Second Coming [PROLOGUE] 3389 words
Title: Second Coming
Fandom: Merlin / Final Fantasy XIII crossover
Character/Pairing(s): (In this chapter) Morgana, Merlin, Arthur. Background Arthur/Gwen eventually.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: FFXIII first game ending spoilers, takes place post-S3 for Merlin. Terribly unresearched references to Arthurian legends and Norse mythology. Slap-dash spoilers for FFXIII-2, but that's mostly assumptions on my part.
Summary: 'There are more than just the Old Religion. There are other powers out there, just as old. There are other magics out there, just as powerful.' Morgana summons a Valkyrie from another world and faces three tests to become Morgan le Fay, rivaling the legendary Emrys in power.
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
-The Second Coming, William Butler Yeats
There are more than just the Old Religion, Morgause had whispered to her one day after an exhaustive day of training with her magic. Morgana had been spectacular that day, her sister had whispered, and there was clearly much power running through her veins. But-- and there had been a but-- she connected to her magic in such a way that she had a harder time accessing it. It was passive. It was powerful. And it twisted and pulled under her skin, sending her visions of the future (such a powerful gift. So few were able to see the future. Only the most powerful) but not allowing her to make enough sense out of them. Not allowing her to change the visions as she saw fit. But if only she could. There are other powers out there, just as old. There are other magics out there, just as powerful.
Her sister had run soothing hands down her arms in an attempt to placate Morgana's swirling magic that day, and the silks of her dress warmed immediately at the touch. She had closed her eyes and sunk into the comfort of that touch, knowing that her former family (family, she almost spat. They weren't her family. They would have condemned her to the flames the moment they found out the gifts of her birth. The gifts that her mother had passed on to her daughters.) would never have comforted her after a tiring day. They would have been distant. They would not have praised her for her gifts. They had never praised her or comforted her in such a manner. The only one in her childhood who had offered comfort had been Guinevere, but as her maidservant they were required to keep an amount of distance.
Morgana had never known much much she ached for her family before Morgause had found her.
Morgause had whispered in her ear in the dark that night, the two of them sharing body heat in the dank of the castle ruins, her breath blowing across Morgana's skin as she talked of others who had traversed the lands and the gods who had honoured them, had patronized them and their battles and the power of those gods. Those gods had never been in conflict with the old religion, she had whispered. They were just as magic. And if the old religion were ever to stagger, because staggered it already was under Uther's reign of terror, then Morgause wanted Morgana to be able to find solace in other patrons. In gods and goddesses.
"They had power over battles. Over the skies. Over death and men." The two of them had curled together by then, magic conjuring up the warmest of coverings for them in that room. They hadn't needed any more than that; not anyone else, not fire or more comforts. Morgana had never known such freedom, to be away from the courtly manners and expectations and so very exposed to the sky as she slept. She had thought she would miss her old life, even the tiny details that allowed for silk dresses and feasts and men fighting over the honour of her hand for a dance. But she didn't miss it. Here, in the crumbling ruins of an old and exposed castle learning the magic of her birthright with a sister that had been hidden away from her by Uther, Morgana had felt at peace.
She belonged here. She loved it here.
"My sister," Morgause had whispered with such affection in her voice that the magic of the words washed over her in warm waves. "If such a day comes where I can not provide the help you need and the old religion demands too much, then turn to other means. Turn to other means and take what it is that you need. Other religions will not have the same rules. And they are no less real than our ways."
And now... and now.
A year later and an almost fulfilled plan and Morgana was back in the collapsing castle, but this time the night sky and cold winds did nothing to remind her of happiness. She shook with her loss; not with cold or fear over her future, but with a rage so deep that she couldn't understand it herself. Morgause. Her sister. Her beloved sister.
