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Merlin/Dark is Rising: Trembling on the Edge (5a/?)
Title: Trembling on the Edge (Chapter 5)
Author: dk323
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~9,878 (for all of Ch. 5) Ch. 5a: 6,646
Characters/Pairings: Merlin/Arthur, Lancelot/Gwen, Mordred, Will Stanton, Bran Davies, OCs (Charlie, Old Ones)
Warnings: mention of past non-con, underage (no more than kissing), violence (minor), swearing
Beta: a8c_sock (Thank you! :-))
Disclaimer: The show Merlin is property of the BBC. The Dark Is Rising book series is property of Susan Cooper. Some elements inspired by the 2010 film, “Never Let Me Go.”
Summary: As darkness descends, six people come together to save the world. Nothing will ever be the same again.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
Author’s Note:
A repeat note: Mordred’s middle name is Gwydion, and he sometimes goes by that name. So Gwydion = Mordred. Also, dewin (Welsh) means wizard in case anyone needs a reminder.
This chapter got a little long, so it has been divided into two parts. Hopefully it's easier to read this way. The link to the second half of Chapter 5 is at the end of this part. I apologize for the delay on this update -- I had to focus on a class, but I'm done with it now. I'm hoping that I'll finish Ch. 6 within the next few weeks. The title for Ch. 6 will be "Fire Alarm."
~ * ~
Chapter 5: Charlie visits the conjured inhabitants of the mansion. Arthur and Merlin’s friendship is left in a precarious position, which could affect the Light’s victory over the Dark. Bran and Mordred continue to be annoyed by one another, and Will gets caught in the middle. Bran becomes a target of Mordred’s antics.
~ * ~
Family, Love and Conflict
~ * ~
Charlie hoped Gwydion -- or Mordred as she liked to call him to get on his nerves -- would return soon. It now fell to her to make the visits. According to Gwydion, it wasn’t the best idea to leave the conjured people to their own devices for long stretches of time…hence, the need for regular visits. In a way, it was like babysitting.
Not that Gwydion really did a great job of it anyway. The last he had told her was that the conjured version of his father had annoyed him, so he’d made him mute to keep him quiet.
But then there was Merlin for instance. Gwydion had gotten a bit attached to him, Charlie had noticed. Particularly after Gwydion rebuilt the mansion (after he had completely destroyed it some months back in “the overthrow” as Charlie called it); his overall appreciation of the old wizard had grown stronger. Though, then again, Merlin did have a wealth of magical knowledge, so that could have been a big factor to it.
Growing up with Gwydion, she felt she knew him well enough. Charlie was sure his respect for Merlin was genuine.
There was Gwydion’s mother, the Lady Morgana, who lay on a bed in her designated room. She was donned in a deep blue dress with a bouquet of red, white and black roses held in her hands. Gwydion had felt wrong about bringing a magicked version of his mother to life, so he’d simply turned her room into a memorial.
Charlie went to the Lady Morgana’s room first as due to her being dead, she could get through what she needed to do. Once you got past the dead, not sleeping, woman on the bed; then it was much easier.
The issue came in when the person was alive. Then that person could look at you, impressing their judgment upon you just by a piercing gaze. Definitely something she wasn’t thrilled about dealing with.
Quietly, she entered Morgana’s room and replaced the flowers in the vase on the bedside table with a fresh bunch. As Charlie expected, the roses Morgana held had not wilted as Gwydion had placed an enchantment to sustain them for a long while.
After tossing the old flowers in the bin, Charlie decided to go to King Arthur’s room. She dreaded it, but it had to be done. While he couldn’t do her any harm – none of the conjured entities could – he could still unnerve her, made worse if he couldn’t speak.
Not that he had said much to her before Gwydion’s mute spell. Early on, Arthur had asked her who her parents were, and Charlie had told him that she didn’t know. That she had been left in front of a church and a Lord of the Dark, the White Rider, took her and raised her as her own.
