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Merlin sat defeated, in body and in spirit. Huddled, with knees drawn and his back pressed into his cell's corner, he could hear clearly the voices across the dungeons but vaguely followed their conversations. Gaius was rambling about some superficial self-inflicted wounds, some older scars that he had treated and some newer festering ones. Finally, Gaius said, “…undetermined,” to answer Uther’s initial question, “what was the cause of her death?”
Strange and tenuous bedfellows - a king who condemned wizardry and his wizard physician - they agreed to leave her death at that. Undetermined. Both knew better.
When Merlin heard the king give the order, “take the body and the pyre to Witch’s Cove and burn them,” he felt the words officially end his noble challenge. Uther had won. Dreslah would be burned a witch, after all.
As the king and his entourage passed his cell to exit the dungeons, Uther stopped, walked over and gazed in at him. Not with the eyes of victory but seemed that of a war general who had suffered too many casualties of his own. "Unlock the cell," he ordered Arthur, standing directly behind him. “The prisoner has served his time. He’s free to leave.”
Arthur stared over his father’s shoulder and between the bars. His countenance remained formal but his heart ached to see Merlin so thin and ailing. Although ordered, he hesitated, purposely slowing his eager hands or jiggle the keys in his rush to unlock the cell door. The girl’s death, Arthur somehow knew, had resolved their dispute and with his father hideously victorious. Damn their quarrel, he thought while wanting nothing more from life, at that moment, than to hold Merlin and comfort him.
Arthur couldn’t. Not in front of the entourage. He forced his head higher, instead, and like the prince he was, he followed the king out.
Gaius lingered.
When all others had gone from sight, Merlin looked up into his sad and sympathetic face. His own contorting with tears now running, he mumbled, begging in a sickly cry. “Please, Gaius, I want to come home.”
The old man entered his cell, helped pull him to his feet and on into an embrace. In his wisdom, Gauis clearly deciphered the king's ruthlessness. He feared the lesson that Uther had just taught Merlin might be too cruel for him to bear.
By Order of Prince Arthur of Camelot, the royal kitchen trays arrived at the physician’s door like clockwork. Like clockwork, Arthur entered an hour later. Also like clockwork, Gaius gave his patented excuse. “I’m sorry, sire, not today. I’m sure that soon he’ll be well enough to receive visitors.”
Arthur eventually stopped asking. Still, he came. To accommodate him, Gaius started placing the return trays at the end of his workbench. Whenever Gaius was there, he heeded the prince's expression. If the food barely was touched, he watched Arthur frown while moping out. Half eaten, Arthur merely nodded and shuffled away. An empty tray garnered a smile and a definite pep in his stride.
Of late, Arthur was smiling and stepping lively. Constantly, the food was being eaten. He knew that Merlin was getting better. Physically, anyway. He started asking again to see Merlin but Gaius continued to make excuses for his emotional state. “I’m sorry, Prince Arthur, but as his physician, I must request that you allow him a little more time. I’m sure that soon he’ll be up to entertaining guests.”
Arthur and Gaius understood, but for different reasons, that Merlin blamed himself for the girl’s fate. Arthur assumed, her madness. Gaius knew, her murder. Not until the small buds of spring begin to appear did Merlin feel the same small promise of life. With the courage of a fragile bud braving the stormy and unpredictable weather, he finally ventured from his room.
Gaius worked at his medicine table. He suddenly smiled and moved to hug him. “I’m glad to see you up and about,” he said.
Merlin reciprocated with a weak and halfhearted embrace as he apologized, “I’m sorry, Gaius, that I’ve been so much trouble to you.”
“Poppycock," he shushed him and with gentle pats to his back. "All any of us want is for you to get better. Gwen asks about you constantly and Arthur comes, two, three times a day just to ensure that you’re eating.”
"I know. I recognize his footsteps," he uttered as he moved from Gaius’ arms and sat in a chair by the window. “He enters about an hour after the kitchens deliver my tray. I should thank him for his generosity.”
Gaius felt his forehead and found it cool but no comparison to his demeanor, which now seemed a block of ice. “The weather is warming nicely and soon you’ll be out and about," he said while trying to sound optimistic. "Once you've gotten some fresh air and a little color back in those cheeks, you’ll feel much better.”