Not dead, not yet, but all the symptoms were there and she couldn't do anything to prevent her beloved sister's inevitable slumber-- all that magic inside her and all those plans. All her plans. How had it all come to naught? She had an immortal army in her hands, had the castle, had her magic! What had Arthur had? A handful of men playing at being knights? Commoners! Traitors! She would have been a good queen! A beloved queen! She just needed time, time to settle in and destroy the once royal family and then make the people understand that magic was not the evil that Uther had proclaimed for over twenty years. She would have seen magic back in the lands.
How had this come to pass?
But now... Morgana's hands shook with grief as she brushed her fingers against Morgause's unresponsive face. It had been well over a week and she had exhausted everything she had been taught, everything she knew of magic and the old religion. She had lost the cup of life. She couldn't begin to comprehend the magic over life and death-- she wasn't a high priestess of the old religion. And the boundaries of magic were clear-- those who were meant to die would die, whether or not Morgana had any say in the matter, whether or not she would have been a good queen and brought magic back-- would have avenged the magic-users of the land who had suffered unfairly under Uther's reign and all she really needed was her sister with her. As long as Morgause was with her, Morgana could do all of that and more. She knew she could. But she needed Morgause there.
"The old religion has failed us," Morgana whispered to Morgause, just as softly as Morgause had whispered to her before during her training; just as lovingly. She trailed her fingers down her sister's arm, soft as her touch caught on the various embellishments of Morgause's dress. "But I am not as cruel as the old religion. I won't give up. I won't leave you to die. There are other gods, and they will save you where the old religion can't. I will make them save you."
She needed the power over death. Needed it. Would do anything to get it, and with a soft kiss over her sister's forehead, Morgana swept away with her dress swirling ominously behind her.
She had given the old religion nearly two weeks to save her sister, one of the last devoted servants of magic. It had failed her, so it was time to turn to other venues of power.
***
He should have known, after three weeks of rebuilding and the castle calming from the terrifying weeks under the witch queen's rule. At least, that's what he heard whispered around the lower town and hushed around the castle, the servants quieting down immediately when he passed and silencing completely if Arthur stormed past. Three weeks and not a peep from the other kingdoms, almost as if Camelot had been enclosed in its own battle, left to lick her wounds in a place in peace despite the chaos that had come to pass with news of Cenred's death and the Escetia in ruins. For a while, Merlin had panicked before he received news from his mother than Ealdor had been left alone and forgotten by those scrabbling for power over the kingdom due to the village being so small.
Beyond that, Camelot was quiet, the people rebuilding and still reeling from the shock of Morgana's betrayal. The new knights were accepted gratefully by the people (although from Merlin could see, there was very little that could make the nobles accept commoners in such a prestigious position as knights of Camelot. Still, there was very little they could do to protest it seeing as Arthur held firm to the belief that Camelot needed new knights, and they had all proven themselves when they stood against an immortal army with no chance of surviving just because it was the right thing to do. All who had stood against Morgana during the times of terror were to be honoured, whether they were knights or commoners. After all, all had suffered under her brief reign and those who continued to defy her under pain of death held to a code that went beyond the bounds of duty.
Three weeks of quiet and rebuilding the areas in town that had been destroyed by the immortal army and Merlin should have understood that something would come up again. Three weeks of peace and quiet? In Camelot? Still, with the healing process as delicate as it was (Uthur had been left reeling in the wake of his daughter's cruelty and bedridden under Gaius's orders), he had expected just a little more time before something more happened.
So when the sky opened on that sunny day, ripping a hole in the sky and sending the townspeople screaming in terror as the sun was blighted out by darkness and what looked to be a hand reached through the deep black of the sky... he should have seen that coming. Except he hadn't. Merlin had no idea what happened prior to that, as he had been alerted to the phenomenon by the screams of the people outside, having been carrying out an errand for Gaius. He had been tasked with a trip to the marketplace for ingredients to potions he had yet to learn about and had stopped out of an apothecary after the screams had started, looking up at the sky only following the gazes of others. And he had gaped along with them as the giant hand (crystal, it looked like. Crystal and dark and not smooth like a person's would be, but rather with awkward angles and ridges as if whittled by a beginning wood smith) appeared through the hole, and then nearly fell back as a wave of power hit him, as hard as a physical blow would have.
