem killing something (or close to killing) if the threat was big enough. Corbin guessed, that his father for all his abuse, hadn’t been a threat. At least not the kind the energy inside him thought was relevant enough. So, there was an answer he’d longed for. Unsatisfying, but an answer.
A revelation: Combined with its ability to change form and act independently of Corbin, as well as doing other things, like slow time temporarily, act in a defensive manner, able to understand Corbin’s intent (like when he wanted the ropes binding Emmy gone, the ropes fell away with a brush of his hands), it also had the ability to change Corbin’s feelings in a dangerous situation-to keep him just calm and disinterested enough he could think clearly enough to be the hero he’d always wanted.
What did all this mean? Corbin searched the sky for answers, finding none amongst the stars. He bit his lip, a thought-the thought he’d had most of his life-making itself heard from the recesses of his mind.
Whatever-whomever-put this thing in his chest was powerful. But what was the purpose?
Magic must be dealt with to the utmost care, son. You must make an example of the users, giving them no quarter. Let the pyre lit around them be testament to the ban on magic, and our resolve to uphold our rule-
And why him?
6.
"Do you think Lancelot will return?" Arthur asked, his face shuttered as he pushed his food around on his plate.
It was one of Arthur’s enforced rest days-or rather, the third day of the week where Arthur was devoted (forced, more like) to do court duties, all the things he hated about his Kingship. But Merlin secretly thought Arthur loved the paperwork; in them, his friend did some of his more lasting, profound changes, the sort Merlin thought attested to the real heart of who Arthur was.
The King was having lunch in his room and Merlin joined him, as was their habit. Most days, he watched Arthur eat, as Merlin’s appetite hadn’t really made itself known once he realized he didn’t have to eat. Either way, he enjoyed what Arthur enjoyed, and today it was a simple meal of a meat pie and an assortment of fruit.
“It’s been five years since he left us on the outskirts of Mercia,” Merlin said as he leaned back in his chair, feeling a smile blooming on his face. He stretched his arms above him, releasing the chuckle in his chest. "Lancelot is a very honorable man, your Highness. I think he made his thoughts clear on your intentions toward Gwen." Merlin always thought Lancelot leaving Gwen behind without a word of goodbye was as clear a thought as anyone could get. But it was never going to be that simple. “Are you thinking of finally making your move?”
It wasn’t a secret that the King of Albion was dragging his feet about finding a Queen. Merlin hadn’t been surprised that, in the two years since Arthur became King, he didn’t have a spouse. On his best days, Arthur was picky, and as the task of finding a Queen for the land of Albion would be one of the most important things Arthur did-that wasn’t always the case for Kingship in general, but in Arthur’s case, it played a large role in his future-he was happy Arthur was taking his time.
The last thing Arthur needed to do was pick a Queen who would destroy all of Merlin’s hard work.
Arthur nodded, squinting at Merlin. "I-yes, I think I am ready to make my move."
Arthur pushed back his chair and stood, amusement playing across his face as he looked down at Merlin. "Can you conjure me a bouquet?" Arthur asked, pacing back and forth around the table. "Only the rarest flowers you can think of-but not Mtoo rare. I don't want you to poison her."
Merlin cleared his throat, trying his best to clamp down on his grin. This moment called for somber behavior-even if it was just for laughs later. "Yes, sire.” Merlin nodded solemnly. “Anything else? A minstrel? A pair of fine livestock? Maybe a few rainbows and-”
"Do shut up, Merlin," Arthur cut in snidely, his face breaking out in a grin. "But maybe a rainbow or two, and one of those unicorns you’re so fond of. That shouldn’t be over doing it."
Merlin snorted. "No, of course not. A unicorn, two rainbows, and a bouquet of the world’s most rare flowers, are completely normal." Merlin snickered, watched Arthur manfully ignore both Merlin and the blush pinking on his Highness’ own face.
"Do as you're told, Merlin," the King replied in his haughtiest tone, looking down his nose at Merlin. "I don't keep you around for your mouth."
"No, you keep me around for the magic,” Merlin said, and blanched. “I mean-you don’t just keep me around for my magic-it’s that you’re-”
“It’s alright, Merlin,” Arthur waved a hand at him, taking his chair again. “No one can deny your power, and you’re right, I do use your magic often. You’re the most powerful wizard in the land.”
Merlin snorted, covered it up with a cough. This was the weakest he’d ever been. Not that Arthur or anyone would know as much. Well, Uther would have noticed. And Morgana, if she were in her right mind.
“But,” Arthur continued, knocking his foot against Merlin’s under the table. “I’d be mad if I kept you around for just that alone.” Arthur’s eyes raked over his face, and Merlin felt a blush coat his cheeks. “Your idiocy alone is worth its weight in gold,” Arthur said at length, his eyes ceasing their perusal and landing back on Merlin’s eyes.
Merlin snorted again, this time not covering it up. “I’m beside myself from all these compliments. Please, do continue.”
“I think not,” Arthur said with a laugh. “If I say more, your head will be too large to fit through the door.”
“Was it really love at first sight for you? With Gwen, I mean,” Merlin asked, watched Arthur’s face soften, the King never missing a beat when it came to his abrupt subject changes.
Arthur smiled, eyes growing distant for a moment before settling back on Merlin. “Yes, it was. Once I’d noticed she was there.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “And how exactly does that work out?”
“Not everyone is like you, Merlin,” Arthur chastised, grinning. “We all can’t charge into a room and make grandiose statements to save a friend’s life, or drink poison to make a point, or traipse off to an evil sorceress’ castle and save Morgana for the second time.”
“Oh please,” Merlin pointed a finger in Arthur’s face, outraged. “Don’t act like you weren’t there for every last one of those. It’s hardly fair to pin all that on me-”
“Either way,” Arthur continued with a low level glare in Merlin’s direction. “Not everyone is a legend maker. So, it sometimes takes a little longer for people such as ourselves to notice others. Gwen is…she’s brave, and loyal, and kind hearted and wise and-”
“Beautiful,” Merlin added, the corner of his mouth turned up.
“Beautiful,” Arthur repeated, looking at Merlin funny. “And even though she doesn’t set about life trying to make herself a legend, she’s still memorable.”
Gwen was all those things Arthur said and more, but there was one fault, one pitfall that she would stumble over, time and again.
Lancelot.
Truthfully, it would be better for Merlin to resurrect Sophia from the dead and have her be Queen, than for Gwen to fill the role. Not that he’d tell Arthur that.
“I’ve noticed Gwen hasn’t mentioned Lancelot for a long while now,” Arthur said, searching Merlin’s face.
“Don’t worry Arthur,” Merlin said, faking a long suffering sigh. “She’ll let you court her, no doubt about it.”
No doubt, because Merlin Saw it. Gwen will accept Arthur’s proposal, and they will be married later in the year, and next spring, Lancelot will return, right after Arthur and Merlin have left for the battle against Mercia, the first of many battles that will solidify Arthur as a legend, no, the legend.
But there were other parts-the parts no one talked about after the original legend makers were long dead. No one ever mentioned that the year wouldn’t be out before Gwen, needing consoling because she hadn’t fallen pregnant before Arthur and Merlin left for Mercia, would go to Lancelot. And their affair would start. And it would signify the beginning of the end, even though it was so frighteningly early in Arthur’s reign, and Arthur was just starting to come into his own.
But it would get worse, and Merlin hoped against hope that Morgana will be of use and not a hindrance. He still had hope-Morgana said it would be alright in the end. Merlin had to believe it was still the case.
Even if, just last week, Morgana had a vision of Mordred.
★
Merlin couldn’t imagine Gwen and Lancelot not existing during this day and age. Fate, Destiny, whoever, would bring them back, even if it was just to spite Merlin.
He’d checked on Gwen and Lancelot while Arthur was alive the first time. It was as if they’d leeched all the love and joy from Arthur’s life and added it to their own. All that concerned Gwen and Lancelot was their love and what their love could do for them.
The sad part was, they didn’t even realize they did it.
They had no idea how much people-namely, Arthur-sacrificed so they could love each other. Just for that, Merlin couldn’t sympathize with their situation. Arthur forgave them the first time around, but Merlin lacked the ability.
Merlin hoped that Arthur, this time around, was spared any feelings toward either Gwen or Lancelot. He hoped Arthur never met them.
“You know what your problem is?” Archie said from Merlin’s shoulder as they enjoyed the evening out on the terrace.
“I’m sure you’ll tell me,” Merlin answered, lounging against the cushions, lazily counting the stars above them.
“You want Arthur as devoted to you as you are to him,” Archie said as he hopped off Merlin’s shoulder and sat by his ankles on the chaise lounge. “It’s not going to happen.”
Merlin looked at Archie; a tree a few meters away snapped in half, falling to the ground with a resounding crash, the earth underneath Merlin and Archie trembled.
