A Royal Wedding Merlin/Mithian Part 7
Title: A Royal Wedding
Rating: NC-17
Pairing:Merlin/Mithian
Summary: Canon-era. When Mithian decides to stay on in Camelot after King Arthur's wedding she never exepects the string of events that come after, leading her to her love and her place in this web called 'Destiny'.
Part 6
The battlefield was so close, almost on the doorstep of the castle through the thin cover of trees below. Mithian imagined she could taste the men’s fear upon the air. It made her fidgety. It made her shoulders tense and her hands tremble and her inside clench in a constant state of dread.
“Mithian, would you please sit down,” her mother ordered, not looking up from her embroidery.
“I hate this,” Mithian muttered, pacing across the chamber. “I hate sitting here idly reading or sewing. I cannot just sit here whist the men I love fight in battle!”
Her mother raised an eyebrow at her uncharacteristic outburst. “Trust me my child, soon there will be more than enough for you to do.”
As always her mother’s prediction came true, and the first wave of injured arrived, washing up against the castle steps in droves. From then there was no time to stop.
Young men, old men, some mere boys. Wounds from missing limbs to burns, to the lack of a heartbeat. There was no time to feel sadness, or pity, or remorse, if you started you wouldn’t be able to stop and would be in a ball cowering in the corner after the first wave.
But every glimpse of black hair had her reeling, every flash of brown or blue cloth, sent her hurtling in that direction, her chest seized in panic.
They were lucky enough that King Arthur had brought with him the renowned knowledge of their court physician. Gaius organised the infirmary and surgeries with military precision, a harsh but fair ruler. All Mithian had to worry about was doing as she was instructed, which was a blessing for her over-taxed mind.
She had been praised as a child for her over-active imagination, now it felt more like a curse, the horrors surrounding her fuelling her already vivid nightmares of pale skinned warlocks left cold and broken on a bloody field.
So she ran herself ragged, followed Gaius’s every instruction without question, fetching, carrying, steading; anything to keep her moving.
“Mithian,” a voice called from behind her. Mithian turned from her hurried walk down the hallway, fresh bandages in hand, to look upon the solemn face of her maid.
Mithian’s stomach dropped. She knew that look, an awful mix between fear and pity and sadness. The bandages fell to the floor and she raced past her maid, her heart pounding and her mind a consistent mantra of ‘Merlin’.
She ignored Clarrisa’s call behind her, lifting her skirts she flew down the stone steps and burst out onto the courtyard. The sight out to greet her stopped her still.
Held upon the shoulders of his most trusted knights was the still body of her father. *
“It was a clean wound My Lady,” Gaius had said. Her mother stood hunched at Mithian’s side, silent tears running down each cheek. It pained Mithian more so to see her mother’s hurt than the feel of her own. “It would’ve been quick.”
The queen’s Lady In Waiting had wrapped a swift arm around the queen before her legs gave way from sobs. and Mithian had retreated.
The stairways of the castle were deserted, everyone either on the battlefield or the infirmary. Here Mithian sank down, her body folding in on itself until her head touched her knees. This was something she couldn’t comprehend. There had never been a world for her before, where her father didn’t roam. He may have been far away or not available, but he was always there, somewhere.
She glanced up and around the empty staircase she was in; the castle even seemed different somehow, already. And in the most selfish, darkest part of her mind she rejoiced, thanked the Gods that it hadn’t been Merlin upon those knights, body drained of its life force.
She couldn’t help the helpless laugh that sobbed form her lips. Even now, when her world had been shattered and reformed in the wrong order, when her constant was gone and the prickles of grief stabbed her eyes, she just wanted for one man. And he was so much closer than he had been for months, but he still wasn’t here. She thought that perhaps if he just slotted his arms around her shoulders, allowed her to rest her head against his chest and listen to the strong beat of his heart; then she might be able to feel as if tomorrow wouldn’t shatter.
Mithian was startled from her grief by a shudder. At first she thought it was her body, the hours of tensions and heartache rippling through her body, but then it happened again. She heard the calls and the screams around her as the castle walls shook with a beat. And then the loudest sound Mithian had ever heard ripped through the world, shaking the castle to the core. The stone building shivered, like a bare tree in a storm and Mithian screamed, ducking as rubble and stone fell from the ceiling showered upon her head.
When it was over she looked around, panting, as if waiting for a foe to jump from the shadows. And then a torrent of horse hooves sounded, echoing across each bare wall.
