Fic: Crossroads Of Disbelief, Merlin BBang
Chapter Six
Standing high up on the solid stone balcony Uther Pendragon looked down upon his city. The bailey was buzzing with activity, preparations taking place in controlled haste as wagons were loaded with food, extra weapons and tents. There was an entire wagon devoted to the archers arrows alone and Uther couldn’t help staring at it a long moment before tearing his eyes away. Beyond the bailey and citadel the upper class citizens trolled around in the first quarter, their frenetic energy easy to feel even when he didn’t have them clearly in his sights. He watched as a few knights oversaw the distribution of armour to men who made up the lower ranks of this army, and was nearly overcome with the heavy grief of knowing that soon he would be sending them to their possible death.
War had been declared, as Arthur had rightly heralded. The act of hostility against his son, the only heir to Camelot’s throne, in an attempt to take it for himself demanded a response. Uther had been unusually hesitant at first to accept this. It was not like him to shy away from such dangerous challenges, to show weakness and mercy when he most needed to rule with an iron fist. He knew what had to be done, and with Arthur encouraging him to retaliate with a force that was almost unusual for his son, he had agreed.
Edgar Baranak was nothing like his father, he didn’t hold the same ideals for peace and continued trade. He was greedy. He was spoiled. Uther had quietly feared the day Camilus would pass and his death had come about much sooner than expected. That fear had clearly not been in vain, and now many would die, mostly the innocent and some of the guilty. Uther silently cursed this forced hand. War was necessary but he would not be a deserving leader if he did not let the burden of it weigh so heavily on his shoulders.
“Father,” Arthur stepped up beside him, his black shirt flapping in the cool fall breeze and Uther looked him over, spending a moment longer than necessary on the fading yellow bruises around his sons eye. “We are ready to go over the final plans for the invasion,” he nodded to the entrance way behind him. Uther tried to find some of the mercy that so often clouded his sons actions in times of conflict, to find the softness that he had harshly told Arthur again and again would one day be his down fall, and found none.
To think of the horrors he must have suffered to have chased away the last of the warmth in his heart. Uther could not bear it.
“Very well,” he turned sharply from the edge of the balcony and strode back into the dim interior of his throne room. Five of their most trusted knights stood around the table, each standing strong as they awaited the final planning stage. Sir Leon and Sir Kay among them, looking as grim as ever. Uther met their gazes as he moved to the head of the table, Arthur standing tall by his side, and a silent understanding was reaffirmed. Their purpose in this upcoming battle would be to protect Arthur, no matter the cost, and Uther relaxed slightly in confidence.
With Camelot’s strength and righteous purpose they would not fail, he just wished that this show of might had never been made necessary in the first place.
“How many archers have we amassed?” He began, and pretended the weight of the crown wasn’t trying to bow his neck.
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Merlin found Edgar’s pretentious servant Stephen in the castles main kitchen, picking at a plate of the best cheese they had while informing the head cook that she needed to do a better job preparing Arthur’s meal that evening as the previous nights roast quail had been too dry.
Roast quail. Hah! He should be glad he got that in the first place, seeing as it was normally a dish reserved for more social functions than the simple dinner usually taken in Arthur’s room. Judging by the ever-deepening glower Jardinia was giving the man he was clearly going to be run out of the kitchen very soon. Servant to the Prince or not Stephen had no right to be talking to her or the rest of the kitchen staff in such a callous manner.
Merlin didn’t bother entering into the massive room, deciding to wait by the door to both avoid the heat and the possible bloodshed that was about to take place.
“Too dry,” Jardinia stood a foot shorter than Stephen but that didn’t stop her from getting right into his face. “Of course it was too dry! Ye come in ‘ere narking about Arthur demanding the slight bird fer dinner after we’ve already prepared the majesties plates and then demand it be finished in ‘alf the time it needs. Aside from the fact that ye were lucky we ‘ad any here ready to prepare we ‘ad to put it in the hottest firechamber just to meet yer request. Yer lucky it didn’t come out charred black and ashy!” Behind her one of the ladies huffed her agreement.