“I’m looking forward to that,” he agreed with the words but gazing toward the window his posture hunched, withdrawing from the light of day. Abruptly, he withdrew in the opposite direction at the sound of their door opening.
"Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed. Excitement glowed on his face and he started pacing toward him but Merlin quickly stood, recoiled and criticized his approach. “Arthur, you’re not due here, yet. It hasn’t been an hour.”
The unwelcoming retreat wounded Arthur’s enthusiasm. Like a punch to his gut, his face contorted. Eyes narrowing and forehead furrowing, his expression demanded to know his criminal infraction. No answer from Merlin, he looked to Gaius with splayed hands that asked why the ill reception.
Gaius quickly answered for Merlin. “Arthur, I’m afraid that he’s still a bit tired, and,”
"He doesn't look tired!" Arthur rudely interrupted, long annoyed by the same lame excuses that had prevented him from comforting Merlin since the dungeons. Denied their companionship far too long, Arthur bluntly contradicted Gaius. “I’ve never seen him look so well rested," he said. "Even fat!” Gazing upon Merlin, again, he noticed the fullness about his face and neck. Speaking to him, now, Arthur grew downright gruff. “It's time you got back to work! Lazing about while the kitchens bring you three meals a day is over!"
Merlin remained cold and detached, leaving Gaius to continue the protest. “But Arthur," he explained, "I feel that he’s not ready to return, just yet.”
“I’ll decide that,” he insisted, thoroughly convinced their intimacy would help to ease Merlin's troubled mind. In the process, if Merlin needed to use his royal ass as a punching bag, so be it! Arthur believed that he owed Merlin as much. So convinced, he no longer insisted but now demanded. “You’re to report to my chambers before I retire and draw my bath." Leaving no doubts, he added, “And come prepared, to stay the night!”
Gaius went silent to his brazen order. He returned to his workbench and left any further protest strictly to Merlin. As Gaius walked away, Merlin simply nodded to Arthur's physical needs. Still standing cold and detached, he thought that they now had come full circle. The prince would get a passive and subservient body in his bed, after all.
Storming out, Arthur suddenly remembered why he had come. Over his shoulder he barked one last order. “Gaius. The king demands your presence in his chambers, after dinner.”
“Enter.”
Gaius walked into the king's royal quarters, clasped his hands beneath his belly and stood at attention. “You wish to see me, sire,” he asked.
Uther looked up from the numerous parchments that cluttered his dinner table. He waved Gaius over with a beckon of his hand and pointed a finger toward a table chair. The offer surprised the old man, however, he took the closest seat to the king as Uther spoke, “I’ve been giving this matter considerable thought."
“Sire?”
“The tragedy surrounding the girl who died in my dungeons," he explained. "Your young Merlin has left me unsettled.” Mainly, about his hypocrisy, which he chose not to mention.
“Merlin, my lord?”
“Gaius, he reminds me of you, before time and age left us, both, comfortable in our roles. I must admit that the boy shows conviction. Enough to make me step outside my comfort arena…”
Gaius nodded that he understood Uther’s underlying meaning. Merlin had put a bright light on his hypocrisy, as well.
Uther continued. “I’m prepared to offer a compromise," he conceded. "However, it depends upon you and your willingness to accept responsibility. Merlin is intelligent, granted, but I’ll not place such difficult decisions into his young hands…”
"A compromise?" Gaius took a deep breath while trying to keep his old heart from pounding at a rate to threaten attack.
“…This girl is a prime example," he explained his terms. "In cases where I see no apparent threat to Camelot, I’m willing to consider your opinion on the matter before I pass sentence. As physician and assistant (he implied warlocks), knowledgeable in such matters (sorcery), I’ll allow you and Merlin ample time in my dungeons to examine the prisoners (determine their threat)." He then stopped a moment and concocted a reason to delay sentencing. "Do a study of these strange people -- diet, water, family history, anything in common, which might explain their unusual powers. If your assessments seem reasonable, I may consider banishment to burning.”
Gaius calmly nodded to accept responsibility but his mind shouted, ‘Touché, Merlin! You have a small victory, after all.’ He couldn’t wait to tell him.