When she reached the courtyard at a rush, Kay was already dismounting his horse. Disregarding any audience she ran at him, letting herself be swept up in his arms. They held tight for a moment, him letting her feel his wholeness beneath her, then they pulled back.
“Kay, what happened?” she asked. He shook his head wordlessly. He may have been standing but his face was pale and his eyes wide as if in shock.
“The battle,” he breathed. “It’s over, Lady Morgana is gone.”
“Gone?”
The surge of horse hooves escalated, a hoard of Camelot red flooded the square. From in their midst there were raised voices and a panicked voice hollered, “Gaius!”
Emerging from the sea was a scene from her nightmares.
His skin was pale, bloodless and his limbs hung limply down from where Sir Percival had him cradled. His hair and face covered and matted with dirt and dust, and painted across his middle, through the flimsy blue material of his tunic, was a bright red gash of blood.
“Gaius!” King Arthur called again, racing beside his knight and the passenger. The party disappeared into the castle, Arthur’s frantic calls to Gaius echoing through the castle.
*
Mithian watched, frozen still by fear for half a moment, trying to decipher whether she was actually awake or just so overtired that her brain had manifested its nightmares.
Her legs began to move with no conscious thought, leaving the courtyard, the returning soldiers and her brother behind, and she flew through the hallways, ignoring the trail of red dripped along the floor ahead of her.
The small room beside the infirmary was in chaos. The king was yelling, Gaius was scowling back, the knights were getting in everyones way. But Mithian’s eyes zeroed in on the small bed.
His body was just so still and pale. The rest of the room faded away.
She pushed past them all, she needed to check, just to check. As soon as her hands touched his face, cupping his pale cheeks his body let out a groan, Merlin’s head rolling towards her.
“Oh,” she exhaled, relief, love, fear, pain, all flooding her heart, making her feel weak. She rested her head against the corner of the litter. “Oh, thank Gods.”
She clutched his relatively unmarred hand. She could still hear the voices still escalated around her, some words pierced her conscious, like ‘Mordred’, ‘Fire’, ‘Morgana’ and most frightening of all ‘Magic’. But nothing else mattered. Not the men in the room, not the stains of blood against her dress, not magic, not destiny, not class, not riches.
He was alive; he was pale and weak, but alive.
As if reading her mind the physician spoke. “He’s lost a lot of blood, My Lady. We need to work.”
She looked up then, her face stern with royal importance that can only be bred. Her hand gripped tightly in her love’s. She stared the physician in the eyes. “Are you ordering me to leave?” A challenging eyebrow raised.
Thankfully and fortunately the physician seemed to have an ounce of intelligence, muttering and moving quickly around the room. Mithian didn’t pay attention, she had already seen enough of the wound upon Merlin to give her nightmares: instead she stared at his face, running a hand through his hair, whispering into his ear.
And all the while their joined hands pressed against Merlin’s cheek, Mithian’s lips pressed to the other side of their join. And she vowed to him, if he just pulled through this, he would never leave his side again, no matter the cost.
After a while the movement around her stopped. Merlin’s face was now flush with fever, his long fringe sticking to his head. She pushed the hair away, leaving her hand soothing his forehead.
She looked up, noticing for the first time she was alone in the room save Gaius. She stared pleading into Gaius’s eyes. “He’ll be alright?”
“He’ has lost a lot of blood, My Lady. But we have done what we can; the rest is up to him.”
Mithian looked fiercely back down at Merlin, squaring her shoulders, ready to fight on his behalf. “He is strong. He will be fine.”
She looked up, expecting a lecture on realistic expectations, but Gaius was just watching her, a fond smile on his lips. “It has been good to see you again, Princess.”
Taken off guard, Mithian blinked, but found her response came to her easily and sincerely. “You too Gaius.”
“I won’t pretend he has told me everything, but he has missed you.”
With a squeeze of her shoulder he left her and Merlin, no doubt off to tend to the rest of the wounded, but as soon as he left her sphere, he was forgotten. All that mattered was laid out bare before her.
*
Mithian’s world had shrunk, to Merlin’s limp hand, to his pale lips, to his sweaty brow, to his quivering eyes. She wrung out the cooling cloth and re-wet it, dripping a few droplets of water between his pale lips before she laid it gently across his forehead.
She was vaguely aware of some comings and goings. A physician coming to check on the patient, maids bringing fresh water, she thought she had seen a flick of Sir Gwaine’s hair on the opposite side of the bed for a while. But they all left eventually. And she stayed.