“I don’t want that,” Merlin said after the noise dispersed into the forest around them. “And if it were like that, it would be a complete disaster.”
“You’re avoiding again,” Archie sing-songed. “And this level of avoidance will get you nowhere.”
“Why does everyone think I’m avoiding?” Merlin said as he sat up, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Who’s everyone?” Archie asked, head tilted. “You don’t talk to anyone except me. And no, you aren’t fine, Merlin. There are things you need to let go.”
Merlin stood, paced the length of the terrace. “What is there to let go? I’ve got nothing. All I have is my memories, and that’s all I’m ever going to have. So excuse me if I think about a time in my life where I had an actual friend I didn’t have to conjure.”
“I don’t want you to let go of the memories,” Merlin heard Archie say to his back as he paced away from the chair. “Just of what Arthur Pendragon used to be. There’s a high chance that he won’t be the boy you once knew. There’s no guarantees he won’t have a drastic personality change.”
Merlin snorted, turning back to Archie. “He won’t be too changed. He wouldn’t be Arthur, once and future king, if that were the case.”
“Fine,” Archie dipped his head, conceding. “But be prepared if he doesn’t automatically embrace his destiny.”
Merlin frowned at Archie. “Why are you telling me all this?” he asked, walking back to the lounge and sitting down.
“Don’t you think you’ve wasted enough time as it is?” Archie said, giving Merlin a doleful look. “It’s time.”
Merlin was already shaking his head before Archie finished. “No, we’re not ready yet. There’s still plenty to do.”
Archie sighed, turned his head and looked at the broken tree, looked at Merlin askance. “You know next to nothing about him. You rely too much on the spell to keep him safe and blatantly avoid any information you might attain through all our wanderings. What are you doing, Merlin? You agreed to see Morgana, and two years later, you still haven’t. We’ve been busy bees, but have produced no honey-”
“We’re giving him time to grow,” Merlin cut in. “He needs the chance to thrive and have the life he deserves. Trouble free existence-”
“He’s sixteen now,” Archie said, raising his voice. “If we give him any more time to grow, he’ll be old and dead by the time you’re ready to face him, changed Arthur or not.”
“But, it’s for-”
“What did you tell me when you gave me life?” Archie said quietly, eyes steady on Merlin. “You told me to prevent you from making more regrets. You asked me to tell you everything you didn’t want to hear.”
Merlin looked away from Archie and to the sky, his eyes burning. “Yeah.”
“It’s time, Merlin.”
Merlin turned back to Archie, forcing a smile; the tree repaired itself and stood tall and proud once again. “Yes, it’s time,” he said, blinking out of existence.
★
“You’re asexual,” Emmy said, matter-of-fact. “There’s no other explanation for it.”
Despite the first kiss (snog, really) Emmy and Sean shared the night of the Nimueh and Mordred debacle, they’d been dating unofficially since they were twelve-Corbin had proof
(googley eyes, mostly, but for Emmy and Sean, that might as well be proposals of marriage). But Emmy wanted to do couple-y things with Sean and Corbin, things she couldn’t convince them to do (like double dates and all that sickening rubbish) because Corbin wouldn’t cooperate, the fault resting with his “obvious” asexuality. Corbin couldn’t be angry at Emmy, he understood her reasoning. They-him, Emmy and Sean-did things as a group, always.
Emmy and Sean spent most of their childhood dancing round each other, and Corbin got over being the ever-present gooseberry when they were eight. Up until recently, Corbin hadn’t wanted to be separated from them any more than Emmy and Sean wanted to be from him. They were a unit, always and forever. Besides, Corbin was brilliant, and he wouldn’t be doing anyone any favors by depriving them (nay, the world) of all this. There would be panic in the streets.
But now, at the collective age of sixteen (fine, Sean was freshly seventeen and with a brand new Porsche, but really, no one was counting any of that except the car. Sean’s mental age was much lower than his actual age, which had stopped at thirteen), the three of them always together, seemed odd. They were too close.
“Or,” Sean said as he stopped twirling in Corbin’s desk chair, gave an Emmy incriminate glare, “Corbin hasn’t met the right girl.”
Corbin nodded, co-signing heartily. Sean was always a great mate-
“It’ll take a very special sort of girl to be with him,” Sean continued. “What with the odd things he mutters-and the high chance the Magical Hand of Doom could as easily swat her down as shake her hand.”
Sean could be an idiot, but he was honest-brutally so. Corbin did say odd things at random moments, he had to admit. And the energy in his chest might have well been a certified weapon.
But-“Git,” Corbin grumbled as he shifted on the beanbag chair by his bed.
For a change of scenery, Emmy and Sean met at Corbin’s flat instead of Corbin catching a cab to one of their homes (or their drivers coming to pick him up, which was the habit of things). Thanks to Corbin’s mum’s position working for Emmy’s mum, he and his mum could avoid the tube more often than not-well, they still rode with Emmy’s parents frequently, but Igraine refused to count on connections to get Corbin in Uni, so they lived in Kingston in a two bedroom flat that allowed them to live semi-comfortably. But he’d picked up a few more shifts at the grocer down the road; just in case he needed money for the tube or other activities.
His room wasn’t small, exactly, but compared to Emmy and Sean’s gargantuan dwellings, it was miniscule. He had a single bed pushed up against the wall opposite the door, small desk and a three-tier bookcase against the other wall by his closet, bed, a bean bag squeezed into the last bit of space between Corbin’s bed and desk.
Corbin couldn’t feel any more like the charity case that he was when Emmy and Sean came round, but they never made him feel that way.
Emmy grinned, clapped her hands from her repose on Corbin’s bed. “What about Vivian? She’s been eyeing you for ages. Why don’t you ask her out?”
Corbin shuddered. Vivian eyed him, alright. She also broke into his locker and left photo-shopped photos of them together at varying sporting events. The one with him and Emmy that the crazy harpy has pasted her face over Emmy’s, smiling garishly, still gave Corbin nightmares.
“Um, no. Vivian’s a pass,” he said giving Emmy a betrayed look. “I don’t need to be set up, okay? Why don’t you two go out by yourselves tonight?” he suggested, looked between Emmy and Sean’s dubious faces. “You haven’t had a date ever, am I right?”
Sean turned in the chair, listing back and forth as he inspected Corbin. “Is there something you haven’t told us, mate? You aren’t really asexual, are you?”
Corbin shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes, envisioned them as kabob sticks. “Just because I want the lot of you to have a proper date by yourselves, doesn’t mean I’m asexual.” He suppressed the urge to leap from his flat, and looked at his friends. “You two are capable of doing things without me, aren’t you?”
“You’re not the center of our world,” Sean said, as Emmy-“I’m not sure,” said at the same time, fiddling with her thumb nail, lips curled.
Corbin willfully ignored Emmy for his touch-and-go sanity, arching a brow at Sean. “Prove it. Go out tonight.”
Sean nodded, accepting Corbin’s challenge. “We will, and it will be amazing.”
“Are you sure about this?” Emmy asked, searching Corbin’s face while Sean stood and yanked on her arm. “It all seems a bit sudden.”
Corbin smiled. Bless Emmy and her sweet, sweet heart. “I’ll be fine. Don’t you think it’s odd you and Sean don’t do anything alone?”
Emmy shrugged, her eyes still on Corbin as Sean dragged her (muttering quite colorful swear words, prattling on about epic adventures or some such nonsense) to the bedroom door. “But that’s what we’re here for: to keep your loneliness away.”
Corbin flinched. Emmy hadn’t Seen anything pertaining to him for so long, Corbin forgot what it was like to be the subject of that look, that voice.
Not that Emmy had to See anything. Corbin’s loneliness was a fact; a part of who he was, among other things.
The energy in his chest wasn’t what made Corbin odd. It was the madness that course through his veins.
What Corbin could remember of his father was sparse. He suspected it was his way of blocking out the worst of times. Either way, Arthur Smith was dour when he wasn’t raving to the general populace that magic did exist, and it was going to destroy the world. The only way to eradicate it was to rise as a people and end the lives of any and every person who might embrace magic.
At fifteen, in a bout of frankness Corbin hadn’t expected of his mother, (they did not talk about his father as a rule) she explained why Corbin hadn’t shared his father’s name.
“Your father believed he was cursed,” she’d whispered, her eyes focused out the kitchen window, a mug of tea gripped tight in her hands that masked most of her tired, weary face. “And anyone with the name Arthur was destined to have a horrible, troublesome, lonely life.”
It didn’t help that all of Corbin’s relatives on his father’s side with the name Arthur either lived or died tragically.
Just like any disease, Arthur had good days and bad.