“Are you saying you’re incapable of handling the Prince’s requests? Because I assure you he can be informed and will be glad to find someone more capable.” He reached forward to pluck another tiny square of cheese from the tray and Jardinia lashed out, quick as a viper. Her massive wooden spoon cracked across his knuckles with a loud thwack and he screeched loudly and flailed away.
“What is the matter with you woman!?”
“Threaten my place as the kings cook will you! I’ve been ‘ere since before ye were sucking on yer goats teat and no twiggy little rockhead is going to tell me my place!” She took another step towards him and he retreated two steps, suddenly looking much more unsure of himself. “So how’s bout ye remember your place and figure out the good prince’s eating requests with plenty of time for us te prepare it, or I’ll stop giving you what ye ask fer all together and inform the prince that that’s what ye ordered in the first place hmm. He can’t doubt an entire kitchens sincerity now can he?” She smiled sweetly and it came across as positively dangerous. This is why Merlin never, ever got on the kitchens bad side. They were sensitive about their craft and had rather large, intimidating broadswords masquerading as knives to back up their words. And wooden spoons, one must not forget the wooden spoons.
“You think he would believe the word of a mere cook over that of a trusted servant!” Stephen huffed a little laugh and quickly took another step back when Jardinia raised her spoon threateningly. “Just have the meat cooked properly next time and we’ll see about you keeping your place here,” he actually ordered her, as though he were the head servant in charge of managing their tasks. Merlin bristled at the tone and he wasn’t the one it was directed at. Jardinia’s cheeks turned more rosy in anger and Stephen, finally exhibiting a modicum of intelligence, turned around and beat a hasty retreat from the warm room. He brushed by Merlin on his way through the archway, not sparing him more than an irritated glance and Merlin looked back at Jardinia. Her and a few of the other ladies had finally noticed he was there.
“That waif don’t deserve his position, saviour of our prince or not,” she growled and her look turned slightly sympathetic. He nodded once, sharply, and turned away before she could say anything else, lest he be caught up there the rest of the afternoon. It took no time at all to catch up to Stephen, mainly because he wasn’t trying to keep his presence a secret this time, and he followed the trim man down several corridors. He was wearing rather nice attire for a servant, and Merlin realized with a jolt that he was keeping his leggings in place with one of Arthur’s more casual belts.
The deep anger had been simmering for days flared and the magic within him surged into his fingers, making his hands flood with warmth. He looked down in alarm when he felt an even more unusual heat at his waist and realized that he had ignited the hem of his shirt! The tiny flames licking into life were enough to momentarily distract his rage and he frantically patted them out. When he looked back up it was to find that Stephen had stopped and turned to face him, giving him a cold look.
“What on earth is the matter with you?” he hissed, and one of the younger chamber maids who had been passing jerked slightly and hurried on around the bend.
“Not a single thing actually,” Merlin tried an easy going grin on, knowing it was coming across rather flat, and brutally shoved the next furious surge of magic that was trying to escape through his fingers down to a simmer. He had more control than this, he would not let it get the better of him due to the hate boiling inside his chest. It was a living thing, but he was still in charge.
“You need to get over yourself,” Stephen sniffed, eyeing him quickly up and down with disdain. “You’re no longer worthy of being the Prince’s servant, it’s time you acknowledged that and moved on. This following us about business is actually embarrassing for you.”
Merlin sighed, looked up and down the thankfully deserted corridor, and let the anger within rise up. It must have manifested in his eyes first, because Stephen’s own went wide in sudden fear just before Merlin lunged at him. He wrapped both his hands in the man’s thick shirt and shoved him back, knocking him off balance enough that he was left scrambling just to keep his feet under him.
“What!?” he squawked, unable to say anything more as Merlin tightened his grip and kept rushing him backwards. He didn’t slow when they approached the door, instead slamming Stephen right into it with enough forced that the heavy wood swung open behind him and only then did Merlin release his grip. He watched unsympathetically as the man finally went sprawling to the floor.