Uther was not ready for Gaius to leave. A king had so few friends. He considered Gaius his only one. Moving to chairs before his fireplace, he beckoned his lone friend to join him. “Perhaps now, Arthur can have his manservant back," he admitted the true reason for his compromise. "He’s been acting so antsy, of late.” After pouring them wine, Uther started to reminisce while seeking to justify over twenty years of hypocrisy.
Gaius quietly exhaled as he settled back to listen to the king unburden his conscience. The hour growing late, he resigned to give Merlin the good news in the morning.
Arthur sat on his blanket chest at the foot of his bed and watched Merlin move about, in and out, in and out. In, again, Arthur spoke, again. “A wise man once told me that I need to talk about my troubles or they’ll eat me up, inside.” He resorted to giving Merlin’s own advice back to him. “I've learned that that wise man was very… wise.”
Merlin left, again. He continued to work in silence, lugging away Arthur’s bath water then his tub. When he returned, gathered his dirty clothes and started to exit once more, Arthur finally demanded, “Leave them!”
Merlin stopped in the middle of the room. Still void of emotions, he asked, “Do you wish to bed me, now, sire?”
“Merlin!” He cautioned his crude insolence.
Despite the caution, Merlin continued to stand and stare blankly toward the servants' entrance.
Arthur rose from his blanket chest and went to him. “Why would you phrase it like that," he asked, "and after all that we've been through, together?" He then tried to joke. "A tumble in the sheets, perhaps," he suggested and laughed at his own joke, however, Merlin remained eerily silent. Arthur started to grow desperate for a response. “Merlin, I spent all evening preparing myself for you, as well,” he admitted.
Merlin remained unmoved.
“Talk to me,” he pleaded but still got no response. So desperate, Arthur suddenly shoved his shoulder to garner one.
Merlin simply wobbled then bounced back to his stiff stance. Arthur pushed him, again, and again he bounced back.
“Damn it, Merlin," he shouted and suddenly he snatched the dirty clothes from his arms and flung them across the room. He then went into a tirade. "If you won't unburden your mind then at least your body, like you once told me! I’m trying to be here for you! The same as you were for me when I killed that woman and child.” Suddenly, his tirade turned into terror as he watched Merlin's face grow grotesque with his knees collapsing. Arthur had to reach out and lock his arms around his body to keep him standing. His own fear made him yell, again. “What in hell is wrong with you," he demanded. "Please, talk to me!”
And say what, the grotesque face silently cried out -- that I killed a child, too! With magic! And mine was intentional! Merlin could not accept his crime. He went completely lifeless, like a rag doll in Arthur's arms.
Arthur would not let him. Dragging Merlin, he lifted him almost completely off the floor and started toward his bed. “Whether you talk to me or not," he warned, "I won’t let you escape by trying to feel nothing!" He sat Merlin down and bowed at his feet to remove his shoes and socks. All the while, he resumed his tirade. “You have to face your guilt or it'll eat you up inside! If nothing else, you’ve taught me that! And persistence! I can be as persistent as you!"
Merlin put forth a limp protest. In his weak effort, he pushed at Arthur's shoulders and head.
"Do you want to hit me," he asked of his limp scuffle. "Go ahead,” he insisted, and he raised his face, offering it to be hit while he opened Merlin’s breeches. Then pushing Merlin back to shuck them down, he continued to yell. "Go ahead! Hit me! I want you to, if it'll make you feel better…”
“Please, Arthur, I can’t… I won’t… I don’t deserve…”
“Don't deserve what," he demanded. "To feel better? You speak like an idiot, again!” Quick to discard his own sleep attire, he returned to Merlin's clothes. Raising his torso off the bed, then struggling to pull his jacket and shirt over his head, he said, “I know you tried your damnedest to save that girl but you act as though you killed her, yourself!”
Merlin flopped, totally lifeless, again, sliding from the bed onto the floor.
Arthur had to grab him, again. For a brief moment, his fear returned but quickly he dismissed it. No way Merlin could have killed the girl. He remembered unlocking his cell door, himself. However, Merlin's dead weight gave him hell. By the time Arthur got him situated in bed with his last clothes removed, he breathed heavily. Exhausted, he slumped with his head on Merlin’s chest. Suddenly, he realized that it was a good place to start and he took one of Merlin's nipples between his teeth. Grazing and gnawing at it, he moved to the other.