On the good days, Corbin’s father would sit him down and regale him with epic stories. Tales filled with dragons, towering castles, noble Kings and their fight against dragons, warlocks and other supernatural beings. The King and his knights didn’t always win, but they lived to fight another day. Corbin valued the good days, they were rare.
The bad days were plentiful. Arthur was abusive to his wife and child, not limiting himself to the verbal side of the equation. Truthfully, Corbin preferred the various bruises, gashes and broken bones to what Arthur could spew at him on any given day.
Father said a plethora of things on the darkest days, none of them lending to sense, at first. But Corbin supposed they made a sort of sense, and not to just Father.
There had been a time line to his father’s outbursts and ramblings, Corbin figured out when he was twelve, but not necessarily the same life. Or, Corbin hoped it wasn’t the same life.
“He built Stonehenge for me,” Arthur would say early in the day, usually signaling to Corbin and Mum it wouldn’t be one of those rare happy days. “Said he’d protect me forever.”
“He told me all about you,” his father would say to Corbin later in the day, a beatific smile on his face that chilled Corbin to the bone. “He told me you would be such a great King. You would continue what I’d accomplished.”
It went downhill from there, without fail.
“He killed me and you let him do it!” Arthur would growl, usually with his hands wrapped round Corbin’s neck. “Why would you do that? He should have burned. You should have avenged me!”
By that time, his mum would usually wake up from where father had kicked or hit her unconscious and she’d jump on father’s back, or better yet, administer the long overdue injection.
By then, Corbin had almost always blacked out, but like always, he heard Arthur’s parting words before fleeing to the darkness. The same words every time.
“I hope you died alone,” Arthur would snarl, spittle flying. “I hope he betrayed you like you both betrayed me.”
Corbin didn’t look forward to the years ahead, for the most part. He never thought too hard on why he’d become such good friends with Emmy, despite his father’s dark words against magic repeating in his head non-stop for the first year after they met at the law firm’s Christmas party. But, there hadn’t been a need for exploration, of explanation. Corbin knew why: Emmy (and Sean, just by being there) relieved his loneliness, kept any voices from another time, another life at bay.
But, as wonderful as their constant presence was, Emmy and Sean didn’t relieve the burden and belief that someone out there in the world really hated Corbin.
Frankly, if it wasn’t for the energy pulsing in him, Corbin was pretty sure he would’ve already descended into madness ages ago. And not just because of all the protecting the energy had been up to.
It gave Corbin hope for the future. The energy in his chest meant someone wanted to protect him, yes; but it also meant someone cared. They thought Corbin more than a charity case, that he had worth.
So, Corbin waited, not exactly lonely with Emmy and Sean, but not fully content either. He waited, hoping his benefactor-real protector, not just raw power-would show himself and give Corbin the chance to thank him for keeping him sane.
Corbin smiled at Emmy again, coming out of his reverie. “Go,” he said, made shooing motions with his hands. “I’ll wait here.”
In the end, it was all he could do.
★
Emmy and Sean weren’t gone two hours before Corbin’s mobile rang.
He rolled his eyes, bemused. Cleary he was going to need to start a weaning process for his friends. “Hullo?”
“Corbin!” Emmy said, her usual excitement up ten notches, at least. “You won’t believe who Sean just hit!”
[4/8]
5.
Merlin was pissed, and not in the good way.
“There has to be an explanation for this,” Merlin said to Archimedes as he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, blinking away the rest of the steam upon it. “This has to be a complete setup, and if we don’t figure out who’s messing in Destiny’s territory, we’ll be in trouble.”
“It doesn’t have to be anything, Magic Man,” Archie said as he pecked at his feathers, resting in the middle of Merlin’s California King bed. “Just coincidence.” He looked at Merlin through the door slowly, lazily. “But that’s certainly not the case.”
Merlin sighed. “I know, I know,” he said, hair drying completely before his breath left his body. “It doesn’t make any sense. My time here is shortening, but it’s not that short.”
Archie gave him a level, unimpressed look as Merlin exited the bathroom, encased in pants and a white undershirt. “You’re in denial, Merlin. This situation makes perfect sense.”
Merlin stilled by the bed, returning Archie’s regard. “You think Nimueh and Mordred are at work?” he closed his eyes, rubbed his nose with the palm of his left hand, thinking; thinking. “If that’s true, then-”
“I’m not the one convinced history will repeat itself,” Archie exclaimed as he took flight from the bed and landed on Merlin’s messy dresser. “For all we know, they could be working independently from her, but that’s not likely. She’s been awake for quite a few years.”
“But she can’t,” Merlin said, flabbergasted, sitting down on the bed in a slump, stared at the thick white carpet under his feet. “She doesn’t have the excuses she did last time. If she’s working with Nimueh and Mordred, it could only mean-”
“Fate’s gotten to her,” Archie finished, concern threading his voice.
“Then…” Merlin looked over at Archie, at a loss, his brain spinning, spinning. “Then that means we’re truly on our own.”
He’d known about Nimueh and Mordred’s rebirths for a little under seventeen years (twenty-five, in Nimueh’s case), just as he’d known about Gaius’. Merlin couldn’t fool himself into thinking Nimueh and Mordred would be innocent of wrongdoing this time round (history repeated itself, whether he wanted it to or not), but he thought he had more time.
And as for whom they’d aligned themselves with again-
“You’ve been lying to yourself for years,” Archie chastised gently. “You’ve been preparing yourself to strike, telling yourself it’s to fight for humanity, for Arthur, but that’s a lie. You’ve been preparing to take on Fate, and if you have to, Morgana.”
“Don’t call her that,” Merlin muttered distractedly. He clenched his fists, was dressed in grey trousers and a blue jumper a moment later. “I don’t want to kill her.”
“I never said you did-aloud,” Archie intoned, rolling his head to Merlin as the warlock crossed his bedroom. “But you can’t force her to do anything she doesn’t wish, not without repercussions for you. And if she’s…on the wrong side, you’re hand will be forced and there won’t be any consequences.”
Merlin laughed. “Thanks, I’m reassured that you’ve thought about this,” he said over his shoulder, walking through the floor to the kitchen, Archie swan diving through the floor a moment after.
His house was nice, but simple. Five sizable bedrooms, one a master suite, three full bathrooms, a restaurant style kitchen, the living room (on the first floor with the kitchen and two of the smaller bedrooms) could easily fit fifteen or so people, and-
Right. Merlin looked around his kitchen, visualized the rest of the estate. The house wasn’t largish, it was bloody enormous; and it wasn’t a house, but a three storey mansion.
Merlin had lived in a lot of small places since the first two times round, and this was going to be his last few years. So why not live in the lap of luxury for a bit?
Merlin turned on the right hob on the first cooker as soon as his feet hit the kitchen floor. There was already a kettle there and, well, sometimes making tea the mundane way tasted better than by magic.
“Go and talk to her.”
Merlin looked at the top of the fridge where Archie perched. “Talk,” Merlin repeated, eyed Archie for possession. “And why would I talk to her? Hm? If she’s decided to go against me again, what would be the point?”
“You know, there was a time when talking would have been your first course of action,” Archie drawled. “But I’m starting to see your reasoning.”
“Do you want to kill her?” Merlin asked, a little surprised. Archie didn’t have a problem with Merlin taking a life (if Archie had a problem with it, he wouldn’t still be there). Merlin did as much when he’d acquired Archie during the plague years, but Archie didn’t make a habit of looking for a reason.
“Don’t you?” Archie replied, his gold eyes swirling. “That hasn’t been a problem before. From what I understand, you’ve been underplaying yourself for quite some time. Don’t you think it’s time you finished this? Properly?”
“I-”
“Yes, yes, I know. It’s not that simple,” Archie cut in, sounding tired. “Then prove me wrong. Go see her; take her by surprise and regain control of the situation. Merlin, this is still your time. She’s encroaching on you.”
Merlin blinked at the owl. Archie had a point; a very good one, though Merlin doubted he could ever surprise her. “It’ll let me know once and for all where her loyalties stand and how I have to act.”
“And give you a chance to clear the air,” Archie chimed in.
Merlin snorted. Clear the air with her? He sincerely doubted it was possible. For that, she would have to apologize for her role in Arthur’s death. “Maybe I should visit Nimueh and Mordred, too. Maybe get rid of them before they pose a problem?”
Archie whipped his head back and forth. “There shouldn’t be a need for it. If she’s working with those two buffoons, I don’t see her letting them do much: Control is the name of the game, this time around.”
“Control has always been the name of the game,” Merlin corrected, cutting off the kettle as it whistled. “I’ll have to come back for tea later. I’ve some errands to run.” He glanced at Archie as the bird cleaned his feathers. “I might see her today. Did you want to come?”
Archie snorted, looked at Merlin and rolled his eyes. “I’ll pass, thanks. I like my feathers unsigned, if you don’t mind.”