Arthur had frowned at the mention of the White Rider, but he declined to comment further on that point. He had also asked her if she was Gwydion’s friend then. Charlie had confirmed it at which Arthur looked thoughtful. But then he’d told her curtly, dismissively, “Good luck with that,” as if it was difficult to be Gwydion’s friend.
After that encounter, their interactions mostly consisted of small talk.
When she went to the King’s room, Charlie sighed as she noticed that the crown had been thrown at the door again.
The room was cloaked in darkness, the tall deep red curtains blocking out the sunlight.
“It’s dark in here,” Charlie said out loud.
King Arthur was not far from the door, only a few feet away, and as usual, he was sitting in his throne chair. A book was laid open on his lap.
Of course as he couldn’t speak, he didn’t answer her. He just looked up and shrugged.
She set the flowers she had been carrying on a nearby half table shoved against the wall adjacent to the entryway.
“Well you shouldn’t be reading in the dark,” Charlie remarked. She went to open the curtains to let the light in.
“Do you want your crown back?” She ventured, nodding at the discarded item behind her.
But the King seemed not to hear her, not even giving her a nod or shake of the head. His apparently fascinating book had already recaptured his attention.
Charlie shook her head and resignedly, she picked up the crown and placed it on the round table by Arthur.
“The fire’s a little low,” she said idly.
Arthur was facing away from the fire. Most likely his last encounter with Gwydion, whereupon he’d lost his voice, had left him in an unhappy mood. And as such, the King preferred to stay in the darkness that would compliment his feelings nicely. Charlie was used to the King’s dark moods. He had his good and bad days like anyone else.
Taking off her elbow-length gloves, she went over to the grand fireplace. There was a button on the wall beside the mantel. Gwydion had set it up so that only electricity making contact with the button was needed to get a strong, steady fire going in the hearth.
Some time ago, Gwydion had given Charlie the power to release electric currents from her bare hands. That was why she had to be careful and wear gloves in case the power was unleashed when it wasn’t meant to. It served as a helpful defensive power – to electrocute anyone giving her trouble if she made a trip to the town.
She placed her ungloved hand on the big button and she concentrated, getting the flow of electricity to exit through her hand.
There was a crackling noise as the current sparked on the button. Then the weak fire roared and grew stronger, flames full of life as they danced within the fireplace.
“All right. Well. I should go,” Charlie declared. “Did Merlin visit you?”
Arthur nodded, pointing at the book he had been reading.
“Can’t keep him out of the library, it seems,” Charlie remarked lightly, smiling.
Arthur looked mildly amused.
With a goodbye, she left the room.
She found Lady Elaine walking down the hallway. Charlie handed her some flowers.
“Hello, Lady Elaine,” she greeted.
“Oh, Charlotte, dear. Thank you,” Elaine said to her pleasantly. She breathed in the flowers’ fragrant scent.
While Charlie preferred her shortened name, she sort of liked it when Elaine called her by her full name.
As she conversed with Elaine, Charlie decided that it would be nice to take a walk outside. Maybe go to the duck pond in a nearby park. Or something like that. Anything to escape this place if only for a little while.
~ * ~
Will and Bran told Mordred that they would go to Wales, in the non-apocalyptic reality, to discuss the situation.
It was early evening when they arrived. They sat in a circle at the base of a hill.
The air was cool, which mirrored Bran’s cool, almost judging look directed at Mordred. Mordred seemed not to care and Will had a far-off look on his face. Bran wondered if he was mentally communicating with another Old One, Merriman most likely. Because his expression was certainly not that different than when he was in the midst of that sort of conversation.
Will spoke first. “What do you need to tell us, Mordred?”
