[ FIC ] For the Future
I don't know what has possessed me lately, but here's another fic! XDD It's just a short, harmless piece. A foray into the fandom, if you like, as dear analineblue has said to me. I got the idea for this story when I was watching the series for the second time. Reading so many fabulous fanfics out there helped a lot too. I really hope I'll be able to write more for this fandom, though I imagine it'll be hard since the good stories have all been written *__* But... yeah, we'll see :P Hope you enjoy!
Title: For the Future
Author : Polluxa
Fandom : Merlin (BBC)
Rating : PG for mild language
Genre : Pre-slash, drama
Pairing : Pre-Merlin/Arthur
Word Count : 1705
Spoilers : Season 1 in general, just to be safe
Summary : Merlin wondered a lot that day, feeling bleaker by each passing hour, burdened by thoughts of betraying his kin. Of betraying everything.
A/N : Betaread by the amazing, lovely analineblue, whose writing prowess I admire to no end. Any remaining mistake is completely my fault.
Disclaimer : I own nothing.
For the Future
The late afternoon had already crawled out of its brooding corner to chase out the day's last light, when the first hammer touched the wooden stake. The sound shattered the quiet of the halls, and traveled deep into the stone walls of the castle, like the steady breathing of something sinister. When Merlin caught the sound on the way to his master's chamber--each dull and heavy beat drove a searing pain into his chest--he turned a corner and stepped out into the growing dim of the outer courtyard.
The men in chain mail worked silently, almost solemnly. In silence, they pierced the tall, wooden stake into the earthen part of the courtyard, while smaller logs were cut into shorter beams. The perfect kindling. Obedience governed their efficient movements, though it was clear--even from where Merlin was lurking about--there was a flash of something in their eyes. It was not mutiny, but it was close enough. They were good men, Merlin knew, who held nothing in their souls but loyalty to their king. Even if they had to turn a deaf ear to the pleading tears of the village folk that had crowded around their work.
An old crone had been captured earlier in the day. She had kept her quiet grace even when the royal guards had thrown her--like a piece of rag--under the King's scornful eyes. Worthless and damned, she had looked up and met the King's eyes as the charges against her were announced. For using sorcery to restore the bad crops in the fields of one of the surrounding villages, she would be burnt alive by the first light of the next dawn. Let her death be a lesson to all who dared bring discord to Camelot through magic, the King then warned.
Above the castle, the black crows croaked. Somewhere in the woods outside the town, a banshee wept for those who would hear. Merlin turned away. Anger and disgust had turned the inside of his belly so that he had to relieve himself of the sickening bile at a deserted corner. Water from a small, nearby well washed out his illness somewhat, yet the rage remained behind. White-knuckled, he retraced his steps to his master's side, forming curses and anguished words in his mind to spew at the prince's face.
The fleeting sun had cast a purple-reddish hue on the floors and walls of the hallway, darker on the parts overshadowed by the pillars. All the while, the steady bang from the courtyard reverberated in the hushed air. He wondered if the sound would reach deeper under the castle. If it would shake the cave and rouse its inhabitant.
This was not Merlin’s first execution. He knew for certain it would not be his last. Hours ago, right after the King had made his orders known, Merlin had found half a dozen ways to help the witch, all of which were brutally quenched by Gaius. The old man had barged into Merlin's room, and had sworn to gladly inflict half a dozen unspeakable miseries on him, should he even consider to involve himself.
It had been one of their worst quarrels.
And Merlin had resigned, despite himself. All for the sake of fulfilling a destiny, to stand by Arthur's side when someday the prince would be king. Because of that, Merlin must learn to look away.
He wondered what would happen to him if his power was revealed. He wondered what Arthur would do if he found out. He wondered if he should let Arthur know before it all went pear-shaped. Merlin wondered a lot that day, feeling bleaker by each passing hour, burdened by the thoughts of betraying his kin. Of betraying everything.
When he found Arthur in his private chamber, the prince was sitting in his tall armchair in front of a dead fireplace, facing the large windows. The room was stricken in a deafening kind of quiet, even though the banging from the courtyard below haunted the air. Merlin tried to calm his mind, telling it to merge the words and form sentences. He stared at his master's profile--mouth already opened--only to see a face as angry and grief-stricken as his was.
Merlin swallowed his curses. He realized with a self-hating dread that he was quite at a loss of what to do.