“Are you mad!” He yelled furiously and Merlin kept watch on him as he gently closed the door with a heavy, final, thud. Stephen sprung to his feet, anger clear in every line of his face and body but he did not make a move towards Merlin, clearly intimidated enough for now to keep a bit of distance. Merlin rolled his shoulders and quickly looked around. Huh, he’d always wondered where they stored all the extra tapestries and ground coverings. This room, while smaller than most in the castle, was lined with tightly rolled up weaves. There were so many that they barely left room for two people to walk side by side through the center of the space. The only places that didn’t have the brightly coloured items leaning heavily against it were the door behind Merlin and the large window across the way.
“Yes,” Merlin finally answered the heavily breathing man and eyed him with as much contempt as possible. “I am mad. Furious even. So livid I could probably set this entire room aflame just from thinking it that’s how mad I am,” he kept his voice calm, almost soft, and it seemed to be threatening enough as Stephen still didn’t make a move to get passed him to the door.
“You’re crazy,” Stephen uttered. “You can’t go about shoving people into storage rooms! Especially not me! I’m the Prince’s most valued servant! He’ll flog you for such an attack!”
“Like he flogged Arthur, the true Prince of Camelot?” Stephen paled at Merlin’s words but quickly shook his head in denial all the same.
“Don’t be a fool, you’re speaking treasonous words and I’ll see you beheaded for this!”
“You and I both know,” Merlin took a menacing step forward, trying to use his full height to be looming and intimidating the way Arthur had once instructed him. He was glad for the lessons now, despite the fact that it felt unnatural. “That it is King Baranak you serve while the true Prince of Camelot remains locked in the deepest dungeon. How do you think King Uther will react when he learns of the real treachery here? Do you think he’ll let you go under the notion that you were only doing as you were told? Do you think he’ll settle for a merciful beheading as punishment?”
“The rumours of your idiocy are clearly not far fetched,” Stephen snapped, standing taller and straightening his robes to hide how flustered he was at the accusations. Merlin resisted the urge to shove him again, instead taking a step closer and he was gratified to see Stephen retreat slightly. Coward.
“I know the truth about Baranak. I know about the dark magic, about the rite, about the murder,” he made no attempt to disguise his disgust. “Slaying his first born child, no doubt not even a full season old, for the sake of power, of riches that he already had!” There was a quick flash of guilt in Stephens eyes, the first real emotion Merlin had seen from the man, but it was crushed quickly, no doubt from practice and distance from the child’s death itself.
“You don’t know anything!” he argued and stumbled over one of the tapestries, its foot protruding into the narrow isle. “You’re just envious that I took your position, that I’m a better servant than you could ever hope to be!” His voice became slightly shrill and Merlin was finished with this nattering. Sometimes Arthur was right, it was rare but it happened, when he said that you couldn’t talk your way out of every situation, sometimes you had to take action. Merlin lunged forward again, grabbing at Stephens shirt once more and shoving him into the rolled tapestries that towered around them. He didn’t give the man any time to collect himself, instead pressing his entire, altogether too skinny, frame against the shorter man and pressing his forearm against his throat. He leaned in slightly and took a disturbing amount of pleasure when Stephens face began to turn red. He let up, slightly.
“I know that my Prince has suffered unspeakable atrocities! I know that Arthur Pendragon is a hundred fold the man Edgar Baranak could ever hope to be and I know that I will do what it takes to get the information I need from you in order to save Arthur’s life. On this you have my word.”
“I’ll tell you nothing,” Stephen tried to scrabble away from him but had no chance of gaining ground.
“You’ll tell me how long I have until the curse is set in stone.”
“It’s already set in stone! There is no changing the true course!” he reached up and wrapped his fingers around Merlin’s forearm, trying to pull him away.
Merlin’s eyes flashed a fierce gold and Stephens’ face drained to an unearthly pale at the sight. Merlin leaned forward slowly and tilted his head to the side so he could speak softly into the man’s ear.