Whatever it was, it was magical and wrong, from the way the very world seemed to scream at the intrusion.
He only tightened his grip on the strap of his worn herbs bag, though, his very magic ripping through him as the world ripped and forced his muscles to tense to a near painful state. But only for a moment, where the noise of people screaming faded to non-existence and all he could hear was the silence of the screaming magic, before the world cut back into being and his attention was drawn to not only the the feeling of wrongness in the sky, but an echo of that feeling not too far from him; a movement in the corner of his vision, small and fleeting.
A girl. Small and slight with orange-red curls and-- he nearly dropped his bag in shock-- barely dressed at all! With a skirt of furs and far too many beads against naked skin, he could see her turn in his direction for a moment before he lost sight of her in the crowd, but that split second held his complete attention.
While others had been panicked and scared, she only looked... resigned and a little sad.
He should have known then that the glimpse of the girl heralded a new beginning.
***
It was a week later when the warning bells sounded once again, and Merlin was once again gritting his teeth in frustration trying to talk Arthur (oh, sorry, Prince Arthur his royal pratness) out of doing something extremely stupid.
"This isn't right! He hasn't done anything wrong, he doesn't know anything about Camelot's laws and--"
It was the flash of hatred in Arthur's eyes that stopped him faster than the flash of the sword that stopped inches from his face, leaving Merlin cringing away with a wounded look, knowing that his friend (no, his prince, not his friend right now) wouldn't listen to reason while he was this angry. Arthur had always been hot-headed (and arrogant, and a prat, and selfish and conceited and condescending and so much more), but Merlin knew that the other man would always do the right thing over what was easy. He did. Arthur always did.
But right here, right now in the middle of the night with the warning bells ringing loudly in the background and the muffled sounds of running and the yelling of guards from behind the heavy doors to the prince's room and Arthur in full armour pointing a sword at his servant (his friend), Merlin could almost feel the smallest doubt about what the prince would do. Because while Arthur would always do the right thing, his definition of what was right and wrong was just too skewed from Uther's teachings.
"That excuses nothing!" Arthur spat, features distorted by both fury and uncertainty (only the smallest bit, but Merlin knew him and he had to cling to that small bit of hope because the uncertainty was still there despite the fury and despite Uther's teachings and despite everything that had happened with Morgana). "Did you know about this, Merlin? About this escape? Did you help him?"
Merlin gaped, forgetting about the sword pointed straight at him even as he tried to process the betrayal in Arthur's voice. He stood up straighter, far too close to the point of the sword but his indignation wouldn't allow for anything other than his full height (and he was taller than Arthur, always had been even if the other had always been the stronger and faster one, even if Arthur could easily overpower him despite the years that the prince had spent trying to make sure his servant would be able to hold his own in a fight and he knew that Arthur hated the fact that Merlin was taller despite being younger even if they had never brought it up at all).
"What? No!" Even if that answer would normally have been a lie since he had been planning it, he always planned things like that even if he never acted on it-- always wanted to keep those accused of sorcery away from the pyres. But this time, it had been far too early. He hadn't even gotten a solid plan together, hadn't even gone to see the accused before the bells started ringing and he raced to find Arthur. He had barely managed to talk with Gaius, had been in the middle of a plan with a tearful Gwen when the warning bells had sounded. "I don't know anything about this! You think I could have done this?"
It wasn't so much a question as an accusation. It had been merely an hour ago when Uther had proclaimed that a pyre be built in the morning for the execution of another sorcerer, sounding altogether too gleeful about taking down another servant of magic after magic had taken Morgana from him. It hadn't mattered what Gaius had tried to say, what Merlin had tried to tell Arthur but couldn't, or Gwen's pleading and panicked looks.
"He's a child." Perhaps that was an exaggeration. Mordred was the same age now. But at the very least, it was a plea that might catch Arthur's attention. "Barely old enough to be a squire--"
Arthur's jerky movements as he pulled his sword back warned Merlin of the upcoming explosion.