Still, his mind roared with questions and accusations, and his body needed to move, to do something. So he slipped silently inside, heading straight to the fireplace. Then, maybe it was because Merlin was seething with the way his master's father was doing things, or maybe it was because his obedience quota for the day had been met when he surrendered under Gaius' death threats, or maybe he just needed not to care anymore, because he reached out his hand over the firewood, tapped into the boiling energy in and around him, and ignited the fireplace.
It was when he turned around again--still kneeling by the fireplace, ready to pick a fight with Arthur--that he noticed that the prince’s eyes were still fixed on the windows. The very windows that looked down to where the King's latest stage of injustice was being raised. Then Merlin noticed the tightly knitted brows, the stiff expression, and the taut lips whose corners were cracked and blotched with fresh blood.
Merlin realized then that there was at least another soul in the kingdom who shared his state of anger and frustration.
Behind the tall back of the armchair, Merlin summoned a washcloth and a bowl of warm water. Kneeling by the side of his master's chair, he gently dabbed the wet cloth on the bleeding lips.
Arthur jerked a little, turning sideways with wide eyes, suddenly realizing the presence of his manservant and the pain in his mouth.
"Did you fight your father?" Merlin was surprised at the gentle tone of his own voice.
Arthur looked away in disgust. "The man is bloody impossible."
"He's always been impossible. But I’ve never known him to hit you before."
"This time, I pushed far enough."
Because Merlin could not help himself, he clutched his fingers tightly around Arthur's arm on the armrest and then moved to rest his forehead against Arthur's forearm, hiding his expression.
"Thank you..."
Arthur turned his head, his nose almost bumping against Merlin's messy hair.
Questions were heavy in his voice when he asked, perhaps a little more gently than he intended, "What are you thanking me for?"
Merlin was quiet for awhile. When he raised his face to look at his master's questioning eyes, his expression was filled with something so earnest that it embarrassed Arthur somewhat.
"For standing up for your people."
A look of shameful remorse stole across Arthur's face as he quickly drew himself away.
"Are you trying to insult me?"
Merlin eyes grew wide. "What? No, I was..."
"Well, don't! You hear? Don't you dare thank me. Don't pat me on the head like I'm a good little prince who has done his good deed for the day."
Merlin quickly rose to his feet, both surprised and affronted.
"Oh, believe me, Arthur, that's not what..."
"I failed again today! Like I have failed so many times before! Nothing I did, nothing could make the King see what he's doing to his people. No matter how many hours I tried to reason with him, he just wouldn't see! And I had to be saved by Morgana, again--the nerve she had!--from the dungeons, where His Highness thoroughly enjoyed throwing me."
"Arthur..."
"Is this the sort of prince you're grateful for, Merlin? How about the villagers whose crops will wither when the witch dies? Do they deserve a crown prince like this? Do you still want to thank me!? "
Merlin did not know what possessed him to take three steps toward his master, but he did. It was perhaps the slight tinge of hysteria he caught in Arthur’s voice, or the look of open hurt on Arthur's usually proud face. Whatever it was, it pulled him toward the seething man like a force of nature he could not fight. He rested his palms against the sides of the armchair and leaned forward until he came face to face with the rage that was Arthur.
"Yes! Yes, I do!"
They stared at each other like that for several long, silent minutes, glaring daggers at each other. And if somewhere along the silence Merlin could see something flicker in Arthur's eyes--like the crush of a barrier that revealed something bare and frail and beautiful--Merlin could not be sure, because whatever it was vanished with a blink of gleaming, blue eyes.
They stayed that way until their heaving breathing subsided. Resigned, Arthur sat back in his chair. His eyes remained sharp on Merlin's though his anger had burnt out, leaving only an exhausted grief that clutched painfully at Merlin's chest.
Arthur gestured at the windows.
"This, Merlin, is Camelot. This is the real face of Camelot now. This is the Camelot that will someday be placed in my hands. What good will I be for the future Camelot if I can do nothing for this Camelot now?"
It was in the tense shoulders, rigid expression, and eyes that held back the tears of Merlin's kin, that Merlin saw the face of Camelot‘s future. He could see a land that prospered in peace, in freedom, in unity. He could see strife, too, and the measures that would be taken to hold it all together. He could see the people, who would not only respect their king, but love and trust him as they would love and trust their land. And only then could Merlin see what it meant to sacrifice for the sake of that future.
"I'm not sure what good a prat like you would be for this kingdom." Merlin grinned insolently. "But... I don't know, a king who enjoys being punched on the face and moping around in the dungeons? I'd sure love to see that. Sire."
"You bastard..."
When Arthur grinned back at him, Merlin knew that maybe, just maybe, the future king understood what he had really meant to say.
End.