[fic] merlin { oedran yr addewid [gaius/uther. pg. 1700 words.]
.oedran yr addewid
[gaius/uther. merlin/arthur. pg. 1700 words.]
notes; the title means "the age of promise", an idea taken from the bible where every man should expect to live on the earth for three-score years and ten.
warnings; character death.
summary; ridiculous headgear aside, he was enjoying himself.
It was late autumn when it happened.
The days were short and the nights long and the sky forever that shade of white-grey that Gaius's mane had come to be after years of sleepless nights and yawn-filled days. The King had decided to throw a feast; a habit he'd picked up early on in his reign as a poorly disguised attempt at interjecting some cheer into a kingdom still mourning the loss of its beloved Queen. As Arthur grew, the need for such feasts diminished--the hearts of the Realm soothed by the blond, dimpled child who laughed and smiled so freely, trampling mud into rugs and dashing round with wooden sword in hand. Still, when winter grasped ahold of Camelot and the nights drew close, Uther often felt the need to revive the mirth and hope as the trees and plants were lost.
And so, the entire court crowded into the grand hall, legs pressed together knee-to-thigh as they sat on the benches alongside the narrow oak tables laden with food and drink. Outside it was below freezing; pathways slick with layers of ice, the stables misty with the clouding breath of the knights' horses and, upon the trees, the few remaining leaves were stiff, silvery frost lining their veins and edges.
Inside it was hot, the company warming the court just as much as the gloaming hearth and the rich, heavy food. Merlin, in the hideous traditional garb, stood to the side of the hall, eyes trained upon the prince's goblet and the level of liquid inside the cup. Every now and then he'd lean forward to catch Gwen's eye from where she was stood, in an identical position to him, behind Morgana (although even Merlin would admit she was doing a much better job at staying focussed on her Lady's needs than he was Arthur's). He'd pull a face or mouth something rude about one of the ladies of the court and Gwen would be forced to bite heavily upon her lip to hide her smile, leaving Merlin amused, eyes twinkling.
Ridiculous headgear aside, he was enjoying himself. And the hat wasn't that bad, not really. Arthur had cajoled him into wearing it, and Merlin, after peering at himself first one way then the other in a small square of polished metal he'd liberated from Gwen, had come to appreciate the cut and quality of the material. He still wasn't impressed with the feather, however, and had spent a good half-hour fiddling with the thing in an attempt to tame it. Gaius had thought he looked ridiculous and hadn't failed to voice his mirth. Merlin ignored him in very much the same way he'd ignored the man's laughter when he'd caught Merlin wearing nothing but the hat, forlornly smoothing down the feathered crest whilst looking into the mirror.
The merriment was in full swing when several of the kitchen boys brought out a set of new plates for the next course--silver for the head table and copper for the rest of the court. Flagons of wine were poured generously into goblets which were brought to lips and drained with ever increasing haste. Laughter floated up from a gaggle of young men in the corner, sons of knights or something, Merlin thought as he watched them slap their hands against their thighs and laugh so hard that one of them retched. He tore his gaze from them, not particularly wishing to ruin the evening's revelry by witnessing the man vomit and looked to Gaius, who was sat amongst the other freemen of Camelot. He'd been as surprised as everyone when Uther had freed Gaius from his servitude, though luckily the man had not decided to leave the service of the King. Merlin did not want to even consider Camelot without the old man who acted as his guardian--the short time in which Edwin had taken over the role of physician had left him feeling guilty enough, especially as it was his skin Gaius was losing his job to save.
As he watched, Gaius looked up and caught his eye. The old man smiled, his face etched deep with the lines and creases of a life well-lived, and Merlin couldn't resist raising a hand to wiggle his fingers in a semblance of a wave. The physician looked tired, but rolled his eyes and lifted his goblet in the young warlock's direction, wine running over the rim as he overdid his toast. Merlin snorted and quickly looked back to the head table to find Arthur staring at him, eyebrow raised disapprovingly but a sparkle in his eyes and a smirk about his lips. Merlin grinned at him and was about to refill the prince's cup when the smashing of a wine goblet caught his attention. A broken glass or two was to be expected when so many people were crowded into a single room and supplied with copious amounts of alcohol, yet the gasps that followed were wholly unexpected.