The knock at the door was unexpected. Mithian looked up, her eyes blinking at the change in focus, to find Bediviere peering around the corner of the door.
“Brother,” she gasped.
The real world rushed through the door with her brother’s presence, the battle, her father, her mother. She began to stand, mentally working out exactly how long she would have to leave Merlin’s side, to see to her family and duties.
“No, Mithian, sit,” Bediviere soothed. He came into the room and sat opposite, staring at the prone body on the bed. Warily Mithian turned the cloth, pushing Merlin’s hair from his face. He turned his head into the touch and Mithian let the backs of her fingers carefully trace his overheated cheek.
When she looked up her brother was smirking and her face automatically scowled. “What?”
Bediviere just smirked wider, the smile on his face belying the dark shadows beneath his eyes. But Mithian allowed him to distract himself for a short moment. “So this is Merlin, the noble with so much influence on the king, the one that father was fretting he didn’t know?”
Mithian ignored the stab of reality that came along with her father’s name. He was gone and there was no coming back, she would have plenty of time to mourn him when Merlin had recovered. “He may not be of noble blood,” she spoke slowly with conviction. “But he is the very definition… He is King Arthur’s servant.”
Bediviere nodded, as if an obscured picture was coming to light. “You know,” he mused. “This makes more sense.” Mithian shot him a questioning eyebrow and he continued, “Well, I could never understand why you would do that to yourself, stay around in Camelot to watch the man you were due to marry make a life with someone else. I thought you must have gotten over the rejection but then you came back and you were so…”
Mithian didn’t need him to finish that sentence; she knew what she was ‘so’. She was so heartbroken, and grief stricken, and lonely. But she needn’t be anymore.
Merlin let out a small moan again. Mithian quickly dunked the warming cloth and gently wiped across his neck and behind his ears, trying to soothe the fire raging through his veins.
“Will he be alright?” Bediviere asked.
Mithian didn’t look up from her ministrations. “He has a fever.”
Bediviere nodded but didn’t offer any platitudes or assurances. Mithian was glad, she didn’t know if she could handle them right now.
She wiped the cloth lower, over the top of his exposed chest until she could go no lower, the span of skin broken by a white bandage, already spotting with blood across its middle.
For the first time she let herself lean back to take in the full state of the man laid out before her. His breeches were stained with mud and blood, crusting along the knees, although he had been given a quick clean to stave off infection his skin still held a stain of ash like he had stood to close to a burning fire, and the bandages covered what Mithian knew was a vicious slash across his skin.
Tears prickled at her eyes and she swallowed to stave off the inevitable.
“What happened?” she croaked, levering her eyes to her brother’s solemn face.
“He saved us all,” Bediviere answered, glancing down at the Merlin. “Morgana had us surrounded, we were outnumbered and outmanoeuvred. King Arthur was about to stage the final attack that would have been the end for all of us, and then… it was like nothing I have ever seen before…”
Bediviere’s eyes lost focus, so lost in the memory he was. “The ground shook and cracked, the enemy falling to the centre of the earth, and Morgana - she was consumed in flames.”
“And the wound?”
“One of Arthur’s knights, a young boy, he screamed when Morgana fell and came at him. Merlin barely had time to move let alone defend himself.”
Mithian opened her mouth to ask… something, but it flew from her mind as Merlin’s hand twitched in her own. Her eyes zeroed back in on her love to watch hopefully for signs of waking. She brought the hand to her lips, just pressing the limb against them, feeling the smooth skin brush against her mouth.
Bediviere pushed slowly from his seat, Mithian catching the slight wince and the favour to his right side. “I’ll leave you to care for your man.”
“I should… Mother-“
“She’ would want you to stay here, where you are needed. I think she more than most, will understand your need to be here.” Pressing a rare kiss to her forehead he departed, leaving her and Merlin once more unaccompanied.
*
Gwen held her skirts and rushed up the steps of Nemeth castle and through the hallways. She had heard the stories of what had happened on the battlefield; that Morgana was defeated, that they’d won the battle, that the King of Nemeth had fallen, that Merlin…
She opened the door before which Camelot knights stood and then Arthur was there, turning from where he leaned over his desk, his stance whenever he was concerned or troubled. But he was there and alive and looked unscathed after battle. They met together in the middle of the room and Gwen let the comfort of his arms soothe her worries and mind for a moment.
“Arthur… I heard, about Merlin - what he did.” Gwen breathed into her husband’s neck. But before she had even finished she felt him tense and he pulled away, turning his back to her. “What are you going to do Arthur?”
