EAD Excerpt 2 - Untitled - wingedwolf121 - BBC Merlin
Title: Untititled
Author: wingedwolf121
Fandom:BBC Merlin
Word Count: 1206
Primary Character/Pairing: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, Merlin/Nimueh
Rating:T
Content Warning Dub-con, Underage, Character Death
*note: none of the warnings occur in this excerpt
Merlin had to pull his hood over his face after only a few minutes outside the House. The sun-soaked stone of the city streets could be felt even through his leather sandals, and the sun was merciless.
The House of Death sat in the southwest city, pressed directly against the walls. It vanished behind him quickly, lost in the clutter of angular houses and crumbling huts. While the spires of the House of Pleasure could be seen all across the city, and the great round dome of the House of Birth rose proud, the House of Death was long and low. The vast majority of their work was done underground.
But the palace dwarfed them all. It rose from the North wall, the stormwall, taller and vaster than any religious house. Its golden turrets were blinding in the early light. Merlin set his feet toward the north.
The main road sprang from the west gate, the greatest gate. Almost all trade came from the west. The east gate was far smaller, and the few who left that way were nearly always religious convoys, taking pilgrimage to one of the secluded houses which pitted the desert.
Merlin met the main road in the center of the city. The buildings were taller, propped up with foreign engineering instead of left to crumble. The city people thronged about the forum which had sprung up in the open space left by the dried fountains. Merlin passed pavilions selling spices and silks, one with pure white hangings which claimed milk and honey, others with dried fruit or rich liquors.
He passed fewer when the road turned from the center and went north. By then the noonday heat had struck. A few men slumbered beneath tents propped against high walls, but any that could deserted the streets and found respite behind stone walls.
Mightier wagons now rumbled up the broad road, drawn by dusty horses or plodding camels. Merlin walked beside one for a time. The owner had painted a brilliant gold S on the side, for salt-valuable wares, and difficult to transport. This cargo went directly to the palace.
He passed tumbling manses and villas now. Only the presence of guards at the gates marked which held wealthy merchants, and which had been gutted long ago and made into hostels for vagrants. There was always a spark of fear in the eyes of the guards when they saw Merlin, and he could sense their relief as he passed by them.
He passed below the seven gates, one for each family of the old Oligarchy, and then he was in the citadel. Merlin stopped there, and for the first time realized he had no idea where he was meant to go.
The palace had not been built for a single family, so it was a collection of towers and courtyards and manses, with no clear way to the King. A half dozen doors opened from the yard into the palace, and all were guarded. Apart from the guards, and a girl in yellow passing between them with a tray, the courtyard was deserted.
Merlin felt the sun beat down on him, and felt a trickle of panic with the sweat coursing down his back. His eyes flickered around the various doors.
“Excuse me?” Merlin started, almost tripping over his own robe. The girl at his elbow squeaked in horror and reached out to steady him. “Are you all right?”
It was the girl in yellow. She was shorter than him, and pretty, with her dark curls braided over one shoulder. A translucent silk veil kept the sun off her neck, and spoke access to greater riches than her simpler dress.
She took his arm, looking rather alarmed. “Are you suntouched? Here, come with me, you need to get in the shade.”
“No, I’m fine, I promise.” Merlin reassured her, extracting his arm. “I was just a bit lost-do you know where I could find the King?”
“The King?” She gasped, hands going to her mouth. Her silver tray clattered on the paving stones.
“Oh-no, no!” Merlin said quickly. “No, he’s not dead! I just have an appointment.”
“Oh.” She lowered her hand from her mouth to her chest. “Oh, thank the Desert god.” She shot him a reproachful look.
“Sorry.” Merlin said. He coughed. “But really, do you know how to find him?”
She bent down and retrieved her platter. “I don’t think you find the King, your worship. He finds you. Or Leon does.” Now that she was sure he wasn’t suffering sun-touch, she did not seem to want to look at him directly.
“I’m Merlin.” Merlin offered. “I er, don’t know who Leon is.”
The girl looked at him properly again, and hesitated, bobbing up and down. “He’s the captain of the Royal Legion…” She bit her lip. “I suppose I can take you to him, and he’ll know what to do with you.”