Merlin turned and, with a gasp that he could not hear over the roaring in his ears, saw his mentor, his friend, his everything shaking and seizing as if possessed, his goblet shattered upon the flagstones, the spilt wine a steady drip-drip-drip. He stood stock still for a heartbeat, or two, or three, before leaping into action, feet taking steps that his horrified mind had not quite permitted. Reaching Gaius's side far more quickly than he thought possible without magic, Merlin stared down at him, uncertain and out of his depth. The entire hall was staring now, and Merlin--who had never been very good with crowds,--flustered and, fumbling, grabbed a hold of Gaius's shoulders, the seizure continuing despite his efforts to still it. Frothing saliva poured down the physician's chin, slimy trails running in rivets onto his neck, pooling in the dip of his throat and onto Merlin's fingers. Gaius made an indistinct gargling noise in the back of his throat, saliva spraying as he coughed and choked.
Suddenly it stopped, and Gaius slumped, not forward nor back, but down, inside himself, crumbling within. Merlin felt his stomach clench, his heart in his throat and his eyes wide in panic as the shoulders beneath his fingers stilled. The King had forgotten himself, just for a moment, calling desperately for the physician, voice thick with fear, before realising Gaius's skills were of little help when he, himself, was the one in danger.
With quaking fingers, the warlock gently tilted Gaius's head back, just enough for him to reach the pulse-point upon the sagging neck. He pressed his fingers against the skin, trembling slightly as nothing throbbed in the familiar lub-dub of life. His stomach, tightened already with worry and fear, felt as if it had dropped out of him and bile surged up to the back of his throat, his heart aching with a sharp pain at every breath he took.
He looked up, sensing movement. The rowdy, drunken members of the court had backed away, stepping into the night and sobering as the cool air finished what the sight of the physician collapsing had started. Only Uther remained, his expression fixed, his eyes upon the still chest of his closest advisor. The lack of movement in Gaius's chest was all too obvious now that the hall had been emptied of other distractions.
There were no words. There were never any words, Merlin had found. Whenever Gaius and he had failed to cure someone--not managed to stave off a fever or had failed hold back an infection--it was always the silence that got to him, the utter lack of sound that came from both the body and the relatives, shock and horror and eventually resignation robbing everyone of their voice.
Uther took a step forward, just one, and inhaled sharply before falling to his knees and resting his forehead against his friend's thigh. The King coughed, or at least tried to, but found it impossible to dislodge the lump rising within. He swallowed instead, the sound echoing against the walls and floors and ceiling and Merlin shook his head, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Trust Gaius, the man who was forever telling him off for drawing attention to himself and messing around, to cause such a scene, to cause Uther--Uther!--to so obviously fall apart.
Merlin swallowed down the anguish in his throat and blinked back the tears that he could feel prickling in the corners of his eyes. Gaius was gone. No more smiles or furrowed brows or one-armed embraces or late-night explanations and experiments. He wanted to scream, to cry; to, more than anything, vomit up the bile he could taste creeping along his gullet into his mouth, sour as his mood. A hand fell upon his shoulder, and with the adrenaline no longer coursing through his veins, he couldn't even muster the energy to jump. The weight was familiar and almost soothing as a thumb pressed against his scapula, fingers spread over his collarbone, and--shutting his eyes, clenching his teeth, feeling the tears run down his face--he allowed Arthur to drag him away, his legs refusing to move.
As they crossed the threshold of the hall, Merlin managed to turn, pressing his face desperately into the hollow of Arthur's throat, chin and cheekbones unforgiving against the prince's collarbone. He sniffed, exhaling shakily through his clenched teeth and clutched at the front of Arthur's tunic, fingers scrabbling in the material as the prince wrapped his arms around him, one coming up to cradle the back of the servant's head whilst the other pressed against the small of Merlin's back.
Behind them, in the hall, Uther remained frozen, knees bruising against the flagstones, head resting on Gaius's lap, face touching the robe covering the physician's stomach. His breath escaped him in silent, almost violent shudders that rocked his body and hurt his ribs and lungs and throat.
When the fire in the hearth died down, leaving nothing but a gloaming that lit him from beneath, he finally stood, joints protesting as he moved limbs just as stiff and damaged as his heart.