“I can guarantee that whomever you had cast the spell upon Arthur, their skills of magic pale in comparison to my own and I will not hesitate to cause you more torment than your tiny mind could ever comprehend if you do not tell me what I wish to know.” Stephen’s eyes widened even more but he still said nothing. Merlin flashed his eyes again. “Pain!” He hissed fiercely and let his eyes flash brighter, “lot’s of pain!” he saw the moment the threat took hold, which was a relief. He was at a loss as to what else he could say to convince the twerp to crack without actually resorting to physical violence. He was scared by how much he wasn’t really bothered by that.
“Okay! Okay I’ll tell! Whatever you wish to know! Just, please, don’t hurt me.” Merlin let up and took a few steps back, giving the man some space, and folded his arms. After a stretch of silence he raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“Well, go on then.”
“There was an old witch. She cast the spell and k-killed the babe. She said it took seven days to set and then another fortnight to become everlasting. We were not,” he hesitated and looked worriedly at Merlin, as though he were preparing to turn him into a frog, “His Majesty Baranak was not going to let Arthur live past then.”
“And how much longer until this fortnight passes!”
“Five days! That’s why we needed to hold off on an immediate execution.”
“I’ve still got time,” Merlin muttered to himself and Stephen straightened up slightly, a cloud of dust from the tapestries shifting into the sunbeams as he moved. Merlin glared at him and he froze. “Why’s he invading his own land then? If he already thinks he has Camelot then why the march to arms?”
“Really, you haven’t figured that out?” A bit of the snideness in Stephens tone returned and Merlin took a threatening step forward. “Because!” the man snivelled hastily, “because Camelot is a larger and more powerful kingdom than King Edgar’s own could ever hope to be, but to add his lands and riches to Camelot would more than double his power when he takes this throne. His majesty’s next to succession is only six years of age and still visiting cousins across country. He won’t be back to take up rein for at least a moons passing. The King left Sir Holden in charge in his absence and he is a valiant knight but even with his skills in leadership Camelot can easily crush them.”
“He’s going to kill his own subjects? Hundreds, maybe thousands of men and women and children for his own gain! That’s disgusting,” Merlin snarled and this time Stephen just looked slightly confused.
“It’s what any smart King would do,” he shrugged.
“It’s really not. I’ve had enough of his!” Merlin raised his hand and looked into the panicking mans eyes, calling up the energy that was singing beneath his skin. “Contego monamentum contego masmenuth!*” his deepened voice scratched his dry throat and Stephen flinched back, covering his head with his arms and crying out. For a long moment they were still, blood rushing past Merlin’s ears, before Stephen slowly pulled his hands away and straightened up. His brow furrowed as he took in the room, the cowardice that had been so apparent only moments before was now hidden beneath an irritated scowl. Still, Merlin held his breath, because it wasn’t as though he’d ever tried this enchantment on any being before; he wasn’t actually sure it would work.
Stephen finally noticed him and pulled himself to his full height, straightening his shirt.
“You? What are you doing in here?” He paused and looked around again. “What am I doing in here?” Relief flooded through Merlin and he lowered his outstretched arm casually. It actually worked!! Not that he didn’t have the utmost confidence in himself, but mind charms were always very delicate spells.
“You were thinking about changing the wall coverings in Arthur’s chambers,” Merlin tried to infuse his voice with confusion and gestured to the room at large, “so you asked me to bring you here,” the you idiot was heavily implied. Stephen bristled despite his remaining confusion.
“Yes well, I suppose you must have been useful for something in all your months failing at being a decent servant to his prince. I’ve seen enough,” he moved forward but stopped, an impressionable distance still between them and Merlin gave him a flat smile. “Well, move already, unless you feel like spending the rest of your day in here.”
“Right, sorry,” Merlin moved gracefully to the side and allowed Stephen to squeeze past before following him into the castles bright corridor. It was empty enough and Merlin stepped off in the opposite direction of Stephen. He had what he wanted now, there was no need to continue following the wretch. He needed to stop this. He needed to prevent this war and save Arthur and it was with a sickening clench of his gut that he realized he couldn’t. Not without Arthur’s help to influence his father. Uther would never listen to something Merlin had to say, especially not in times such as this. There was nothing he could do except help Arthur, then Arthur could fix this. He had to.