"But old enough to do magic!" The word was a curse spat from the prince's mouth. "And you can't convince me to let him go. No, I have seen the evils of magic now. How it twists the heart and minds of anyone entangled with it. You will say that it is innocent how, but magic corrupts. A healing spell now would become a plague later. No." The frightening part was how calm Arthur looked now, how convinced in his own words. "My father was right all along. It is already too late for those who have chosen to do magic. It's only a matter of time. And you, Merlin, you will know best to shut up when we meet the king or I will have you in the stocks until the sorcerer is found and killed."
Merlin reeled from the words, wide-eyed and barely able to comprehend the vehemence. It was like talking to Uther. It felt as though all his hopes on getting Arthur to accept magic was shattering to pieces and he had a flash of the future, of Arthur on the throne with that same hatred that Uther had when someone so much as mentioned magic to him, that same hard look as his people burned in front of him, screaming and pleading for mercy but receiving nothing but cold disdain. There was a part of him that despaired, that screamed about destiny and how Kilgharrah couldn't have been wrong; he would just have to trust in Arthur to come to his senses, to understand that magic wasn't as evil as Uther would have him believe, that just about everyone he had encountered in his life would have him believe.
Morgana, Merlin thought numbly in the haze of his mind. What have you done? What have I done?
Albion and the freedom have magic never felt so far away. Had Morgana's betrayal turned Arthur away from magic so far that he would never see it as it truly was? Would not rescue a child who did not deserve to die by the flames? Was Arthur really going to hunt down a healer when he could have just allowed the escape as he used to and claim that the sorcerer had escaped him once again?
From the look in Arthur's eyes, it seemed like he was not going to let this one go. And Merlin felt colder than ever, wondering if this was how he would be treated-- if this was a vision of the future where the once and future king would condemn all those with magic that easily.
"Gather my knights." The prince's tone was hard when Merlin gave him no response. "Now, Merlin. I will speak to my father and assure him that I will hunt the sorcerer down. We will not allow her to gain another ally." For a moment after that statement, the prince really looked at Merlin's countenance and softened at the obvious shock and fear. "We are doing him a mercy. Purge the magic before it corrupts his soul. Then you will always remember him the way you want to, and not have to face the inevitable betrayal. He will be remembered without fear, Merlin. No one will know him as an evil sorcerer who killed hundreds because we will make sure that never comes to pass.
"I know you cared for him, Merlin. I will make it quick and as painless as possible."
With a firm clasp on his shoulder (it send Merlin stumbling back two steps, forgetting to brace himself as he was wont to do whenever he realized that Arthur was going for another one of his masculine displays of comfort and didn't want to pain of a bruised arm), Arthur gave Merlin a vaguely sympathetic look before stepping past him, the sound of the heavy wooden door opening making the noise beyond louder and more real as the warning bells continued to ring.
Quick and painless. That wasn't a mercy. Letting the boy escape would have been a mercy. Merlin spun on his feet, barely managing to keep his balance as he ran out of the room after Arthur, but in another direction. Gwen. He'd have to tell Guinevere about this; she'd know what to do about it, he hoped. She was someone who could influence Arthur's moods and maybe stop this madness before it sunk in too deep.
Purge the magic before it corrupts his soul.
He couldn't help the shot of fear as he slipped past another contingent of yelling guards. Somehow, those words felt even more ominous than Uther's usual condemnation of magic.
Get Gwen and get her to help. Get the knights. If not Gwen, then maybe Lancelot would be able to talk some sense into Arthur.
Kinda rubbish beginning, but the entire thing is somewhat confusing time-wise. There will be a lot of jumps through time, but I wanted to at least post this up before series 4 of Merlin starts and runs through this story. XD; But hey, a year did pass between series 3 and 4, so who knows?
Honestly, this was written because I really really wanted to see Hope follow Merlin around while he's doing chores. How cute is that?