[gaius/uther. merlin/arthur. pg. 1700 words.]
notes; the title means "the age of promise", an idea taken from the bible where every man should expect to live on the earth for three-score years and ten.
warnings; character death.
summary; ridiculous headgear aside, he was enjoying himself.
It was late autumn when it happened.
The days were short and the nights long and the sky forever that shade of white-grey that Gaius's mane had come to be after years of sleepless nights and yawn-filled days. The King had decided to throw a feast; a habit he'd picked up early on in his reign as a poorly disguised attempt at interjecting some cheer into a kingdom still mourning the loss of its beloved Queen. As Arthur grew, the need for such feasts diminished--the hearts of the Realm soothed by the blond, dimpled child who laughed and smiled so freely, trampling mud into rugs and dashing round with wooden sword in hand. Still, when winter grasped ahold of Camelot and the nights drew close, Uther often felt the need to revive the mirth and hope as the trees and plants were lost.
And so, the entire court crowded into the grand hall, legs pressed together knee-to-thigh as they sat on the benches alongside the narrow oak tables laden with food and drink. Outside it was below freezing; pathways slick with layers of ice, the stables misty with the clouding breath of the knights' horses and, upon the trees, the few remaining leaves were stiff, silvery frost lining their veins and edges.
Inside it was hot, the company warming the court just as much as the gloaming hearth and the rich, heavy food. Merlin, in the hideous traditional garb, stood to the side of the hall, eyes trained upon the prince's goblet and the level of liquid inside the cup. Every now and then he'd lean forward to catch Gwen's eye from where she was stood, in an identical position to him, behind Morgana (although even Merlin would admit she was doing a much better job at staying focussed on her Lady's needs than he was Arthur's). He'd pull a face or mouth something rude about one of the ladies of the court and Gwen would be forced to bite heavily upon her lip to hide her smile, leaving Merlin amused, eyes twinkling.
Ridiculous headgear aside, he was enjoying himself. And the hat wasn't that bad, not really. Arthur had cajoled him into wearing it, and Merlin, after peering at himself first one way then the other in a small square of polished metal he'd liberated from Gwen, had come to appreciate the cut and quality of the material. He still wasn't impressed with the feather, however, and had spent a good half-hour fiddling with the thing in an attempt to tame it. Gaius had thought he looked ridiculous and hadn't failed to voice his mirth. Merlin ignored him in very much the same way he'd ignored the man's laughter when he'd caught Merlin wearing nothing but the hat, forlornly smoothing down the feathered crest whilst looking into the mirror.
The merriment was in full swing when several of the kitchen boys brought out a set of new plates for the next course--silver for the head table and copper for the rest of the court. Flagons of wine were poured generously into goblets which were brought to lips and drained with ever increasing haste. Laughter floated up from a gaggle of young men in the corner, sons of knights or something, Merlin thought as he watched them slap their hands against their thighs and laugh so hard that one of them retched. He tore his gaze from them, not particularly wishing to ruin the evening's revelry by witnessing the man vomit and looked to Gaius, who was sat amongst the other freemen of Camelot. He'd been as surprised as everyone when Uther had freed Gaius from his servitude, though luckily the man had not decided to leave the service of the King. Merlin did not want to even consider Camelot without the old man who acted as his guardian--the short time in which Edwin had taken over the role of physician had left him feeling guilty enough, especially as it was his skin Gaius was losing his job to save.
As he watched, Gaius looked up and caught his eye. The old man smiled, his face etched deep with the lines and creases of a life well-lived, and Merlin couldn't resist raising a hand to wiggle his fingers in a semblance of a wave. The physician looked tired, but rolled his eyes and lifted his goblet in the young warlock's direction, wine running over the rim as he overdid his toast. Merlin snorted and quickly looked back to the head table to find Arthur staring at him, eyebrow raised disapprovingly but a sparkle in his eyes and a smirk about his lips. Merlin grinned at him and was about to refill the prince's cup when the smashing of a wine goblet caught his attention. A broken glass or two was to be expected when so many people were crowded into a single room and supplied with copious amounts of alcohol, yet the gasps that followed were wholly unexpected.