“What exactly do you want me to do Gwen?” Arthur spoke to the reports littering his desk, Gwen doubted that he was reading them. “He has lied to me for years!”
Gwen stepped forward, her brown furrowing. “And when exactly was he supposed to tell you he was a sorcerer living in Camelot’s castle? You were the prince of a kingdom where his existence was punishable by death, and then you became king of that kingdom, a king whose parents had both been killed by magic!”
“He should have trusted me! As I have trusted him!” Arthur shouted as he whirled, eyes wide with rage and betrayal.
Gwen’s gaze softened at her husband’s obvious hurt, but she wouldn’t back down. “He has trusted you in the past Arthur, don’t deny it. He told you of his suspicions of Agravaine and you threatened him with exile, you threaten him with the stocks every mistake he makes. When the goblin actually accused him of magic you let him be thrown into the cells!”
“I wasn’t going to leave him there!”
“And does Merlin know that?” Arthur’s indignation faded, his shoulders slumping. Gwen followed silently as he stood before the fireplace, staring into the jumping flames.
“What are you going to do Arthur?” She spoke after a while. “Are you really going to kill your best friend, my best friend? One of the knight’s brothers?”
“Of course not, but his treachery cannot go unpunished.”
“So what then? Banishment? Is that your solution to every situation you find uncomfortable?”
“It is the punishment for people who betray my trust!”
Gwen went silent, the sting of her betrayal and Arthur’s dismal still a black point in their lives, one that was never brought up, just skipped over like a crack in a pavement.
“You need to think Arthur,” she whispered allowing the accusation to wash over her. “What will your action be? And think hard; because I don’t have to tell you that if he dies...” Gwen’s voice cracked. “If he dies then part of Camelot will die with him. And you will not forgive yourself if he dies with bad blood between you.”
The queen left her king to his thoughts, his long gaze caught in the fire, crackling like a cruel taunt.
*Arthur fidgeted, rested his hands on his sword and then thought better of it and squared his shoulders, and knocked.
There was the sound of shuffling, a splash of water and then the door opened, revealing the drawn and tired face of Princess Mithian. Her face shuttered and closed when she saw her midnight caller. “He’s resting,” she stated, her voice cool.
Arthur shuffled his shoulders again. “I need to see him.”
“With all due respect Your Highness, no.”
“No?”
“He has sustained a major injury, he needs to recover.”
Arthur’s mouth flapped for a minute before he frowned at the Princess blocking his way to his own manservant. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“What?”
“The magic, the fact that Merlin, my bumbling fool of a servant felled half an army with the sweep of his hands and reduced a powerful sorceress to a pile of ash with the blink of his eyes!” Arthur’s voice was quite loud at the end and an unfortunate pitch. He cleared his throat and stared in a very regal and hopefully demanding way.
Mithian stared back, seemingly unimpressed and Arthur thought the little tug on her lips looked a little smug when she responded, “He told me.”
Arthur’s mouth opened a little in outrage. “Why would he tell you?”
Mithian sighed, looking back over shoulder into the room. “Anything else Arthur?”
“I see that his insubordination is catching,” Arthur muttered.
“If that is all-“ Unimpressed and apparently finished with this conversation, Mithian began to shut the door. Arthur shot out a hand quickly, pressing against the wood, before he could even think about it.
Mithian raised an expectant eyebrow at the king, waiting. “Just-“ he stumbled, trying to figure out which question was most prevalent in mind, then he sighed because he knew which was most important, from the moment he had caught Merlin’s falling body on that field. “Will he be alright?”
“Why?” The Princess glared. “Do you need him intact for the pyre?”
“Gods, I’m not…” Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He just felled an entire army! Why does everyone think I am a blood thirsty war monger?”
Mithian causally looked down to Arthur’s still blood soaked sword hanging by his side.
“Erm…” he cleared his throat, turning his belt slightly so it wasn’t in view. “Just have someone keep me updated on his progress. Gwaine stop looking so smug,” he shot at the chuckling knight hovering in the shadows behind him. “And guard this door!”
Mithian looked as if she were about to protest. He raised a calming hand “He is here for protection only.”
Mithian looked slightly mollified and then showed Arthur the back side of the door. Arthur stood blinking at the closed door for a moment before sending his still chuckling knight a withering glare.
As expected it had no effect, Gwaine leaning back casually, one foot levered against the wall beside the door but his sword drawn at ready. “The Princess, thwarted by a princess.”
Arthur rolled his eyes storming away down the corridor. “Oh shut up, Gwaine.”