Unless Merlin killed Edgar himself. He swallowed back bile at the thought. Perhaps it was the only way to stop this but having to kill someone again…it made him feel cold right in his heart, which conflicted harshly with the need to get revenge on the man.
He moved down the cobbled steps and into the castles yard only to freeze at the bottom of the stairs.
Not thirty feet from him Edgar was assessing a wagon with Gaius, and Darcel, the man generally tasked with guarding Arthur in the dungeons, was standing at his shoulder. A red cape was draped over his back. He was practically glowing with smugness and pride despite his freshly bruised and swollen eye; Merlin didn’t know what to think of this. It was unheard of for a common guard to be promoted to such a place of rank, especially with no known act of valour or ceremony! Merlin cast his gaze about to see Sir’s Leon and Kay just off to his side and he swiftly moved to them. They noticed his approach immediately.
“Merlin, is something the matter? You’re looking pale,” Leon asked, concern evident as he gave him a once over while Sir Kay merely watched him closely.
“You mean aside from going to war?” He joked feebly and was met with unmoved glares. “No, no, nothing’s wrong I was just…I noticed that Darcel has had a promotion and I wanted to congratulate you on receiving a new member within your ranks.” Kay snorted in disgust before seeming to remember himself and wiping his face clear of derision. Leon looked towards Edgar and Darcel, still in conversation with Gaius, but kept his face neutral.
“Thank you. Prince Arthur decreed that Sir Darcel has done him a great service in guarding the prisoner, and as such has earned his trust. He will be an…honorable addition,” he sounded pained as he said this, not able to completely hide his displeasure.
“When did this happen?”
“Not long ago. It was very sudden,” he dragged his gaze from the group and focused again on Merlin. “Is there a reason for your interest?” He asked baldly and Sir Kay looked away from the sword he had been examining to focus on Merlin once again.
“No no, not beyond being nosey,” he hesitated a moment too long before answering, needing the moment to swallow a deeply disturbed feeling away, and made to leave. Sir Kay stepped in his path to block his way. Merlin stopped abruptly. “Was there something else?” He asked hesitantly, looking between them. Sir Leon was looking at Kay with a slight frown.
“You need to be careful Merlin, whatever it is you’re planning to do.”
“Who says I’m planning anything?” he asked distractedly, casting a look back at Edgar and Darcel before realizing the action and pulling it back to the knights before him. Kay’s eyes narrowed slightly and he gave him a lingering look, before stepping swiftly out of Merlin’s path. Merlin made to move past and then paused, his head near splitting open from the pressure that had been building. He looked between the knights, trying not to squint. “Take care,” he requested softly, gaze drifting to their swords, before finally moving on, feeling their eyes on his back for long moments before he was lost to them in the crowd.
He moved slowly, unable and unwilling to tempt the pressure between his ears with quick steps and when he shut the door behind him to his and Gaius’s rooms it was a relief.
Taking a breath to steady himself he looked about at the rough wooden boxes only half-filled with remedies tucked among the straw. Gaius would be working long into the night to finish filling them up but Merlin felt no guilt as he carefully went through them, pulling out the ones most useful for Arthur, the glass clinking delicately in his hands. He then took a few more just in case. And bandages. Lots of clean bandages. He felt a shiver of unease down his spine as he carefully moved to his room, storing the precious materials in a satchel almost thin enough in places to bore holes, and carefully tucked it beside the door.
Then, and only then, did he allow himself to fall to his bed, too tired to bother pulling the mattress tight and hugging the flat pillow to his head. He had mere hours before darkness fell, he needed rest if he were to be of any use to Arthur. He clutched at his head, tears trying to leak out the corner of his eyes from the pain, and he curled in on himself.
Sleep sleep sleep.
Maybe if he thought it hard enough it would eventually come.
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*Contego monamentum contego masmenuth. Translation: shielded memories shielded mind
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