Fic: EXPECTATIONS (Merlin/Arthur, AU, PG-13-R) 1/6
In which Merlin plays the part of Pip to Arthur's Estella in a Merlinesque remake of Great Expectations.
(aka Alsoa rips off not one but two canons, ruthlessly stealing plots and dialogue from both as it suits her story, and callously shifting the narative from first to third person.) I told myself I wouldn't post WIPs but it's Dickens, right, you expect it to be episodic.
EXPECTATIONS
Merlin…Merlin…
Merlin turned at the sound of his name, whistling and distorted by the wind that swirled across the marshes and through the broken stones and raised monuments of the churchyard where Ealdor’s dead slumbered through eternity.
“Who’s there?” he asked, afraid. In the half-darkness shadows brushed the pale stones giving the illusion of substance, here a hand and the slim turn of neck and shoulder, there the tall, thin silhouette of a man.
There are no such things as ghosts, there are no such things as ghosts, Merlin told himself and clenched his fists to prevent the power that tingled at his fingertips from shooting forth a great blaze of light. He had promised his mother not to use magic. Even here, when, despite his brave words to himself, he was afraid, the fear of what would happen should his magic be discovered was greater than the fear of the awakened dead.
Merlin…
The sound was nearer this time and more human-sounding. Merlin huddled closer into his jacket, clutching cold fingers around the curving rim of a gravestone for support.
“Who’s there?” He asked again, voice steadier now that fears of the supernatural were receding. The living were not nearly so frightening as the dead of which Old Lucy told tales to frighten him and Will while they sat safe in front of the fire, sipping mugs of weak tea and eating day-old bread with the thinnest coating of dripping.
“Over here,” the voice instructed, and a roughly dressed figure emerged from the shelter of a fallen tree. In the moonlight, Merlin had the impression of brown and green, of unshaven and dirty skin almost merging into trunk and leaf. To seven-year-old Merlin he seemed more giant than man, a figure from a fairytale.
“Who are you and how do you know my name?”
The man smiled, showing unexpectedly white teeth. “My name…ah, that would be telling, you can call me Dragon if you must name me. As to you, Merlin Emrys, your name is well known. Your name and your…powers!”
The last word seemed to jump out through the darkness. Merlin flinched. His powers were a secret never to be talked about. His mouth dropped open but words refused to come out. What would Hunith say?
Dragon came towards him, a large figure, almost hulking in stature and girth, one leg shackled and dragging the first few links of an iron chain. He dropped a clawlike hand on Merlin’s shoulder and squeezed, answering the question Merlin had been unable to ask, “Never you mind how I know, boy, it’s enough that your secret is safe with me. But I need your help. They are after me and if they find me, there’s no escape. I’m for the drop and there’s no spells or potions will save my hide.”
Dragon reached one large hand across his throat and pantomimed the rope tightening to illustrate his point.
Merlin shivered. He had never seen a public hanging for Hunith refused to go to such things but he had heard other boys describe the dancing of the corpse in enough detail to make him physically sick. This man’s fate could be his fate should either be caught. For a moment the hand on his skin seemed connected more intimately with him than touch, reaching through his skin and tangling into blood and sinew. “What should I do?”
Dragon bent down so their faces were at the same height. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “I’ll need food. And a rope. And such money as you can spare.”
Merlin nodded. “I’ll fetch what I can and leave them at here.”
Dragon watched him through guarded eyes. “Thank you, Merlin. I’ll not forget this.”
Merlin stole what few bits and pieces of food he could and left them behind the grave they stood in front of. Then he ran and hid behind a large tomb. The black stone lozenge was guarded with a finely carved angel draping marble wings protectively around the occupant. Ygraine, read Merlin, slowly and carefully tracing his finger around each of the carved letters. Dearly Loved.
He stayed for about an hour but Dragon did not come back. That night the soldiers came searching through the village their lights dancing at the end of poles, dogs held to the leash. Hunith, who must have noticed the deprivations of her pantry, looked hard at Merlin. “We’ve been quiet here,” she said. “I’ve seen no strangers around.”
“Don’t be afraid,” they said. “We’ll catch him. He won’t be allowed to harm anyone with his magic.”
*
“But why me?” asked Merlin for the hundredth time. “Why does Uther Pendragon want me and not Will?”
Hunith sighed and explained for the hundredth and first time. “Because Uther has done business with your Uncle Gaius in the city and because it’s you he has asked for.”
Merlin opened his mouth to ask why again and shut it in the face of Hunith’s expression. Camelot Castle with its creamy stone walls and graceful towers had been a mystery hidden behind stone walls and shut gates for as long as Merlin could remember. In the absence of facts the children had made up stories of an estate as big as a county with carriages of gold and hidden treasure. The Pendragon family did not socialise locally. Or shop locally. Or attend church for all that they had a pew. At every service the elaborately carved door and dark wooden seats remained shut off and empty although a servant was dispatched each Sunday to place fresh flowers on Ygraine’s grave.
Now it seemed that that was about to change. Uther Pendragon had summoned Merlin to Camelot provide company for his son, Arthur.
“As long as there has been an Uther Pendragon there has always been an Arthur,” said Hunith, which made about as much sense as anything else. In the absence of other information Merlin supposed Arthur to be about his own age. He pictured a pale and shadowy boy with hair as dark as the stone of his mother’s grave.
Will had pretended not to mind but Merlin could tell he did by the way he sneered as Merlin put on his best, that to say least ragged, shirt and pulled a comb through his hair yet one more time.
“I don’t know why you’re bothering!” he snapped. “They probably just want you for a chimney sweep. You’re scrawny enough.”
Merlin pulled a face. It was true at fifteen he had grown up without growing out. He was taller than Will but thin and wiry where his friend was solid and stocky. His mother said Merlin would ‘grow into his features’ but in the meantime he was all bones and ears and unruly hair. He dampened the latter now with a slick of water but immediately felt it springing up as the comb went through it.
Hunith smiled. “You look lovely.”
Merlin gave a brave grin in response and bit back the retort that lovely was not what a fifteen year old boy wishes to hear about himself. Will frankly snorted but turned it into a cough when Hunith turned her reproachful glance at him.
“Maybe it will be your turn next, Will,” was all she said.
Will stood up tall as he was able and looked mutinous. “I don’t care if it is. You won’t catch me dressing up and cow-towing to no Pendragon nor any other nob for that matter.” He backed up the speech with a kick against the leg of the wooden stool on which he perched.
Merlin and Hunith shared a quick glance before looking away. Hunith stood up, all bustling practicality.
“Away with you now, Merlin, else you’ll be late. Will, come with me, there’s other things for you to be doing today.”
The walk took a little over two hours and for the last few miles Merlin had been skirting the high walls of Camelot’s grounds. Now, as he neared the front entrance, he felt his hands sweat with what could have been fear but felt more like excitement. Every step took him closer to the great iron gates and an unknown adventure until he came to a halt in front of the central barred railings with their curling dragon motif. He raised his hand to pull the bellchain but before he could do so a blond boy appeared from behind the wall began opening the locks.