Fandom: Merlin / Final Fantasy XIII crossover
Character/Pairing(s): (In this chapter) Morgana, Merlin, Arthur. Background Arthur/Gwen eventually.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: FFXIII first game ending spoilers, takes place post-S3 for Merlin. Terribly unresearched references to Arthurian legends and Norse mythology. Slap-dash spoilers for FFXIII-2, but that's mostly assumptions on my part.
Summary: 'There are more than just the Old Religion. There are other powers out there, just as old. There are other magics out there, just as powerful.' Morgana summons a Valkyrie from another world and faces three tests to become Morgan le Fay, rivaling the legendary Emrys in power.
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
-The Second Coming, William Butler Yeats
There are more than just the Old Religion, Morgause had whispered to her one day after an exhaustive day of training with her magic. Morgana had been spectacular that day, her sister had whispered, and there was clearly much power running through her veins. But-- and there had been a but-- she connected to her magic in such a way that she had a harder time accessing it. It was passive. It was powerful. And it twisted and pulled under her skin, sending her visions of the future (such a powerful gift. So few were able to see the future. Only the most powerful) but not allowing her to make enough sense out of them. Not allowing her to change the visions as she saw fit. But if only she could. There are other powers out there, just as old. There are other magics out there, just as powerful.
Her sister had run soothing hands down her arms in an attempt to placate Morgana's swirling magic that day, and the silks of her dress warmed immediately at the touch. She had closed her eyes and sunk into the comfort of that touch, knowing that her former family (family, she almost spat. They weren't her family. They would have condemned her to the flames the moment they found out the gifts of her birth. The gifts that her mother had passed on to her daughters.) would never have comforted her after a tiring day. They would have been distant. They would not have praised her for her gifts. They had never praised her or comforted her in such a manner. The only one in her childhood who had offered comfort had been Guinevere, but as her maidservant they were required to keep an amount of distance.
Morgana had never known much much she ached for her family before Morgause had found her.
Morgause had whispered in her ear in the dark that night, the two of them sharing body heat in the dank of the castle ruins, her breath blowing across Morgana's skin as she talked of others who had traversed the lands and the gods who had honoured them, had patronized them and their battles and the power of those gods. Those gods had never been in conflict with the old religion, she had whispered. They were just as magic. And if the old religion were ever to stagger, because staggered it already was under Uther's reign of terror, then Morgause wanted Morgana to be able to find solace in other patrons. In gods and goddesses.
"They had power over battles. Over the skies. Over death and men." The two of them had curled together by then, magic conjuring up the warmest of coverings for them in that room. They hadn't needed any more than that; not anyone else, not fire or more comforts. Morgana had never known such freedom, to be away from the courtly manners and expectations and so very exposed to the sky as she slept. She had thought she would miss her old life, even the tiny details that allowed for silk dresses and feasts and men fighting over the honour of her hand for a dance. But she didn't miss it. Here, in the crumbling ruins of an old and exposed castle learning the magic of her birthright with a sister that had been hidden away from her by Uther, Morgana had felt at peace.
She belonged here. She loved it here.
"My sister," Morgause had whispered with such affection in her voice that the magic of the words washed over her in warm waves. "If such a day comes where I can not provide the help you need and the old religion demands too much, then turn to other means. Turn to other means and take what it is that you need. Other religions will not have the same rules. And they are no less real than our ways."
And now... and now.
A year later and an almost fulfilled plan and Morgana was back in the collapsing castle, but this time the night sky and cold winds did nothing to remind her of happiness. She shook with her loss; not with cold or fear over her future, but with a rage so deep that she couldn't understand it herself. Morgause. Her sister. Her beloved sister.