Part 8
Rating: NC-17
Pairing:Merlin/Mithian
Summary: Canon-era. When Mithian decides to stay on in Camelot after King Arthur's wedding she never exepects the string of events that come after, leading her to her love and her place in this web called 'Destiny'.
Part 6
The battlefield was so close, almost on the doorstep of the castle through the thin cover of trees below. Mithian imagined she could taste the men’s fear upon the air. It made her fidgety. It made her shoulders tense and her hands tremble and her inside clench in a constant state of dread.
“Mithian, would you please sit down,” her mother ordered, not looking up from her embroidery.
“I hate this,” Mithian muttered, pacing across the chamber. “I hate sitting here idly reading or sewing. I cannot just sit here whist the men I love fight in battle!”
Her mother raised an eyebrow at her uncharacteristic outburst. “Trust me my child, soon there will be more than enough for you to do.”
As always her mother’s prediction came true, and the first wave of injured arrived, washing up against the castle steps in droves. From then there was no time to stop.
Young men, old men, some mere boys. Wounds from missing limbs to burns, to the lack of a heartbeat. There was no time to feel sadness, or pity, or remorse, if you started you wouldn’t be able to stop and would be in a ball cowering in the corner after the first wave.
But every glimpse of black hair had her reeling, every flash of brown or blue cloth, sent her hurtling in that direction, her chest seized in panic.
They were lucky enough that King Arthur had brought with him the renowned knowledge of their court physician. Gaius organised the infirmary and surgeries with military precision, a harsh but fair ruler. All Mithian had to worry about was doing as she was instructed, which was a blessing for her over-taxed mind.
She had been praised as a child for her over-active imagination, now it felt more like a curse, the horrors surrounding her fuelling her already vivid nightmares of pale skinned warlocks left cold and broken on a bloody field.
So she ran herself ragged, followed Gaius’s every instruction without question, fetching, carrying, steading; anything to keep her moving.
“Mithian,” a voice called from behind her. Mithian turned from her hurried walk down the hallway, fresh bandages in hand, to look upon the solemn face of her maid.
Mithian’s stomach dropped. She knew that look, an awful mix between fear and pity and sadness. The bandages fell to the floor and she raced past her maid, her heart pounding and her mind a consistent mantra of ‘Merlin’.
She ignored Clarrisa’s call behind her, lifting her skirts she flew down the stone steps and burst out onto the courtyard. The sight out to greet her stopped her still.
Held upon the shoulders of his most trusted knights was the still body of her father. *
“It was a clean wound My Lady,” Gaius had said. Her mother stood hunched at Mithian’s side, silent tears running down each cheek. It pained Mithian more so to see her mother’s hurt than the feel of her own. “It would’ve been quick.”
The queen’s Lady In Waiting had wrapped a swift arm around the queen before her legs gave way from sobs. and Mithian had retreated.
The stairways of the castle were deserted, everyone either on the battlefield or the infirmary. Here Mithian sank down, her body folding in on itself until her head touched her knees. This was something she couldn’t comprehend. There had never been a world for her before, where her father didn’t roam. He may have been far away or not available, but he was always there, somewhere.
She glanced up and around the empty staircase she was in; the castle even seemed different somehow, already. And in the most selfish, darkest part of her mind she rejoiced, thanked the Gods that it hadn’t been Merlin upon those knights, body drained of its life force.
She couldn’t help the helpless laugh that sobbed form her lips. Even now, when her world had been shattered and reformed in the wrong order, when her constant was gone and the prickles of grief stabbed her eyes, she just wanted for one man. And he was so much closer than he had been for months, but he still wasn’t here. She thought that perhaps if he just slotted his arms around her shoulders, allowed her to rest her head against his chest and listen to the strong beat of his heart; then she might be able to feel as if tomorrow wouldn’t shatter.
Mithian was startled from her grief by a shudder. At first she thought it was her body, the hours of tensions and heartache rippling through her body, but then it happened again. She heard the calls and the screams around her as the castle walls shook with a beat. And then the loudest sound Mithian had ever heard ripped through the world, shaking the castle to the core. The stone building shivered, like a bare tree in a storm and Mithian screamed, ducking as rubble and stone fell from the ceiling showered upon her head.
When it was over she looked around, panting, as if waiting for a foe to jump from the shadows. And then a torrent of horse hooves sounded, echoing across each bare wall.