Merlin mustered up a smile. “It won’t be as bad as all that.” It could be worse.
Archie grunted, flapped his wings. “Are we back to denial again?”
Merlin laughed, shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of wishful thinking.”
★
School life for Corbin had simplified, but that could not be said for Emmy. Well, it wasn’t school that was to blame. Just the acquaintances she met while there.
There was a new student at school. He appeared mid-year, which it could have been worse, what with GCSEs and all.
The new boy was an eleventh year, had a smoking habit and was heavily into the emo scene. The academy didn’t get many mid-year admissions, and none at the new boy’s level, but the new kid didn’t seem to care about that. He seemed to be on a mission from the moment he set foot on the campus, and it wasn’t academic.
They were sitting at one of the tables in the promenade for lunch, Corbin, Emmy and Sean, when the energy in Corbin’s chest flared to life, burning and rattling violently. Corbin nearly choked on the crisp he’d just swallowed. He gagged, hunched over and before he could blink, both Emmy and Sean were patting his back.
“Are you alright?” Emmy asked, handed Corbin his bottle of water, face the picture of concern as she picked up her own fork to return to her salad.
Corbin nodded absently, casting his eyes about the promenade, trying to find the cause of his discomfort (and being a little angry that Emmy and Sean-who’d’ patted him once before snatching a few crisps from Corbin’s plate before he’d recovered-weren’t a little more concerned) . The energy didn’t normally warn Corbin so aggressively, or much at all. Corbin liked to think it let him live his life, and if he got into a little trouble, it was there to bail him out. Which was the case, most of the time. It had a funny definition of help, actually. It was there when he’d nearly cracked his head open seven years ago, and protected him from bullies, but if he was disciplined by his mum (she loved to swat him with a spoon when he tasted dinner before it was ready-why did she have to be so cruel?), it stayed out of his way, and up until last year when his father finally…left, he seemed to heal faster, and the pain wasn’t as bad, but didn’t stop the beatings. So yeah, funny way of helping.
“Name’s Timothy,” the raven haired new student said, appearing out of nowhere, munching loudly on an apple, pale and gaunt cheeks bulging. “But anyone important calls me Mordred. That’s who I was, once upon a time.”
“The Mordred?” Emmy stuttered, incredulous, the lettuce on her fork going limp.
Tim-no, Mordred grinned. “Yep. Pleased to meet you, Emmeria Ortiz.”
Emmy tittered, a habit she’d picked up on her twelfth birthday, to Corbin and Sean’s chagrin.
Alright, to Corbin’s chagrin; Sean didn’t seem to mind, the tosser. “Anyone important calls me Emmy.”
Mordred inclined his head regally, reached out and took Emmy’s hand. “I’m honored, Emmy.” He kissed her hand, a brush of lips against skin.
Of course, Emmy was smitten.
Corbin didn’t like that, not one bit. Neither had Sean, but Corbin figured it was for different reasons.
“How do you know her?” Corbin and Sean said simultaneously, Corbin didn’t bother to look at Sean. When it came to Emmy and protecting her, the time for fun was over.
Mordred smirked at them, a bemused sort of look crossing his face, like Corbin and Sean were some kind of dog and pony show: entertaining, but ultimately useless. “I saw here in a vision, several weeks ago,” Mordred declared, blasé. “I came here just to meet you,” he looked at Emmy, earnest.
Emmy ate it up, her eyes big as saucers. “You have visions too? I thought I was the only one.”
Corbin’s chest throbbed, the early defense system (for lack of a better word) coiling in his ribcage, preparing to strike. The power heated his skin, and words whispered in the air in a strange tongue. Corbin glanced at Sean, Emmy and the Mordred bloke, noting that no one else seemed to have noticed the quiet words. Corbin closed his eyes, listening. The words-the voice-was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Maybe he was finally going mad; but Corbin didn’t think it was time for that, not just yet. Corbin opened his eyes, stared at Mordred and Emmy’s clasped hands.
The energy vibrated like a plucked string, beating against Corbin’s chest. It burned bright, and-
“Uh, yes,” Mordred blinked, dropping Emmy’s hand like a dead weight.
The power in Corbin’s chest calmed to a slow burn.
Huh. Corbin shared a look with Sean. He glanced at his chest, raised a brow.
“What do you want with Emmy?” Sean asked, not bothering to be cordial. Corbin hid his smirk; he could always count on his best friend to follow directions when it counted.
“There’s something coming,” Mordred said without preamble, his blasé tone dropping just as fast as he’d dropped Emmy’s hand. “An event. We think Emmy can help us. In fact, we know it.”
“Know it?” Emmy said, nose scrunched up, tone threaded with both flattered delight and curiosity.
Mordred shrugged, eyes skating over Emmy’s face. “It’s Destiny.”
“What sort of event?” Corbin asked, folded his arms over his chest, felt the heat and power through his jumper.
Mordred looked at Corbin and Sean in turn, his bright blue eyes taking on an intense edge. “What are you to her?” he asked, blunt.
“Her protectors,” Corbin and Sean said together, their tones brooking no arguments. “And if you’re going to be doing anything with Emmy,” Corbin continued.
“It will be with us, too.” Sean finished, clipped.
“Kinky,” Mordred wagged his eyebrows, apparently unconcerned with their half veiled threat.”I’m liking you two more and more.”
Mordred stood, a sheaf of paper floated onto their table out of nowhere. “Tonight, meet me there,” Mordred glanced at Corbin and Sean. “All of you. You’ll get more information when you arrive.”
Sean snatched the paper out of the air. “The docks?” he said, after a survey of the paper, incredulous.
“We need room to operate,” Mordred said, inclining his head and walked away without another word.
“I take it your sparkly senses were tingling,” Sean said as soon as Mordred was a good distance away.
Sean insisted on calling Corbin’s early defense system that, when no other name was forthcoming except, well, early defense system, but Sean ignored the (constant) suggestion, deeming it unworthy a name for what it did-the metaphorical vagina jokes it gave Sean. It didn’t tingle but burned, but that lead to all sorts of STD jokes-and Corbin would rather be female than diseased.
“Thought it was going to attack him when he held your hand,” Corbin commented to Emmy and Sean both, ignoring Sean’s snickering like the gentleman he was. “I don’t trust him.”
“You’ve been wrong before,” Emmy pointed out, lips curled. “This could be another one of those times.”
“It was once,” Corbin countered, irritated. “How was I supposed to know Jessica was harmless at the time?”
Nicholas, Emmy’s older brother, had met Jessica Talbott on a tour of Greece with his girlfriend Daniella during their gap year. Nick invited Jessica back to his home and upon meeting Jessica, Corbin’s early defense system burned so bright and hot, he’d passed out.
But, for whatever reason, upon waking and near passing out all over again, Jessica touched his chest, and the burning eased. Even with their combined efforts at interrogation, Jessica swore she didn’t know how she did it; if she did it, but Corbin hadn’t been convinced.
“One time,” Corbin reiterated, shaking a finger at Emmy. “Doesn’t mean it’s wrong now.”
“Maybe,” Emmy said, looked in the direction Mordred had gone, looking wistful.
Corbin sighed.
★
“This is mad,” Sean despaired for the umpteenth time as the car came to a halt at the shipping yard.
From lunch time, straight through classes, with texting during trips to the toilet and between lectures, Corbin and Sean tried to convince Emmy it was a bad idea to go see the Mordred bloke wanted to no avail.
Corbin wasn’t surprised. Once Emmy got it into her head to do something, come hell or high water, she was going to do it.
Emmy was the first out of the black cab, her grey eyes flitted about with expectation and delight, even at ten pm. “I’m so excited,” she said. “Maybe here we’ll get answers.” She glanced at Corbin, so much hope in her face. “Answers for all of us.”
The ship yard looked just as ominous as the ones Corbin saw on the telly, times ten. Hell, the brick building-their destination, by the looks of it-looked like a set piece of all the gangster films he’d seen, or of the buildings he’d seen in most of Noelle Clark’s gritty films-the ones asking for a shoot out or a regrouping after a bank heist.
To make matters worse, there were three (count them: one-two-three) black cats that scurried past them as they made their way to the entrance of the building. Two of whom went under a ladder balanced against a hollowed out supply ship, the other getting into an epic battle of wills with an open umbrella just sitting inside one of the dilapidated outbuildings they’d passed to the warehouse.
Corbin shared a glance with Sean.
They were doomed.
“Right,” Corbin said as they made it (safely-surprisingly) to the door. There was a buzzer beside the burned, rusted, metal door.
With shaking fingers, Emmy pressed the buzzer. The buzzer didn’t buzz; instead it gonged the chorus of Canada’s national anthem.
“See?” Emmy tittered nervously. “What more proof do you need that we’re safe.”