Not dead, not yet, but all the symptoms were there and she couldn't do anything to prevent her beloved sister's inevitable slumber-- all that magic inside her and all those plans. All her plans. How had it all come to naught? She had an immortal army in her hands, had the castle, had her magic! What had Arthur had? A handful of men playing at being knights? Commoners! Traitors! She would have been a good queen! A beloved queen! She just needed time, time to settle in and destroy the once royal family and then make the people understand that magic was not the evil that Uther had proclaimed for over twenty years. She would have seen magic back in the lands.
How had this come to pass?
But now... Morgana's hands shook with grief as she brushed her fingers against Morgause's unresponsive face. It had been well over a week and she had exhausted everything she had been taught, everything she knew of magic and the old religion. She had lost the cup of life. She couldn't begin to comprehend the magic over life and death-- she wasn't a high priestess of the old religion. And the boundaries of magic were clear-- those who were meant to die would die, whether or not Morgana had any say in the matter, whether or not she would have been a good queen and brought magic back-- would have avenged the magic-users of the land who had suffered unfairly under Uther's reign and all she really needed was her sister with her. As long as Morgause was with her, Morgana could do all of that and more. She knew she could. But she needed Morgause there.
"The old religion has failed us," Morgana whispered to Morgause, just as softly as Morgause had whispered to her before during her training; just as lovingly. She trailed her fingers down her sister's arm, soft as her touch caught on the various embellishments of Morgause's dress. "But I am not as cruel as the old religion. I won't give up. I won't leave you to die. There are other gods, and they will save you where the old religion can't. I will make them save you."
She needed the power over death. Needed it. Would do anything to get it, and with a soft kiss over her sister's forehead, Morgana swept away with her dress swirling ominously behind her.
She had given the old religion nearly two weeks to save her sister, one of the last devoted servants of magic. It had failed her, so it was time to turn to other venues of power.
***
He should have known, after three weeks of rebuilding and the castle calming from the terrifying weeks under the witch queen's rule. At least, that's what he heard whispered around the lower town and hushed around the castle, the servants quieting down immediately when he passed and silencing completely if Arthur stormed past. Three weeks and not a peep from the other kingdoms, almost as if Camelot had been enclosed in its own battle, left to lick her wounds in a place in peace despite the chaos that had come to pass with news of Cenred's death and the Escetia in ruins. For a while, Merlin had panicked before he received news from his mother than Ealdor had been left alone and forgotten by those scrabbling for power over the kingdom due to the village being so small.
Beyond that, Camelot was quiet, the people rebuilding and still reeling from the shock of Morgana's betrayal. The new knights were accepted gratefully by the people (although from Merlin could see, there was very little that could make the nobles accept commoners in such a prestigious position as knights of Camelot. Still, there was very little they could do to protest it seeing as Arthur held firm to the belief that Camelot needed new knights, and they had all proven themselves when they stood against an immortal army with no chance of surviving just because it was the right thing to do. All who had stood against Morgana during the times of terror were to be honoured, whether they were knights or commoners. After all, all had suffered under her brief reign and those who continued to defy her under pain of death held to a code that went beyond the bounds of duty.
Three weeks of quiet and rebuilding the areas in town that had been destroyed by the immortal army and Merlin should have understood that something would come up again. Three weeks of peace and quiet? In Camelot? Still, with the healing process as delicate as it was (Uthur had been left reeling in the wake of his daughter's cruelty and bedridden under Gaius's orders), he had expected just a little more time before something more happened.
So when the sky opened on that sunny day, ripping a hole in the sky and sending the townspeople screaming in terror as the sun was blighted out by darkness and what looked to be a hand reached through the deep black of the sky... he should have seen that coming. Except he hadn't. Merlin had no idea what happened prior to that, as he had been alerted to the phenomenon by the screams of the people outside, having been carrying out an errand for Gaius. He had been tasked with a trip to the marketplace for ingredients to potions he had yet to learn about and had stopped out of an apothecary after the screams had started, looking up at the sky only following the gazes of others. And he had gaped along with them as the giant hand (crystal, it looked like. Crystal and dark and not smooth like a person's would be, but rather with awkward angles and ridges as if whittled by a beginning wood smith) appeared through the hole, and then nearly fell back as a wave of power hit him, as hard as a physical blow would have.