When she reached the courtyard at a rush, Kay was already dismounting his horse. Disregarding any audience she ran at him, letting herself be swept up in his arms. They held tight for a moment, him letting her feel his wholeness beneath her, then they pulled back.
“Kay, what happened?” she asked. He shook his head wordlessly. He may have been standing but his face was pale and his eyes wide as if in shock.
“The battle,” he breathed. “It’s over, Lady Morgana is gone.”
“Gone?”
The surge of horse hooves escalated, a hoard of Camelot red flooded the square. From in their midst there were raised voices and a panicked voice hollered, “Gaius!”
Emerging from the sea was a scene from her nightmares.
His skin was pale, bloodless and his limbs hung limply down from where Sir Percival had him cradled. His hair and face covered and matted with dirt and dust, and painted across his middle, through the flimsy blue material of his tunic, was a bright red gash of blood.
“Gaius!” King Arthur called again, racing beside his knight and the passenger. The party disappeared into the castle, Arthur’s frantic calls to Gaius echoing through the castle.
*
Mithian watched, frozen still by fear for half a moment, trying to decipher whether she was actually awake or just so overtired that her brain had manifested its nightmares.
Her legs began to move with no conscious thought, leaving the courtyard, the returning soldiers and her brother behind, and she flew through the hallways, ignoring the trail of red dripped along the floor ahead of her.
The small room beside the infirmary was in chaos. The king was yelling, Gaius was scowling back, the knights were getting in everyones way. But Mithian’s eyes zeroed in on the small bed.
His body was just so still and pale. The rest of the room faded away.
She pushed past them all, she needed to check, just to check. As soon as her hands touched his face, cupping his pale cheeks his body let out a groan, Merlin’s head rolling towards her.
“Oh,” she exhaled, relief, love, fear, pain, all flooding her heart, making her feel weak. She rested her head against the corner of the litter. “Oh, thank Gods.”
She clutched his relatively unmarred hand. She could still hear the voices still escalated around her, some words pierced her conscious, like ‘Mordred’, ‘Fire’, ‘Morgana’ and most frightening of all ‘Magic’. But nothing else mattered. Not the men in the room, not the stains of blood against her dress, not magic, not destiny, not class, not riches.
He was alive; he was pale and weak, but alive.
As if reading her mind the physician spoke. “He’s lost a lot of blood, My Lady. We need to work.”
She looked up then, her face stern with royal importance that can only be bred. Her hand gripped tightly in her love’s. She stared the physician in the eyes. “Are you ordering me to leave?” A challenging eyebrow raised.
Thankfully and fortunately the physician seemed to have an ounce of intelligence, muttering and moving quickly around the room. Mithian didn’t pay attention, she had already seen enough of the wound upon Merlin to give her nightmares: instead she stared at his face, running a hand through his hair, whispering into his ear.
And all the while their joined hands pressed against Merlin’s cheek, Mithian’s lips pressed to the other side of their join. And she vowed to him, if he just pulled through this, he would never leave his side again, no matter the cost.
After a while the movement around her stopped. Merlin’s face was now flush with fever, his long fringe sticking to his head. She pushed the hair away, leaving her hand soothing his forehead.
She looked up, noticing for the first time she was alone in the room save Gaius. She stared pleading into Gaius’s eyes. “He’ll be alright?”
“He’ has lost a lot of blood, My Lady. But we have done what we can; the rest is up to him.”
Mithian looked fiercely back down at Merlin, squaring her shoulders, ready to fight on his behalf. “He is strong. He will be fine.”
She looked up, expecting a lecture on realistic expectations, but Gaius was just watching her, a fond smile on his lips. “It has been good to see you again, Princess.”
Taken off guard, Mithian blinked, but found her response came to her easily and sincerely. “You too Gaius.”
“I won’t pretend he has told me everything, but he has missed you.”
With a squeeze of her shoulder he left her and Merlin, no doubt off to tend to the rest of the wounded, but as soon as he left her sphere, he was forgotten. All that mattered was laid out bare before her.
*
Mithian’s world had shrunk, to Merlin’s limp hand, to his pale lips, to his sweaty brow, to his quivering eyes. She wrung out the cooling cloth and re-wet it, dripping a few droplets of water between his pale lips before she laid it gently across his forehead.
She was vaguely aware of some comings and goings. A physician coming to check on the patient, maids bringing fresh water, she thought she had seen a flick of Sir Gwaine’s hair on the opposite side of the bed for a while. But they all left eventually. And she stayed.
The knock at the door was unexpected. Mithian looked up, her eyes blinking at the change in focus, to find Bediviere peering around the corner of the door.