“That’d be great, thanks.” Merlin said, relieved.
It must have shown on his face, because it made her smile. “My name’s Gwen. This way.” She beckoned him through a cramped doorway to the left, that somewhere led up a flight of stairs and into a wide promenade overlooking an empty courtyard, then up another flight of stairs and into a separate hallway by way of a ripped tapestry.
“This is the way to the King?” Merlin asked, rubbing his head. He’d whacked it against one of the lower ceilings.
“No, this is the way to Leon.” Gwen looked amused. “Uther’s own son can’t have an audience with him without seeing Leon first-I’ve seen traders wait for weeks because they couldn’t catch him.”
“Bit rude.” Merlin said.
Gwen looked at him sideways. “I wouldn’t say that so loudly.”
She led him up another stair, and this time they emerged into a broad corridor without a speck of sand marring it, and a vast red and gold mosaic covering the floor. At the far end was a curtained doorway, where a pack of guards conferred. Gwen tucked her tray under her arm and waited.
After a few moments, the tallest separated himself from the group and came to them. He was long legged and lean, his blonde curls cropped close, and he wore a crimson cape which flapped behind him when he walked. Beneath it, he had the same linen and leathers as the other guards.
“Leon.” Gwen sank into a deep curtsy. Merlin watched curiously as Leon lightly inclined his head. Gwen tugged Merlin forward. “This priest says he has to meet with his highness?”
Leon’s head snapped to Merlin. The unnerved look in his eyes suggested that Leon hadn’t seen him before, still and wrapped as he was in his shadowcloak. “Thank the gods, yes. Uther sent summons for a Priest de Mortia two days ago.”
“I’m here.” Merlin said, spreading his hands.
Leon beckoned him imperiously. “This way. Gwen, thank you for finding him.”
Gwen curtsied again. She straightened and watched as Leon led Merlin away, his long strides urgent. She tucked the silver platter more firmly beneath her arm and hurried away. Perhaps Morgana would know what in the Desert god’s name Uther would want with a Priest de Mortia.
Author: wingedwolf121
Fandom:BBC Merlin
Word Count: 1206
Primary Character/Pairing: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, Merlin/Nimueh
Rating:T
Content Warning Dub-con, Underage, Character Death
*note: none of the warnings occur in this excerpt
Merlin had to pull his hood over his face after only a few minutes outside the House. The sun-soaked stone of the city streets could be felt even through his leather sandals, and the sun was merciless.
The House of Death sat in the southwest city, pressed directly against the walls. It vanished behind him quickly, lost in the clutter of angular houses and crumbling huts. While the spires of the House of Pleasure could be seen all across the city, and the great round dome of the House of Birth rose proud, the House of Death was long and low. The vast majority of their work was done underground.
But the palace dwarfed them all. It rose from the North wall, the stormwall, taller and vaster than any religious house. Its golden turrets were blinding in the early light. Merlin set his feet toward the north.
The main road sprang from the west gate, the greatest gate. Almost all trade came from the west. The east gate was far smaller, and the few who left that way were nearly always religious convoys, taking pilgrimage to one of the secluded houses which pitted the desert.
Merlin met the main road in the center of the city. The buildings were taller, propped up with foreign engineering instead of left to crumble. The city people thronged about the forum which had sprung up in the open space left by the dried fountains. Merlin passed pavilions selling spices and silks, one with pure white hangings which claimed milk and honey, others with dried fruit or rich liquors.
He passed fewer when the road turned from the center and went north. By then the noonday heat had struck. A few men slumbered beneath tents propped against high walls, but any that could deserted the streets and found respite behind stone walls.
Mightier wagons now rumbled up the broad road, drawn by dusty horses or plodding camels. Merlin walked beside one for a time. The owner had painted a brilliant gold S on the side, for salt-valuable wares, and difficult to transport. This cargo went directly to the palace.
He passed tumbling manses and villas now. Only the presence of guards at the gates marked which held wealthy merchants, and which had been gutted long ago and made into hostels for vagrants. There was always a spark of fear in the eyes of the guards when they saw Merlin, and he could sense their relief as he passed by them.