Whatever it was, it was magical and wrong, from the way the very world seemed to scream at the intrusion.
He only tightened his grip on the strap of his worn herbs bag, though, his very magic ripping through him as the world ripped and forced his muscles to tense to a near painful state. But only for a moment, where the noise of people screaming faded to non-existence and all he could hear was the silence of the screaming magic, before the world cut back into being and his attention was drawn to not only the the feeling of wrongness in the sky, but an echo of that feeling not too far from him; a movement in the corner of his vision, small and fleeting.
A girl. Small and slight with orange-red curls and-- he nearly dropped his bag in shock-- barely dressed at all! With a skirt of furs and far too many beads against naked skin, he could see her turn in his direction for a moment before he lost sight of her in the crowd, but that split second held his complete attention.
While others had been panicked and scared, she only looked... resigned and a little sad.
He should have known then that the glimpse of the girl heralded a new beginning.
***
It was a week later when the warning bells sounded once again, and Merlin was once again gritting his teeth in frustration trying to talk Arthur (oh, sorry, Prince Arthur his royal pratness) out of doing something extremely stupid.
"This isn't right! He hasn't done anything wrong, he doesn't know anything about Camelot's laws and--"
It was the flash of hatred in Arthur's eyes that stopped him faster than the flash of the sword that stopped inches from his face, leaving Merlin cringing away with a wounded look, knowing that his friend (no, his prince, not his friend right now) wouldn't listen to reason while he was this angry. Arthur had always been hot-headed (and arrogant, and a prat, and selfish and conceited and condescending and so much more), but Merlin knew that the other man would always do the right thing over what was easy. He did. Arthur always did.
But right here, right now in the middle of the night with the warning bells ringing loudly in the background and the muffled sounds of running and the yelling of guards from behind the heavy doors to the prince's room and Arthur in full armour pointing a sword at his servant (his friend), Merlin could almost feel the smallest doubt about what the prince would do. Because while Arthur would always do the right thing, his definition of what was right and wrong was just too skewed from Uther's teachings.
"That excuses nothing!" Arthur spat, features distorted by both fury and uncertainty (only the smallest bit, but Merlin knew him and he had to cling to that small bit of hope because the uncertainty was still there despite the fury and despite Uther's teachings and despite everything that had happened with Morgana). "Did you know about this, Merlin? About this escape? Did you help him?"
Merlin gaped, forgetting about the sword pointed straight at him even as he tried to process the betrayal in Arthur's voice. He stood up straighter, far too close to the point of the sword but his indignation wouldn't allow for anything other than his full height (and he was taller than Arthur, always had been even if the other had always been the stronger and faster one, even if Arthur could easily overpower him despite the years that the prince had spent trying to make sure his servant would be able to hold his own in a fight and he knew that Arthur hated the fact that Merlin was taller despite being younger even if they had never brought it up at all).
"What? No!" Even if that answer would normally have been a lie since he had been planning it, he always planned things like that even if he never acted on it-- always wanted to keep those accused of sorcery away from the pyres. But this time, it had been far too early. He hadn't even gotten a solid plan together, hadn't even gone to see the accused before the bells started ringing and he raced to find Arthur. He had barely managed to talk with Gaius, had been in the middle of a plan with a tearful Gwen when the warning bells had sounded. "I don't know anything about this! You think I could have done this?"
It wasn't so much a question as an accusation. It had been merely an hour ago when Uther had proclaimed that a pyre be built in the morning for the execution of another sorcerer, sounding altogether too gleeful about taking down another servant of magic after magic had taken Morgana from him. It hadn't mattered what Gaius had tried to say, what Merlin had tried to tell Arthur but couldn't, or Gwen's pleading and panicked looks.
"He's a child." Perhaps that was an exaggeration. Mordred was the same age now. But at the very least, it was a plea that might catch Arthur's attention. "Barely old enough to be a squire--"
Arthur's jerky movements as he pulled his sword back warned Merlin of the upcoming explosion.