“Brother,” she gasped.
The real world rushed through the door with her brother’s presence, the battle, her father, her mother. She began to stand, mentally working out exactly how long she would have to leave Merlin’s side, to see to her family and duties.
“No, Mithian, sit,” Bediviere soothed. He came into the room and sat opposite, staring at the prone body on the bed. Warily Mithian turned the cloth, pushing Merlin’s hair from his face. He turned his head into the touch and Mithian let the backs of her fingers carefully trace his overheated cheek.
When she looked up her brother was smirking and her face automatically scowled. “What?”
Bediviere just smirked wider, the smile on his face belying the dark shadows beneath his eyes. But Mithian allowed him to distract himself for a short moment. “So this is Merlin, the noble with so much influence on the king, the one that father was fretting he didn’t know?”
Mithian ignored the stab of reality that came along with her father’s name. He was gone and there was no coming back, she would have plenty of time to mourn him when Merlin had recovered. “He may not be of noble blood,” she spoke slowly with conviction. “But he is the very definition… He is King Arthur’s servant.”
Bediviere nodded, as if an obscured picture was coming to light. “You know,” he mused. “This makes more sense.” Mithian shot him a questioning eyebrow and he continued, “Well, I could never understand why you would do that to yourself, stay around in Camelot to watch the man you were due to marry make a life with someone else. I thought you must have gotten over the rejection but then you came back and you were so…”
Mithian didn’t need him to finish that sentence; she knew what she was ‘so’. She was so heartbroken, and grief stricken, and lonely. But she needn’t be anymore.
Merlin let out a small moan again. Mithian quickly dunked the warming cloth and gently wiped across his neck and behind his ears, trying to soothe the fire raging through his veins.
“Will he be alright?” Bediviere asked.
Mithian didn’t look up from her ministrations. “He has a fever.”
Bediviere nodded but didn’t offer any platitudes or assurances. Mithian was glad, she didn’t know if she could handle them right now.
She wiped the cloth lower, over the top of his exposed chest until she could go no lower, the span of skin broken by a white bandage, already spotting with blood across its middle.
For the first time she let herself lean back to take in the full state of the man laid out before her. His breeches were stained with mud and blood, crusting along the knees, although he had been given a quick clean to stave off infection his skin still held a stain of ash like he had stood to close to a burning fire, and the bandages covered what Mithian knew was a vicious slash across his skin.
Tears prickled at her eyes and she swallowed to stave off the inevitable.
“What happened?” she croaked, levering her eyes to her brother’s solemn face.
“He saved us all,” Bediviere answered, glancing down at the Merlin. “Morgana had us surrounded, we were outnumbered and outmanoeuvred. King Arthur was about to stage the final attack that would have been the end for all of us, and then… it was like nothing I have ever seen before…”
Bediviere’s eyes lost focus, so lost in the memory he was. “The ground shook and cracked, the enemy falling to the centre of the earth, and Morgana - she was consumed in flames.”
“And the wound?”
“One of Arthur’s knights, a young boy, he screamed when Morgana fell and came at him. Merlin barely had time to move let alone defend himself.”
Mithian opened her mouth to ask… something, but it flew from her mind as Merlin’s hand twitched in her own. Her eyes zeroed back in on her love to watch hopefully for signs of waking. She brought the hand to her lips, just pressing the limb against them, feeling the smooth skin brush against her mouth.
Bediviere pushed slowly from his seat, Mithian catching the slight wince and the favour to his right side. “I’ll leave you to care for your man.”
“I should… Mother-“
“She’ would want you to stay here, where you are needed. I think she more than most, will understand your need to be here.” Pressing a rare kiss to her forehead he departed, leaving her and Merlin once more unaccompanied.
*
Gwen held her skirts and rushed up the steps of Nemeth castle and through the hallways. She had heard the stories of what had happened on the battlefield; that Morgana was defeated, that they’d won the battle, that the King of Nemeth had fallen, that Merlin…
She opened the door before which Camelot knights stood and then Arthur was there, turning from where he leaned over his desk, his stance whenever he was concerned or troubled. But he was there and alive and looked unscathed after battle. They met together in the middle of the room and Gwen let the comfort of his arms soothe her worries and mind for a moment.
“Arthur… I heard, about Merlin - what he did.” Gwen breathed into her husband’s neck. But before she had even finished she felt him tense and he pulled away, turning his back to her. “What are you going to do Arthur?”
