Falling
Title: Falling
Author: Amata le Fay
Story: Force-Benders
Flavor(s): Peach Pie 5 (thus always to tyrants), Pomegranate 7 (sore loser), Dark Chocolate 16 (turmoil)
Toppings: Butterscotch, Sprinkles
Extras: None
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1170
Notes: Series finale of Nimuë's story; previous installments here, here, here, and here, though I hope each piece can stand alone. Concrit always appreciated.
The fields of Avalon shimmer in the sunlight, beams of gold falling on the jewel-toned grass with such breathtaking majesty that you could scarcely believe that, moments before, it had been merely an ordinary meadow. It is here that Merlin lies, smiling contentedly and completely at ease with his surroundings. He had created them, after all.
His gaze is fixed on the pool in front of him, a lake in the center of the meadow. Its hue is a deep, bright cobalt that contrasts and yet complements the fields around it, and its surface is perfectly still-unnaturally so, as if it has been glazed over with ice. Runic symbols float across the top of the water, flecks of sea green movement in the place of ripples. Here, you are effectively cut off from the world, as Nimuë is now. She has a special fondness for this lake and had even helped place some of the runes herself.
The young woman swims up to the surface and to the shore, the water around her swirling with symbols. The Magician greets her warmly, and, as he offers her a seat next to him on the grass, his smile shifts into a smirk.
The world around them is calm, but, underneath, everything stirs.
From behind the trees of a glade not far away, a dark-haired woman watches the lovers kiss. She presses her lips together in a thin line and keeps an expression of cold detachment on her face even as her eyes never falter in their hawk-like scrutiny of Merlin Ambrosius. Her whole life has been leading up to this moment, and she is determined to play this twisted game out to its perfect end.
Merlin himself is fully aware of her presence-nothing ever takes him by surprise. He has much riding on this as well, though he is much more confident about his chances and thus much more relaxed. He knows the plan and has taken countermeasures to ensure its failure. He caresses Nimuë's cheek before glancing briefly at his opponent with a lifted eyebrow. Let the games begin, he thinks.
As for Nimuë, she is oblivious to the truth about her part in all of this. But then again, she always has been, from the very beginning. The chessmasters would call her naïve, but, somewhere in the back of her mind, Nimuë knows that there are some things better not to know. Ignorance is not bliss, of course it isn't, but it is safer than the possibility of your enemy knowing what you know about them. That was the whole philosophy behind her mission, wasn't it?
A cold wind sweeps across the fields, and Morgan le Fay steps out of the shadows.
She heads straight for Merlin and Nimuë, not bothering to try and be covert. The sooner this is over with, the better-less time for Merlin to think up a way to thwart them, that way. She tilts her head and lets the sunlight shine into her mismatched eyes of silver and gold. They shimmer like the meadow, drawing the attention of both lovers magnetically.
Recognition flashes in Nimuë's eyes as memories begin to press against the barrier that had kept her old mind captive for the better part of a year now. Morgan continues moving forward, nodding curtly at Merlin as she passes to crouch down in front of the girl. “You've been gone too long, Nimuë,” she murmurs, laying her hand on top of the other woman's. “Time to wake up.”
The barrier cracks in two and everything comes rushing back. Her name is Nimuë Vivienne du Loch, she is the daughter of the tribe leader of the Glyndwyr people. She joined the Force-Benders of the New Renaissance when her village burned for their rebellion and proceeded to volunteer for a mission to kill the most dangerous man in the universe...
Her hands begin to glow with smoke-black light laced with blue. She turns to face the man with whom she used to be in love and prepares to deliver the blow, eyes glassy and unfocused.
Merlin lets out a sharp bark of laughter. As Morgan furrows her brow and directs more energy into Nimuë's hands to strengthen the spell, the Magician snaps his fingers and markings carve themselves into the girl's skin, tracing invisible lines just under the surface. Symbols and enchantments for control, possession, and-most of all-breakdown.
Nimuë Vivienne du Loch's world crumbles and crashes around her.
Lips smash against lips in a dizzy mania, everything spinning around and around until she can't tell what anything is anymore, only that he's there and she's there and they're both so close-
Somewhere in the hazy distance of her vision, she can make out Merlin Ambrosius turning toward Morgan le Fay and red light flashing, engulfing the sun. Red for battle, red for blood and-and flames...
She drifts in the midst of her thoughts as if in a pool of water. Colors float in circles all around her, and when she looks down at her hands she finds them shimmering with blue light-
Someone falls. A red dress, fluttering to the ground. Yellow and orange and gold sparkling on the ground with the spreading pool of scarlet. No blue, no green, no...
She's throwing all she has into this, and she knows that he must be, too-
Her knees sink into the ground and she stares into his eyes, cold and black, barely breathing.
How else could he make her feel so alive?
Everything's falling...
She's drowning inside her own mind, even though her body breathes-
Something else rushes in and she springs to her feet, limbs seized by something far beyond her control. Hurtling toward Merlin, who's stumbling back, stumbling away. She can't see it, but she can feel the surging wave moving behind her, the green runes swirling through the air and flying toward the tips of her fingers, fading into the dark glow of the death spell and making it swell. From her prone position on the ground, Morgan le Fay opens her eyes and watches her young protégée take back what had been lost for so long.
The energy wave crashes onto the shore and drowns the fires of battle, and, when it retreats, all that is left of the mage is a withered shell being pulled into the heart of a tree.
Nimuë moves forward and presses her lips against his for the last time, not out of regret of triumph or love or anything really, just the overwhelming emotion of the moment as her mind tries to piece the broken fragments of her life back together. “I'm sorry, my love,” she whispers, and then turns to face Morgan.
“It's done.” She gives her leader a quick nod and heads back to the lake. Hours later, she is still standing ankle-deep in the unnaturally calm water, gazing off into space as she tries to remember what is true and what is false.
She'll be haunted by it the rest of her life.