"But old enough to do magic!" The word was a curse spat from the prince's mouth. "And you can't convince me to let him go. No, I have seen the evils of magic now. How it twists the heart and minds of anyone entangled with it. You will say that it is innocent how, but magic corrupts. A healing spell now would become a plague later. No." The frightening part was how calm Arthur looked now, how convinced in his own words. "My father was right all along. It is already too late for those who have chosen to do magic. It's only a matter of time. And you, Merlin, you will know best to shut up when we meet the king or I will have you in the stocks until the sorcerer is found and killed."
Merlin reeled from the words, wide-eyed and barely able to comprehend the vehemence. It was like talking to Uther. It felt as though all his hopes on getting Arthur to accept magic was shattering to pieces and he had a flash of the future, of Arthur on the throne with that same hatred that Uther had when someone so much as mentioned magic to him, that same hard look as his people burned in front of him, screaming and pleading for mercy but receiving nothing but cold disdain. There was a part of him that despaired, that screamed about destiny and how Kilgharrah couldn't have been wrong; he would just have to trust in Arthur to come to his senses, to understand that magic wasn't as evil as Uther would have him believe, that just about everyone he had encountered in his life would have him believe.
Morgana, Merlin thought numbly in the haze of his mind. What have you done? What have I done?
Albion and the freedom have magic never felt so far away. Had Morgana's betrayal turned Arthur away from magic so far that he would never see it as it truly was? Would not rescue a child who did not deserve to die by the flames? Was Arthur really going to hunt down a healer when he could have just allowed the escape as he used to and claim that the sorcerer had escaped him once again?
From the look in Arthur's eyes, it seemed like he was not going to let this one go. And Merlin felt colder than ever, wondering if this was how he would be treated-- if this was a vision of the future where the once and future king would condemn all those with magic that easily.
"Gather my knights." The prince's tone was hard when Merlin gave him no response. "Now, Merlin. I will speak to my father and assure him that I will hunt the sorcerer down. We will not allow her to gain another ally." For a moment after that statement, the prince really looked at Merlin's countenance and softened at the obvious shock and fear. "We are doing him a mercy. Purge the magic before it corrupts his soul. Then you will always remember him the way you want to, and not have to face the inevitable betrayal. He will be remembered without fear, Merlin. No one will know him as an evil sorcerer who killed hundreds because we will make sure that never comes to pass.
"I know you cared for him, Merlin. I will make it quick and as painless as possible."
With a firm clasp on his shoulder (it send Merlin stumbling back two steps, forgetting to brace himself as he was wont to do whenever he realized that Arthur was going for another one of his masculine displays of comfort and didn't want to pain of a bruised arm), Arthur gave Merlin a vaguely sympathetic look before stepping past him, the sound of the heavy wooden door opening making the noise beyond louder and more real as the warning bells continued to ring.
Quick and painless. That wasn't a mercy. Letting the boy escape would have been a mercy. Merlin spun on his feet, barely managing to keep his balance as he ran out of the room after Arthur, but in another direction. Gwen. He'd have to tell Guinevere about this; she'd know what to do about it, he hoped. She was someone who could influence Arthur's moods and maybe stop this madness before it sunk in too deep.
Purge the magic before it corrupts his soul.
He couldn't help the shot of fear as he slipped past another contingent of yelling guards. Somehow, those words felt even more ominous than Uther's usual condemnation of magic.
Get Gwen and get her to help. Get the knights. If not Gwen, then maybe Lancelot would be able to talk some sense into Arthur.
Kinda rubbish beginning, but the entire thing is somewhat confusing time-wise. There will be a lot of jumps through time, but I wanted to at least post this up before series 4 of Merlin starts and runs through this story. XD; But hey, a year did pass between series 3 and 4, so who knows?
Honestly, this was written because I really really wanted to see Hope follow Merlin around while he's doing chores. How cute is that?