“What exactly do you want me to do Gwen?” Arthur spoke to the reports littering his desk, Gwen doubted that he was reading them. “He has lied to me for years!”
Gwen stepped forward, her brown furrowing. “And when exactly was he supposed to tell you he was a sorcerer living in Camelot’s castle? You were the prince of a kingdom where his existence was punishable by death, and then you became king of that kingdom, a king whose parents had both been killed by magic!”
“He should have trusted me! As I have trusted him!” Arthur shouted as he whirled, eyes wide with rage and betrayal.
Gwen’s gaze softened at her husband’s obvious hurt, but she wouldn’t back down. “He has trusted you in the past Arthur, don’t deny it. He told you of his suspicions of Agravaine and you threatened him with exile, you threaten him with the stocks every mistake he makes. When the goblin actually accused him of magic you let him be thrown into the cells!”
“I wasn’t going to leave him there!”
“And does Merlin know that?” Arthur’s indignation faded, his shoulders slumping. Gwen followed silently as he stood before the fireplace, staring into the jumping flames.
“What are you going to do Arthur?” She spoke after a while. “Are you really going to kill your best friend, my best friend? One of the knight’s brothers?”
“Of course not, but his treachery cannot go unpunished.”
“So what then? Banishment? Is that your solution to every situation you find uncomfortable?”
“It is the punishment for people who betray my trust!”
Gwen went silent, the sting of her betrayal and Arthur’s dismal still a black point in their lives, one that was never brought up, just skipped over like a crack in a pavement.
“You need to think Arthur,” she whispered allowing the accusation to wash over her. “What will your action be? And think hard; because I don’t have to tell you that if he dies...” Gwen’s voice cracked. “If he dies then part of Camelot will die with him. And you will not forgive yourself if he dies with bad blood between you.”
The queen left her king to his thoughts, his long gaze caught in the fire, crackling like a cruel taunt.
*Arthur fidgeted, rested his hands on his sword and then thought better of it and squared his shoulders, and knocked.
There was the sound of shuffling, a splash of water and then the door opened, revealing the drawn and tired face of Princess Mithian. Her face shuttered and closed when she saw her midnight caller. “He’s resting,” she stated, her voice cool.
Arthur shuffled his shoulders again. “I need to see him.”
“With all due respect Your Highness, no.”
“No?”
“He has sustained a major injury, he needs to recover.”
Arthur’s mouth flapped for a minute before he frowned at the Princess blocking his way to his own manservant. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“What?”
“The magic, the fact that Merlin, my bumbling fool of a servant felled half an army with the sweep of his hands and reduced a powerful sorceress to a pile of ash with the blink of his eyes!” Arthur’s voice was quite loud at the end and an unfortunate pitch. He cleared his throat and stared in a very regal and hopefully demanding way.
Mithian stared back, seemingly unimpressed and Arthur thought the little tug on her lips looked a little smug when she responded, “He told me.”
Arthur’s mouth opened a little in outrage. “Why would he tell you?”
Mithian sighed, looking back over shoulder into the room. “Anything else Arthur?”
“I see that his insubordination is catching,” Arthur muttered.
“If that is all-“ Unimpressed and apparently finished with this conversation, Mithian began to shut the door. Arthur shot out a hand quickly, pressing against the wood, before he could even think about it.
Mithian raised an expectant eyebrow at the king, waiting. “Just-“ he stumbled, trying to figure out which question was most prevalent in mind, then he sighed because he knew which was most important, from the moment he had caught Merlin’s falling body on that field. “Will he be alright?”
“Why?” The Princess glared. “Do you need him intact for the pyre?”
“Gods, I’m not…” Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He just felled an entire army! Why does everyone think I am a blood thirsty war monger?”
Mithian causally looked down to Arthur’s still blood soaked sword hanging by his side.
“Erm…” he cleared his throat, turning his belt slightly so it wasn’t in view. “Just have someone keep me updated on his progress. Gwaine stop looking so smug,” he shot at the chuckling knight hovering in the shadows behind him. “And guard this door!”
Mithian looked as if she were about to protest. He raised a calming hand “He is here for protection only.”
Mithian looked slightly mollified and then showed Arthur the back side of the door. Arthur stood blinking at the closed door for a moment before sending his still chuckling knight a withering glare.
As expected it had no effect, Gwaine leaning back casually, one foot levered against the wall beside the door but his sword drawn at ready. “The Princess, thwarted by a princess.”
Arthur rolled his eyes storming away down the corridor. “Oh shut up, Gwaine.”
Part 8