He passed below the seven gates, one for each family of the old Oligarchy, and then he was in the citadel. Merlin stopped there, and for the first time realized he had no idea where he was meant to go.
The palace had not been built for a single family, so it was a collection of towers and courtyards and manses, with no clear way to the King. A half dozen doors opened from the yard into the palace, and all were guarded. Apart from the guards, and a girl in yellow passing between them with a tray, the courtyard was deserted.
Merlin felt the sun beat down on him, and felt a trickle of panic with the sweat coursing down his back. His eyes flickered around the various doors.
“Excuse me?” Merlin started, almost tripping over his own robe. The girl at his elbow squeaked in horror and reached out to steady him. “Are you all right?”
It was the girl in yellow. She was shorter than him, and pretty, with her dark curls braided over one shoulder. A translucent silk veil kept the sun off her neck, and spoke access to greater riches than her simpler dress.
She took his arm, looking rather alarmed. “Are you suntouched? Here, come with me, you need to get in the shade.”
“No, I’m fine, I promise.” Merlin reassured her, extracting his arm. “I was just a bit lost-do you know where I could find the King?”
“The King?” She gasped, hands going to her mouth. Her silver tray clattered on the paving stones.
“Oh-no, no!” Merlin said quickly. “No, he’s not dead! I just have an appointment.”
“Oh.” She lowered her hand from her mouth to her chest. “Oh, thank the Desert god.” She shot him a reproachful look.
“Sorry.” Merlin said. He coughed. “But really, do you know how to find him?”
She bent down and retrieved her platter. “I don’t think you find the King, your worship. He finds you. Or Leon does.” Now that she was sure he wasn’t suffering sun-touch, she did not seem to want to look at him directly.
“I’m Merlin.” Merlin offered. “I er, don’t know who Leon is.”
The girl looked at him properly again, and hesitated, bobbing up and down. “He’s the captain of the Royal Legion…” She bit her lip. “I suppose I can take you to him, and he’ll know what to do with you.”
“That’d be great, thanks.” Merlin said, relieved.
It must have shown on his face, because it made her smile. “My name’s Gwen. This way.” She beckoned him through a cramped doorway to the left, that somewhere led up a flight of stairs and into a wide promenade overlooking an empty courtyard, then up another flight of stairs and into a separate hallway by way of a ripped tapestry.
“This is the way to the King?” Merlin asked, rubbing his head. He’d whacked it against one of the lower ceilings.
“No, this is the way to Leon.” Gwen looked amused. “Uther’s own son can’t have an audience with him without seeing Leon first-I’ve seen traders wait for weeks because they couldn’t catch him.”
“Bit rude.” Merlin said.
Gwen looked at him sideways. “I wouldn’t say that so loudly.”
She led him up another stair, and this time they emerged into a broad corridor without a speck of sand marring it, and a vast red and gold mosaic covering the floor. At the far end was a curtained doorway, where a pack of guards conferred. Gwen tucked her tray under her arm and waited.
After a few moments, the tallest separated himself from the group and came to them. He was long legged and lean, his blonde curls cropped close, and he wore a crimson cape which flapped behind him when he walked. Beneath it, he had the same linen and leathers as the other guards.
“Leon.” Gwen sank into a deep curtsy. Merlin watched curiously as Leon lightly inclined his head. Gwen tugged Merlin forward. “This priest says he has to meet with his highness?”
Leon’s head snapped to Merlin. The unnerved look in his eyes suggested that Leon hadn’t seen him before, still and wrapped as he was in his shadowcloak. “Thank the gods, yes. Uther sent summons for a Priest de Mortia two days ago.”
“I’m here.” Merlin said, spreading his hands.
Leon beckoned him imperiously. “This way. Gwen, thank you for finding him.”
Gwen curtsied again. She straightened and watched as Leon led Merlin away, his long strides urgent. She tucked the silver platter more firmly beneath her arm and hurried away. Perhaps Morgana would know what in the Desert god’s name Uther would want with a Priest de Mortia.