The door opened on its own power with a clichéd creak of rusty hinges.
Corbin pinched the bridge of his nose. Nope, that wasn’t ominous. Not at all.
As soon as they stepped foot inside the warehouse, Corbin’s chest came on like a house on fire.
The inside of the warehouse, unlike the outside, was massive, doing a pretty impressive impersonation of what Corbin thought the TARDIS would look like, if all its rooms were placed side-by-side. There were stairs that lead up to a backroom and balcony on the right side of the building a few (dozen? The place was big enough to fit of the yard’s largest ships inside it, easy) meters from where he, Sean and Emmy stood. The place smelled of rosemary and other such herbs, would’ve been black as pitch if not for all the candles scattered on almost all available surfaces, even the stairs, save for a circle in the center of the large space, quite a few meters wide, lit with a spotlight of its own unknown power source, given there was no spotlight present when Corbin lifted his head and looked at the ceiling, expecting to see it. It wasn’t there, of course.
Yes, that was normal.
“Welcome.”
Beside him, Emmy and Sean jumped, obviously surprised by Mordred’s abrupt appearance in the circle they were standing just outside of. Corbin hadn’t been surprised, his trusty defense system having slowed down time so he could see Mordred slowly materialize.
Why Corbin’s defense system hadn’t gone berserk yet, given this entire situation was an obvious setup, was beyond him.
Corbin slipped his hand into Emmy’s, lending her strength. They’d tried transferring power before, he and Emmy; it didn’t work, but Corbin thought it was the thought that counted.
Don’t fail me tonight. Corbin tightened his hold on Emmy’s hand when, in a puff of smoke, another figure appeared. Not when I’ll need you the most.
“I didn’t think you’d grace us with your presence,” the voice-female-said before all the smoke cleared.
Once the smoke cleared, Corbin wished it would come back.
Physically, the woman was around an eight-point-two out of ten for attractiveness, Corbin estimated. Peaches and cream skin, shiny shoulder length brown hair (he’d get back to that in a moment), curves in all the right places. Given a chance (and enough lager) Corbin would hit it. But she lost all points for her leather (“leather” Corbin felt obligated to say, actually) kink-she looked dipped in it, and not in the good way-her hair done up in partial braids like a nineties American grunge video (or one of those films Mel Gibson had been famous for in the eighties, where they rode round the desert looking for water and driving petrol trucks like faithful steeds). And by size if her pupils-miniscule, compared to the navy blue of her eyes-a staggering heroin habit.
“Nice,” Corbin heard Sean say beside Emmy.
Corbin sighed.
“I thought it would take more time to convince you to come,” the woman said, looking at Emmy. He and Sean might as well not been there for all the attention she gave them. Luckily for Emmy, they were. “But Mordred assured me you’d come.” The woman smiled. “I am Nimueh.”
“You’re Nimueh,” Emmy trilled next to Corbin, oblivious to the danger around them. How that was possible-
“Like the Lady of the Lake,” Emmy cut off Corbin’s thoughts, grinning at Nimueh. “Like Merlin’s lost love?”
Oh. Corbin rolled his eyes. Tragic romance: this is how she’s oblivious. It was left up to him to save them all.
Nimueh looked a little green under the magical (how did they get themselves into these sorts of things? Really?) spotlight. “Yes, something like that.”
“Tell her why she’s here,” Mordred chimed in next to Nimueh, eyeing Emmy in a way that rose Corbin’s hackles. His chest thrummed with energy, the fire from earlier curling inside him and resting just above Corbin’s heart, building slowly, taking shape. To what, he had no idea.
Corbin schooled his face to keep what was happening inside him under wraps for now, wary. Alright, not so much wary, as it would be horrendously stupid to give away perhaps the only chance they’d have of getting out of there unharmed.
Nimueh (and Mordred, like a dog) stepped closer to them, stopping just shy of the candles, her face lit with grim determination. “In a few years time, there will be a battle,” Nimueh began, a dark anticipation shining through her eyes. “A great wizard has been planning to destroy the world as we know it.” Nimueh took a breath, her eyes downcast, and shoulders heavy and sagging. “And if we don’t use your powers, Emmeria Ortiz, to stop it, it’s the end of all things.”
It was theatrical and vague on details, just enough to rope someone like Emmy in. How anyone could fall for Nimueh’s poor attempts at entrapment were beyond Corbin. Mordred had been two times more convincing. Nimueh should have let him do all the talking.
“Right,” Corbin said. This was all grievously suspicious and pure rubbish. Though, the words were coldly familiar-the intent of the words-urgent, commanding, like he should try to pay attention to Nimueh’s words, even though the words themselves were off. But, nonetheless-
“Where’s the proof?”
“Corbin,” Emmy hissed, like she was embarrassed by him. Frankly, if anyone should be embarrassed, it was Emmy. Oh, and Nimueh and Mordred for thinking he and his friends were dumb enough to believe their tripe. And Sean-for being so easily distracted by faux leather.
“Who are you?” Nimueh asked, pure arrogance singing through her question. “We offer good will to Emmeria and her friends, but understand this: if this wasn’t an offering of good will, you and your friend would have been locked out of here.”
Inexplicably, Corbin sincerely doubted that. “We’re Emmy’s family, and that’s all you need to know.”
Nimueh gave him a once over, glaring the entire time. “Mordred, attend to Emmeria’s family, please.”
Mordred bellowed foreign words fast, like he thought something was actually-
A strong wind overtook Corbin, his hand ripped from Emmy’s as she screamed and Sean hollered. Once the wind was gone, Corbin shook his head, trying to regain his equilibrium.
Emmy was frozen in place right where they’d been only moments before, her hands tied behind her back, her mouth sealed shut with some sort of magic-green in color, like vomit. He and Sean, on the other hand, we now pressed back to back by some invisible force several feet away from her. Rope flew down from the ceiling, tying he and Sean together, tight, it all happening in a smattering of breaths.
Corbin heard more chanting, this time from Nimueh, and what he saw wasn’t overly reassuring.
A muffled scream came and Corbin saw Emmy as she was lifted off the ground by some invisible power, and floated into the candle strewn circle. An invisible dais rose from the ground like water or sand, solidifying into sarcophagus-shaped tableau right at Nimueh’s waist. Emmy landed atop it none-too-gently, the ropes around her wrists loosening themselves and tying her to the table, once Nimueh muttered dark words under her breath, forcing Emmy’s arms above her head on the table.
Mordred, appearing next to them like the cheap parlor magician he was, smirked at Corbin, seemingly content they’d do no harm. “If you’ll excuse me, we’ve work to do. Our Emmeria’s quite unique.”
“No offense, Emmy,” Sean shouted, “but your predicting powers are utter crap!”
Mordred stopped in his tracks (Nimueh didn’t, she collected what looked like a bowl and a few bottles of greenish-black liquid, Corbin noticed), turned back to Corbin and Sean, eyebrow quirked. “Why would we need her Seeing ability? We need her telekinesis.”
“How did you know about that?” Sean asked as Corbin said, “Do you think we’d let you tie us up if Emmy had the ability?”
Corbin did his best to glare at Sean. Honestly, he was surrounded by idiots.
Mordred shook his head,tsking. “I Saw her. She has the ability, whether she’s mastered it or not, it doesn’t matter. We’ll do it for her.”
“I told you we should have trussed her, tossed her in the closet and thrown away the key,” Corbin said to Sean, struggling ineffectually against the ropes.
“Bully for you,” Sean snarled back, squirming just as much as Corbin. “But excuse me if I thought it was a bad idea. It’s Emmy we’re talking about. I’ve grown attached.” Sean replied, like it was a valid reason.
Before Corbin could spontaneously gain telekinesis powers and club Sean to death, Nimueh started speaking again.
The words sounded a bit like welsh, with a short detour to Germany and maybe Spain. She hissed them over the bowl she’d gathered earlier, a gaseous blue smoke bubbling over the brim, crawling over a struggle Emmy and to the ground, invisible legs seeming to help it spread the length and width of the circle.
Nimueh’s voice grew louder, began to echo around the empty space. Whatever she was saying, it didn’t sound overly friendly.
“Wait, is she going to take Emmy’s powers?” Sean asked, incredulous. “That’s horrible! Someone should do something!”
Corbin sighed.
There were a few things wrong with the situation, if Corbin had his say (and he did). One: The entire situation seemed amateur and cliché. Nimueh and Mordred should be ashamed of themselves. Two: Corbin didn’t think they’d have much longer before Emmy, let alone him and Sean, were dead. Three: Sean and Emmy deserved each other on shear short-sightedness and idiocy alone. Four: Why the hell hadn’t his early defense system been more defense-like of their apparent downfall earlier? Didn’t this count as a dangerous situation? And five: For the love of God, why wasn’t he scared?