Merlin could not let himself feel the pleasure. Not after his own hypocrisy. Murder. He thought of Dreslah. He remembered her sitting, moaning and clawing at herself, maddened by the prospect of another day, waiting for death. He flooded his mind with images of his magic burrowing into her chest amid the self-inflicted scars. He recalled his whispered words that stopped her heart that she would never feel, again. Now, how could he let himself feel and he struggled to keep from arching his back into the pleasurable sensations.
Arthur gnawed harder. Their longest battle, yet, Merlin struggled not to feel while Arthur struggled to make him feel. Despite his monumental efforts, Arthur knew that he was losing the battle. He shifted in bed, went lower and gripped Merlin by his hips. Never had Arthur taken another man into his mouth but he realized the difficult war that he now waged. Without hesitation, he enveloped him.
Suddenly, Merlin was losing the battle. He thought to flash gold his eyes in a desperate effort to make Arthur too tired, fall asleep, gag, something, but he was too terrified to risk sorcery. Not now. Not with Arthur so physically honed-in upon him. Frightened that Arthur would feel his magic, he fought with willpower alone.
Arthur felt him growing, substantially, and he knew that finally he was winning. He increased his attack. Merlin was on the verge when suddenly he managed to roll from Arthur’s grasp. He balled to cover his throbbing length while shaking his head and mumbling, “It’s not fair, it’s not fair…”
“What’s not fair,” he pleaded, hoping that Merlin was ready to unburden his mind. “Please, Merlin, what’s not fair?”
When he fell silent again, Arthur angrily said, “Well hell! Life is not fair!” He grabbed his oil vial from his bedside drawer. Quick to lubricate himself with one hand, he pushed against Merlin’s back then laid on top of him, using his own weight to force him completely onto his stomach. Cautions with gentle pushes, he started stretching him.
Merlin felt the pain. Pain! Punishment! He then used the pain as punishment for his crime. Raising his hips, he pushed them forcefully backward. So forceful, he impaled himself. In the process, he hurt Arthur, too. And confused him. Arthur thought to pull away, however, he decided that pain was, at least, an emotion for Merlin. He gritted his teeth and held himself steady while Merlin lowered his hips and raised them a second time.
Both trembling in agony, Arthur braced his forehead against his neck as Merlin gripped the pillows and while crying, punished himself for her death, again and again and again. Soon, he settled into a low and constant moan.
Arthur settled with him. He wrapped his forearm around his chest and pulled him, tilting them partially onto their sides. Holding Merlin securely against his chest, he rocked him with gentle and easy thrusts. Their pains gone and their needs mounting, he reached lower and took Merlin until both shuddered in release. He then resumed, gently rocking him with his knee and pelvis until Merlin drifted to sleep.
Finally, Arthur was comforting him the way he had yearned, since the dungeons.
Witch’s Cove was just ahead. An acre or so of flat descending land, it abruptly stopped at a moss-covered hill interspersed with budding trees and vines. Merlin had no intentions of going there, that afternoon. He planned a simple walk to get a little fresh air. However, the brilliant sunshine on the clear still day, Uther’s compromise and especially Arthur's comfort had given him the courage.
He first noticed the indentation in the ground as he arrived. A shallow dugout area, the men obviously had searched for dry earth beneath the snow. Merlin suddenly gasped. Inside the shallow pit were smoldered logs, apparently to wet to burn. Between the logs lie the charred and half-eaten remains of a body. Merlin recognized the remnants of her dress. He wanted to run and hide inside himself, again.
However, debt made him hold his ground. He forced himself to look at her remains. Then, he started to speak. In a trembling voice, he said, “I know that you can never forgive me. All I can say is that I’m sorry I put you through so much torment. Then, I took your life. Maybe this is consolation only for me but other innocent people of magic might now be saved because of you. I hope that I’ll be worthy of the opportunity that your life has given me. I’m so sorry…”
Wind, rustling the branches and vines caused him to look toward the moss-covered hill. He saw an image, there. A girl. She had sparkling corn-silk hair and bright blue eyes. Dressed in a flowing gown that reflected the brilliant sky, she seemed to float. She appeared for only a moment then the image was gone, dispersed, by a gentle wind. He gasped, again, to hear her softly spoken words, "Be happy for me, Merlin. Thank you," whispered in the breeze.