Merlin turned and, with a gasp that he could not hear over the roaring in his ears, saw his mentor, his friend, his everything shaking and seizing as if possessed, his goblet shattered upon the flagstones, the spilt wine a steady drip-drip-drip. He stood stock still for a heartbeat, or two, or three, before leaping into action, feet taking steps that his horrified mind had not quite permitted. Reaching Gaius's side far more quickly than he thought possible without magic, Merlin stared down at him, uncertain and out of his depth. The entire hall was staring now, and Merlin--who had never been very good with crowds,--flustered and, fumbling, grabbed a hold of Gaius's shoulders, the seizure continuing despite his efforts to still it. Frothing saliva poured down the physician's chin, slimy trails running in rivets onto his neck, pooling in the dip of his throat and onto Merlin's fingers. Gaius made an indistinct gargling noise in the back of his throat, saliva spraying as he coughed and choked.
Suddenly it stopped, and Gaius slumped, not forward nor back, but down, inside himself, crumbling within. Merlin felt his stomach clench, his heart in his throat and his eyes wide in panic as the shoulders beneath his fingers stilled. The King had forgotten himself, just for a moment, calling desperately for the physician, voice thick with fear, before realising Gaius's skills were of little help when he, himself, was the one in danger.
With quaking fingers, the warlock gently tilted Gaius's head back, just enough for him to reach the pulse-point upon the sagging neck. He pressed his fingers against the skin, trembling slightly as nothing throbbed in the familiar lub-dub of life. His stomach, tightened already with worry and fear, felt as if it had dropped out of him and bile surged up to the back of his throat, his heart aching with a sharp pain at every breath he took.
He looked up, sensing movement. The rowdy, drunken members of the court had backed away, stepping into the night and sobering as the cool air finished what the sight of the physician collapsing had started. Only Uther remained, his expression fixed, his eyes upon the still chest of his closest advisor. The lack of movement in Gaius's chest was all too obvious now that the hall had been emptied of other distractions.
There were no words. There were never any words, Merlin had found. Whenever Gaius and he had failed to cure someone--not managed to stave off a fever or had failed hold back an infection--it was always the silence that got to him, the utter lack of sound that came from both the body and the relatives, shock and horror and eventually resignation robbing everyone of their voice.
Uther took a step forward, just one, and inhaled sharply before falling to his knees and resting his forehead against his friend's thigh. The King coughed, or at least tried to, but found it impossible to dislodge the lump rising within. He swallowed instead, the sound echoing against the walls and floors and ceiling and Merlin shook his head, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Trust Gaius, the man who was forever telling him off for drawing attention to himself and messing around, to cause such a scene, to cause Uther--Uther!--to so obviously fall apart.
Merlin swallowed down the anguish in his throat and blinked back the tears that he could feel prickling in the corners of his eyes. Gaius was gone. No more smiles or furrowed brows or one-armed embraces or late-night explanations and experiments. He wanted to scream, to cry; to, more than anything, vomit up the bile he could taste creeping along his gullet into his mouth, sour as his mood. A hand fell upon his shoulder, and with the adrenaline no longer coursing through his veins, he couldn't even muster the energy to jump. The weight was familiar and almost soothing as a thumb pressed against his scapula, fingers spread over his collarbone, and--shutting his eyes, clenching his teeth, feeling the tears run down his face--he allowed Arthur to drag him away, his legs refusing to move.
As they crossed the threshold of the hall, Merlin managed to turn, pressing his face desperately into the hollow of Arthur's throat, chin and cheekbones unforgiving against the prince's collarbone. He sniffed, exhaling shakily through his clenched teeth and clutched at the front of Arthur's tunic, fingers scrabbling in the material as the prince wrapped his arms around him, one coming up to cradle the back of the servant's head whilst the other pressed against the small of Merlin's back.
Behind them, in the hall, Uther remained frozen, knees bruising against the flagstones, head resting on Gaius's lap, face touching the robe covering the physician's stomach. His breath escaped him in silent, almost violent shudders that rocked his body and hurt his ribs and lungs and throat.
When the fire in the hearth died down, leaving nothing but a gloaming that lit him from beneath, he finally stood, joints protesting as he moved limbs just as stiff and damaged as his heart.