Corbin didn’t feel brave, not exactly. He felt unimpressed, like the show of magic, danger and theatrics was beneath him and really, how had Nimueh and Mordred lived this long?
Corbin liked to think his lack of fear of his impending demise was because of a hero complex a meter wide, but it didn’t feel as such. At the moment, he felt reckless, unwisely advised, and deep down, protected.
A dull gleam caught Corbin’s eye. Nimueh (and Mordred beside her, chanting whatever incantation she was) held a dagger coated in the greenish-black liquid from earlier. She held it above her head, staring down at Emmy, who’d as some point lost consciousness.
Nimueh belted at the top of her lungs, what sounded (and felt, to Corbin’s mundane ears) like the crescendo of the spell and brought the dagger down-
And was smacked clear across the warehouse, Mordred joining her not a moment later.
Corbin gasped and Sean screamed as some invisible-thing-scraped Nimueh and Mordred off the wall it’d flung them at, and repeated the process over again.
Oh. That would be me. Corbin looked down at his chest, which glowed brighter than a night light (he could see it through his jumper), his clothes smelling like they were on fire, but somehow not bursting into flames.
The ropes around he and Sean sizzled and before Corbin knew it, they were free. He didn’t waste any time. He was to his feet and by the dais before he’d thought about it, quietly going mad: The energy tied to his chest acted independently of him-he could see it. A large, gold, arm-like sentient thing bursting from his chest like a reject of Aliens.
“Screw my life,” Corbin muttered, the ropes tying Emmy to the dais falling away with just a touch of his fingers.
“Mate,” Sean said, voice filled with awe as he stood on the other side of the dais by Emmy’s head. “You’ve got a Magical Hand of Doom in your chest.”
Corbin followed Sean’s gaze and sure enough, he did.
If Corbin squinted, and turned his head just so, he could see a bit of a golden outline of the energy. It seemed (and felt, once he thought about it) like the ball of energy had mutated into an arm. And the way it smacked and flung Nimueh and Mordred about, it certainly seemed to prove Sean’s claims.
Had the power been laying in wait to attack? Corbin knew it was defensive, but offensive?
The Bee Incident came to mind and Corbin snorted, delighted. Brilliant.
After checking Emmy’s pulse and making sure she was sleeping and not, say, possessed by dark magic, Corbin turned his attention back to the Magical Hand of Doom (Christ, the name had already stuck).
Both Nimueh and Mordred were prone on the floor, just outside the circle. Bloody and broken, both their breaths sounded more like wheezing, though Corbin wasn’t altogether sure Mordred was breathing steadily. Corbin didn’t check.
“Who are you?”
It was Nimueh. She didn’t lift her head, the invisible Hand still doing its best to flatten her. “Why are you protected?” she said, her wheezing weakening.
Those were questions Corbin asked himself nightly.
He watched as the energy continued to hit Nimueh and Mordred, not killing them, oddly, but seeming to beat them out of existence.
Corbin could see both their bodies losing their corporeal forms, fading, getting lighter. Nimueh’s eyes never left Corbin. She watched him with dead eyes, waiting for a response.
“I don’t owe you an answer,” Corbin said, lifting his chin.
As soon as their bodies faded to nothing, the energy having sent Nimueh and Mordred to wherever (Corbin couldn’t begin to guess), he turned his attention to Emmy and Sean.
They were looking at him.
“Why are our lives like this?” Sean bemoaned into the awkward silence that ensued.
“Because we’re magical?” Corbin suggested, reaching for his mobile.
Just as usual, the energy at the center of his chest faded away, quietly, steadily. Corbin expelled a breath, relieved for things to be back to normal-
Corbin bit his tongue, cutting off the girlish shriek. What he freaking freak just happened?
Oh, as soon as the threat was gone, the fear set in. All the bravado and lack of abject fear disappeared with a blink, and like magic, good old brave Corbin Smith returned like he’d never left.
Corbin couldn’t be happier.
“Calling Nick, Emmy, to get us the hell out of here,” Corbin muttered. Not that Emmy or Sean heard.
“She tried to take my powers!” Emmy shrieked from her perch on the dais. She was sitting up at least, her feet dangling over the side as she waved her hands about her, glaring at Sean.
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have believed them!” Sean bellowed back, pacing in front of her, flailing his arms left and right, face red with anger. “Just because a watery tart says it’s the end of all things, doesn’t mean it is.” Sean stepped closer, glared at Emmy. “And just because an emo kid crooks his death-like fingers at you, doesn’t mean you should discount me.”
“What?” Emmy said, face twisted in confusion.
Corbin rolled his eyes. “You sod,” he snarled as the phone rang on Nick’s end. “Kiss her.”
Sean caught the clue just as Nick picked up.
Corbin walked to the warehouse door, dodging the knocked over candles, the gunk that was Nimueh’s spell, smiling despite himself.
Corbin looked over his shoulder, grimaced.
Sean and Emmy were snogging like their lives depended on it.
They continued, even after Corbin explained the situation to Nick (leaving out massive bits, of course) and said his goodbye.
It was about time.
Besides, Sean and Emmy would suss out it was time to leave-eventually. And Corbin didn’t have an urge to talk about all that happened.
Corbin leaned against the ancient door frame, rubbing his chest absently. He looked out and to the midnight sky littered with stars this far away from London proper, the moon large and soothing, the crisp air around him carrying his plumes of breath into the atmosphere.
There was plenty to think about. Tonight was a night of questions and revelations, and very few answers. Corbin seriously underestimated what the thing in his chest could do. Or, magic in his chest-which was starting to become the appropriate terminology, whether Corbin liked it or not.
Not only that, it was sentient when pushed and didn’t seem to have a problem killing something (or close to killing) if the threat was big enough. Corbin guessed, that his father for all his abuse, hadn’t been a threat. At least not the kind the energy inside him thought was relevant enough. So, there was an answer he’d longed for. Unsatisfying, but an answer.
A revelation: Combined with its ability to change form and act independently of Corbin, as well as doing other things, like slow time temporarily, act in a defensive manner, able to understand Corbin’s intent (like when he wanted the ropes binding Emmy gone, the ropes fell away with a brush of his hands), it also had the ability to change Corbin’s feelings in a dangerous situation-to keep him just calm and disinterested enough he could think clearly enough to be the hero he’d always wanted.
What did all this mean? Corbin searched the sky for answers, finding none amongst the stars. He bit his lip, a thought-the thought he’d had most of his life-making itself heard from the recesses of his mind.
Whatever-whomever-put this thing in his chest was powerful. But what was the purpose?
Magic must be dealt with to the utmost care, son. You must make an example of the users, giving them no quarter. Let the pyre lit around them be testament to the ban on magic, and our resolve to uphold our rule-
And why him?
6.
"Do you think Lancelot will return?" Arthur asked, his face shuttered as he pushed his food around on his plate.
It was one of Arthur’s enforced rest days-or rather, the third day of the week where Arthur was devoted (forced, more like) to do court duties, all the things he hated about his Kingship. But Merlin secretly thought Arthur loved the paperwork; in them, his friend did some of his more lasting, profound changes, the sort Merlin thought attested to the real heart of who Arthur was.
The King was having lunch in his room and Merlin joined him, as was their habit. Most days, he watched Arthur eat, as Merlin’s appetite hadn’t really made itself known once he realized he didn’t have to eat. Either way, he enjoyed what Arthur enjoyed, and today it was a simple meal of a meat pie and an assortment of fruit.
“It’s been five years since he left us on the outskirts of Mercia,” Merlin said as he leaned back in his chair, feeling a smile blooming on his face. He stretched his arms above him, releasing the chuckle in his chest. "Lancelot is a very honorable man, your Highness. I think he made his thoughts clear on your intentions toward Gwen." Merlin always thought Lancelot leaving Gwen behind without a word of goodbye was as clear a thought as anyone could get. But it was never going to be that simple. “Are you thinking of finally making your move?”
It wasn’t a secret that the King of Albion was dragging his feet about finding a Queen. Merlin hadn’t been surprised that, in the two years since Arthur became King, he didn’t have a spouse. On his best days, Arthur was picky, and as the task of finding a Queen for the land of Albion would be one of the most important things Arthur did-that wasn’t always the case for Kingship in general, but in Arthur’s case, it played a large role in his future-he was happy Arthur was taking his time.
The last thing Arthur needed to do was pick a Queen who would destroy all of Merlin’s hard work.
Arthur nodded, squinting at Merlin. "I-yes, I think I am ready to make my move."
Arthur pushed back his chair and stood, amusement playing across his face as he looked down at Merlin. "Can you conjure me a bouquet?" Arthur asked, pacing back and forth around the table. "Only the rarest flowers you can think of-but not Mtoo rare. I don't want you to poison her."
Merlin cleared his throat, trying his best to clamp down on his grin. This moment called for somber behavior-even if it was just for laughs later. "Yes, sire.” Merlin nodded solemnly. “Anything else? A minstrel? A pair of fine livestock? Maybe a few rainbows and-”
"Do shut up, Merlin," Arthur cut in snidely, his face breaking out in a grin. "But maybe a rainbow or two, and one of those unicorns you’re so fond of. That shouldn’t be over doing it."
Merlin snorted. "No, of course not. A unicorn, two rainbows, and a bouquet of the world’s most rare flowers, are completely normal." Merlin snickered, watched Arthur manfully ignore both Merlin and the blush pinking on his Highness’ own face.
"Do as you're told, Merlin," the King replied in his haughtiest tone, looking down his nose at Merlin. "I don't keep you around for your mouth."
"No, you keep me around for the magic,” Merlin said, and blanched. “I mean-you don’t just keep me around for my magic-it’s that you’re-”
“It’s alright, Merlin,” Arthur waved a hand at him, taking his chair again. “No one can deny your power, and you’re right, I do use your magic often. You’re the most powerful wizard in the land.”
Merlin snorted, covered it up with a cough. This was the weakest he’d ever been. Not that Arthur or anyone would know as much. Well, Uther would have noticed. And Morgana, if she were in her right mind.
“But,” Arthur continued, knocking his foot against Merlin’s under the table. “I’d be mad if I kept you around for just that alone.” Arthur’s eyes raked over his face, and Merlin felt a blush coat his cheeks. “Your idiocy alone is worth its weight in gold,” Arthur said at length, his eyes ceasing their perusal and landing back on Merlin’s eyes.
Merlin snorted again, this time not covering it up. “I’m beside myself from all these compliments. Please, do continue.”
“I think not,” Arthur said with a laugh. “If I say more, your head will be too large to fit through the door.”
“Was it really love at first sight for you? With Gwen, I mean,” Merlin asked, watched Arthur’s face soften, the King never missing a beat when it came to his abrupt subject changes.
Arthur smiled, eyes growing distant for a moment before settling back on Merlin. “Yes, it was. Once I’d noticed she was there.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “And how exactly does that work out?”
“Not everyone is like you, Merlin,” Arthur chastised, grinning. “We all can’t charge into a room and make grandiose statements to save a friend’s life, or drink poison to make a point, or traipse off to an evil sorceress’ castle and save Morgana for the second time.”
“Oh please,” Merlin pointed a finger in Arthur’s face, outraged. “Don’t act like you weren’t there for every last one of those. It’s hardly fair to pin all that on me-”
“Either way,” Arthur continued with a low level glare in Merlin’s direction. “Not everyone is a legend maker. So, it sometimes takes a little longer for people such as ourselves to notice others. Gwen is…she’s brave, and loyal, and kind hearted and wise and-”
“Beautiful,” Merlin added, the corner of his mouth turned up.
“Beautiful,” Arthur repeated, looking at Merlin funny. “And even though she doesn’t set about life trying to make herself a legend, she’s still memorable.”
Gwen was all those things Arthur said and more, but there was one fault, one pitfall that she would stumble over, time and again.
Lancelot.
Truthfully, it would be better for Merlin to resurrect Sophia from the dead and have her be Queen, than for Gwen to fill the role. Not that he’d tell Arthur that.
“I’ve noticed Gwen hasn’t mentioned Lancelot for a long while now,” Arthur said, searching Merlin’s face.
“Don’t worry Arthur,” Merlin said, faking a long suffering sigh. “She’ll let you court her, no doubt about it.”
No doubt, because Merlin Saw it. Gwen will accept Arthur’s proposal, and they will be married later in the year, and next spring, Lancelot will return, right after Arthur and Merlin have left for the battle against Mercia, the first of many battles that will solidify Arthur as a legend, no, the legend.
But there were other parts-the parts no one talked about after the original legend makers were long dead. No one ever mentioned that the year wouldn’t be out before Gwen, needing consoling because she hadn’t fallen pregnant before Arthur and Merlin left for Mercia, would go to Lancelot. And their affair would start. And it would signify the beginning of the end, even though it was so frighteningly early in Arthur’s reign, and Arthur was just starting to come into his own.
But it would get worse, and Merlin hoped against hope that Morgana will be of use and not a hindrance. He still had hope-Morgana said it would be alright in the end. Merlin had to believe it was still the case.
Even if, just last week, Morgana had a vision of Mordred.
★
Merlin couldn’t imagine Gwen and Lancelot not existing during this day and age. Fate, Destiny, whoever, would bring them back, even if it was just to spite Merlin.
He’d checked on Gwen and Lancelot while Arthur was alive the first time. It was as if they’d leeched all the love and joy from Arthur’s life and added it to their own. All that concerned Gwen and Lancelot was their love and what their love could do for them.
The sad part was, they didn’t even realize they did it.
They had no idea how much people-namely, Arthur-sacrificed so they could love each other. Just for that, Merlin couldn’t sympathize with their situation. Arthur forgave them the first time around, but Merlin lacked the ability.
Merlin hoped that Arthur, this time around, was spared any feelings toward either Gwen or Lancelot. He hoped Arthur never met them.
“You know what your problem is?” Archie said from Merlin’s shoulder as they enjoyed the evening out on the terrace.
“I’m sure you’ll tell me,” Merlin answered, lounging against the cushions, lazily counting the stars above them.
“You want Arthur as devoted to you as you are to him,” Archie said as he hopped off Merlin’s shoulder and sat by his ankles on the chaise lounge. “It’s not going to happen.”
Merlin looked at Archie; a tree a few meters away snapped in half, falling to the ground with a resounding crash, the earth underneath Merlin and Archie trembled.
“I don’t want that,” Merlin said after the noise dispersed into the forest around them. “And if it were like that, it would be a complete disaster.”
“You’re avoiding again,” Archie sing-songed. “And this level of avoidance will get you nowhere.”
“Why does everyone think I’m avoiding?” Merlin said as he sat up, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Who’s everyone?” Archie asked, head tilted. “You don’t talk to anyone except me. And no, you aren’t fine, Merlin. There are things you need to let go.”
Merlin stood, paced the length of the terrace. “What is there to let go? I’ve got nothing. All I have is my memories, and that’s all I’m ever going to have. So excuse me if I think about a time in my life where I had an actual friend I didn’t have to conjure.”
“I don’t want you to let go of the memories,” Merlin heard Archie say to his back as he paced away from the chair. “Just of what Arthur Pendragon used to be. There’s a high chance that he won’t be the boy you once knew. There’s no guarantees he won’t have a drastic personality change.”
Merlin snorted, turning back to Archie. “He won’t be too changed. He wouldn’t be Arthur, once and future king, if that were the case.”
“Fine,” Archie dipped his head, conceding. “But be prepared if he doesn’t automatically embrace his destiny.”
Merlin frowned at Archie. “Why are you telling me all this?” he asked, walking back to the lounge and sitting down.
“Don’t you think you’ve wasted enough time as it is?” Archie said, giving Merlin a doleful look. “It’s time.”
Merlin was already shaking his head before Archie finished. “No, we’re not ready yet. There’s still plenty to do.”
Archie sighed, turned his head and looked at the broken tree, looked at Merlin askance. “You know next to nothing about him. You rely too much on the spell to keep him safe and blatantly avoid any information you might attain through all our wanderings. What are you doing, Merlin? You agreed to see Morgana, and two years later, you still haven’t. We’ve been busy bees, but have produced no honey-”
“We’re giving him time to grow,” Merlin cut in. “He needs the chance to thrive and have the life he deserves. Trouble free existence-”
“He’s sixteen now,” Archie said, raising his voice. “If we give him any more time to grow, he’ll be old and dead by the time you’re ready to face him, changed Arthur or not.”
“But, it’s for-”
“What did you tell me when you gave me life?” Archie said quietly, eyes steady on Merlin. “You told me to prevent you from making more regrets. You asked me to tell you everything you didn’t want to hear.”
Merlin looked away from Archie and to the sky, his eyes burning. “Yeah.”
“It’s time, Merlin.”
Merlin turned back to Archie, forcing a smile; the tree repaired itself and stood tall and proud once again. “Yes, it’s time,” he said, blinking out of existence.
★
“You’re asexual,” Emmy said, matter-of-fact. “There’s no other explanation for it.”
Despite the first kiss (snog, really) Emmy and Sean shared the night of the Nimueh and Mordred debacle, they’d been dating unofficially since they were twelve-Corbin had proof
(googley eyes, mostly, but for Emmy and Sean, that might as well be proposals of marriage). But Emmy wanted to do couple-y things with Sean and Corbin, things she couldn’t convince them to do (like double dates and all that sickening rubbish) because Corbin wouldn’t cooperate, the fault resting with his “obvious” asexuality. Corbin couldn’t be angry at Emmy, he understood her reasoning. They-him, Emmy and Sean-did things as a group, always.
Emmy and Sean spent most of their childhood dancing round each other, and Corbin got over being the ever-present gooseberry when they were eight. Up until recently, Corbin hadn’t wanted to be separated from them any more than Emmy and Sean wanted to be from him. They were a unit, always and forever. Besides, Corbin was brilliant, and he wouldn’t be doing anyone any favors by depriving them (nay, the world) of all this. There would be panic in the streets.
But now, at the collective age of sixteen (fine, Sean was freshly seventeen and with a brand new Porsche, but really, no one was counting any of that except the car. Sean’s mental age was much lower than his actual age, which had stopped at thirteen), the three of them always together, seemed odd. They were too close.
“Or,” Sean said as he stopped twirling in Corbin’s desk chair, gave an Emmy incriminate glare, “Corbin hasn’t met the right girl.”
Corbin nodded, co-signing heartily. Sean was always a great mate-
“It’ll take a very special sort of girl to be with him,” Sean continued. “What with the odd things he mutters-and the high chance the Magical Hand of Doom could as easily swat her down as shake her hand.”
Sean could be an idiot, but he was honest-brutally so. Corbin did say odd things at random moments, he had to admit. And the energy in his chest might have well been a certified weapon.
But-“Git,” Corbin grumbled as he shifted on the beanbag chair by his bed.
For a change of scenery, Emmy and Sean met at Corbin’s flat instead of Corbin catching a cab to one of their homes (or their drivers coming to pick him up, which was the habit of things). Thanks to Corbin’s mum’s position working for Emmy’s mum, he and his mum could avoid the tube more often than not-well, they still rode with Emmy’s parents frequently, but Igraine refused to count on connections to get Corbin in Uni, so they lived in Kingston in a two bedroom flat that allowed them to live semi-comfortably. But he’d picked up a few more shifts at the grocer down the road; just in case he needed money for the tube or other activities.
His room wasn’t small, exactly, but compared to Emmy and Sean’s gargantuan dwellings, it was miniscule. He had a single bed pushed up against the wall opposite the door, small desk and a three-tier bookcase against the other wall by his closet, bed, a bean bag squeezed into the last bit of space between Corbin’s bed and desk.
Corbin couldn’t feel any more like the charity case that he was when Emmy and Sean came round, but they never made him feel that way.
Emmy grinned, clapped her hands from her repose on Corbin’s bed. “What about Vivian? She’s been eyeing you for ages. Why don’t you ask her out?”
Corbin shuddered. Vivian eyed him, alright. She also broke into his locker and left photo-shopped photos of them together at varying sporting events. The one with him and Emmy that the crazy harpy has pasted her face over Emmy’s, smiling garishly, still gave Corbin nightmares.
“Um, no. Vivian’s a pass,” he said giving Emmy a betrayed look. “I don’t need to be set up, okay? Why don’t you two go out by yourselves tonight?” he suggested, looked between Emmy and Sean’s dubious faces. “You haven’t had a date ever, am I right?”
Sean turned in the chair, listing back and forth as he inspected Corbin. “Is there something you haven’t told us, mate? You aren’t really asexual, are you?”
Corbin shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes, envisioned them as kabob sticks. “Just because I want the lot of you to have a proper date by yourselves, doesn’t mean I’m asexual.” He suppressed the urge to leap from his flat, and looked at his friends. “You two are capable of doing things without me, aren’t you?”
“You’re not the center of our world,” Sean said, as Emmy-“I’m not sure,” said at the same time, fiddling with her thumb nail, lips curled.
Corbin willfully ignored Emmy for his touch-and-go sanity, arching a brow at Sean. “Prove it. Go out tonight.”
Sean nodded, accepting Corbin’s challenge. “We will, and it will be amazing.”
“Are you sure about this?” Emmy asked, searching Corbin’s face while Sean stood and yanked on her arm. “It all seems a bit sudden.”
Corbin smiled. Bless Emmy and her sweet, sweet heart. “I’ll be fine. Don’t you think it’s odd you and Sean don’t do anything alone?”
Emmy shrugged, her eyes still on Corbin as Sean dragged her (muttering quite colorful swear words, prattling on about epic adventures or some such nonsense) to the bedroom door. “But that’s what we’re here for: to keep your loneliness away.”
Corbin flinched. Emmy hadn’t Seen anything pertaining to him for so long, Corbin forgot what it was like to be the subject of that look, that voice.
Not that Emmy had to See anything. Corbin’s loneliness was a fact; a part of who he was, among other things.
The energy in his chest wasn’t what made Corbin odd. It was the madness that course through his veins.
What Corbin could remember of his father was sparse. He suspected it was his way of blocking out the worst of times. Either way, Arthur Smith was dour when he wasn’t raving to the general populace that magic did exist, and it was going to destroy the world. The only way to eradicate it was to rise as a people and end the lives of any and every person who might embrace magic.
At fifteen, in a bout of frankness Corbin hadn’t expected of his mother, (they did not talk about his father as a rule) she explained why Corbin hadn’t shared his father’s name.
“Your father believed he was cursed,” she’d whispered, her eyes focused out the kitchen window, a mug of tea gripped tight in her hands that masked most of her tired, weary face. “And anyone with the name Arthur was destined to have a horrible, troublesome, lonely life.”
It didn’t help that all of Corbin’s relatives on his father’s side with the name Arthur either lived or died tragically.
Just like any disease, Arthur had good days and bad.
On the good days, Corbin’s father would sit him down and regale him with epic stories. Tales filled with dragons, towering castles, noble Kings and their fight against dragons, warlocks and other supernatural beings. The King and his knights didn’t always win, but they lived to fight another day. Corbin valued the good days, they were rare.
The bad days were plentiful. Arthur was abusive to his wife and child, not limiting himself to the verbal side of the equation. Truthfully, Corbin preferred the various bruises, gashes and broken bones to what Arthur could spew at him on any given day.
Father said a plethora of things on the darkest days, none of them lending to sense, at first. But Corbin supposed they made a sort of sense, and not to just Father.
There had been a time line to his father’s outbursts and ramblings, Corbin figured out when he was twelve, but not necessarily the same life. Or, Corbin hoped it wasn’t the same life.
“He built Stonehenge for me,” Arthur would say early in the day, usually signaling to Corbin and Mum it wouldn’t be one of those rare happy days. “Said he’d protect me forever.”
“He told me all about you,” his father would say to Corbin later in the day, a beatific smile on his face that chilled Corbin to the bone. “He told me you would be such a great King. You would continue what I’d accomplished.”
It went downhill from there, without fail.
“He killed me and you let him do it!” Arthur would growl, usually with his hands wrapped round Corbin’s neck. “Why would you do that? He should have burned. You should have avenged me!”
By that time, his mum would usually wake up from where father had kicked or hit her unconscious and she’d jump on father’s back, or better yet, administer the long overdue injection.
By then, Corbin had almost always blacked out, but like always, he heard Arthur’s parting words before fleeing to the darkness. The same words every time.
“I hope you died alone,” Arthur would snarl, spittle flying. “I hope he betrayed you like you both betrayed me.”
Corbin didn’t look forward to the years ahead, for the most part. He never thought too hard on why he’d become such good friends with Emmy, despite his father’s dark words against magic repeating in his head non-stop for the first year after they met at the law firm’s Christmas party. But, there hadn’t been a need for exploration, of explanation. Corbin knew why: Emmy (and Sean, just by being there) relieved his loneliness, kept any voices from another time, another life at bay.
But, as wonderful as their constant presence was, Emmy and Sean didn’t relieve the burden and belief that someone out there in the world really hated Corbin.
Frankly, if it wasn’t for the energy pulsing in him, Corbin was pretty sure he would’ve already descended into madness ages ago. And not just because of all the protecting the energy had been up to.
It gave Corbin hope for the future. The energy in his chest meant someone wanted to protect him, yes; but it also meant someone cared. They thought Corbin more than a charity case, that he had worth.
So, Corbin waited, not exactly lonely with Emmy and Sean, but not fully content either. He waited, hoping his benefactor-real protector, not just raw power-would show himself and give Corbin the chance to thank him for keeping him sane.
Corbin smiled at Emmy again, coming out of his reverie. “Go,” he said, made shooing motions with his hands. “I’ll wait here.”
In the end, it was all he could do.
★
Emmy and Sean weren’t gone two hours before Corbin’s mobile rang.
He rolled his eyes, bemused. Cleary he was going to need to start a weaning process for his friends. “Hullo?”
“Corbin!” Emmy said, her usual excitement up ten notches, at least. “You won’t believe who Sean just hit!”
[4/8]