“The Lady has been visiting me since I was young,” Mordred admitted. “She always had the rose-coloured stone ring on her finger…sometimes; she looked younger where she had a heart-shaped face, fair hair…while other times she was in the guise of a small old woman. I don’t think I’ve felt as calm and just, well, happy as when I am in the Lady’s presence,” Mordred revealed, smiling wistfully as he recalled his meetings with her. “But the most important thing I need to tell the both of you is of Merriman visiting me. Not long ago, you see. And he told me that he had faith in me. He said that I needed to memorize some lines, to make you believe in my sincerity…that I was to be trusted.”
“Well say them,” Bran prodded him. He looked irritated.
Will placed his hand over Bran’s, stroking it, as if to calm the paler boy.
Bran swore he detected a hint of envy on Mordred’s face. He gave him a smug look in return as if to say, “You have your magic. I have Will. You get your own dewin. Will is mine.”
Mordred saw Bran’s reaction. In answer, Mordred frowned and he shook his head. His face changed to a carefully blank expression. The envy had been wiped away.
“What Merriman told me,” Mordred began, looking directly at Will. “Were these lines:
When light from the lost land shall return,
Six Sleepers shall ride, six Signs shall burn,
And where the midsummer tree grows tall--”
“By my sword the Dark shall fall,” Bran finished.
“It’s not ‘my sword’,” Mordred argued.
“Well it has the same meaning,” he said flippantly. “And I was the one who used Eirias in the last apocalypse to cause the fall of the Dark. I have every right to make alterations.”
“Bran, stop it please,” Will interjected lightly. “The three of us need to cooperate. We can’t sit here arguing about the accuracy of the verses. Thank you, Mordred. I’m glad we can count on you.”
“Seriously? I had to do the same thing. Recite a few lines. But this is different. Mordred’s clearly been raised by the Dark. He’s a--”
Will gave him a piercing look. “Bran,” he only said, though his tone was firm.
Mordred looked a bit delighted at Bran being scolded. At seeing that, Bran had the urge to punch him in the face, to wipe that smirk from it.
“Fine,” Bran said a bit bitterly. “Apparently someone trusts you. Lucky you, Mordred. But if you betray us, you will not be left unscathed.”
“What can you do?” Mordred asked in disbelief, directing his question at Bran. “You don’t possess magic, not anywhere near my level at least. You’re just Will’s puppet. A pawn of the Old Ones.”
“Well then so are you,” Bran shot back.
“Of course we all know why you’re enjoying this so much,” Mordred continued on, undeterred. “Rather be involved in stopping the apocalypse than returning home to those who mock you because of your looks. Saying things behind your back. Thinking you’re evil. One of the dangerous, otherworldly Fairy people. A boy so colourless can’t be human. Not at all.”
“You don’t know anything,” Bran retorted fiercely.
“Stop it, the both of you!” Will intervened.
“Isn’t telepathy a magical skill? I find it a helpful learning tool,” Mordred said slyly.
Bran lunged forward, pushing Mordred to the ground so that his head hit it with a dull thump.
Bran wanted to punch him, strangle him, something…to make him feel the pain he himself didn’t like acknowledging. Bran hated thinking about how much of an outsider he was at school, how the boys and girls his age looked at him. How before Will came along, Bran had felt—no…
He didn’t want to think about it.
But before Bran could leave some lasting damage on Mordred, he heard someone choking.
It was Will.
“Hurt me if you want to,” Mordred told him with a twisted smile. “But I doubt you’d want to watch Will choke to death. Though since he’s immortal, it’ll lack dramatic effect, but--,” Still smiling, Mordred put forward a question. He looked far too pleased with himself. “--I wonder: would Will Stanton want a friend who’s willing to watch him die when that friend could stop it? What do you think?”
Bran watched as Will clutched at his throat, gasping for air he couldn’t get. His blue-grey eyes were fixed on Bran. He wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but Bran almost thought he saw accusation in Will’s eyes…accusing Bran.
“I can’t lose you,” Bran thought earnestly, a hint of desperation seeping into his words.
And it wasn’t about losing Will to death because Will could never truly die.
But something more important to Bran. He couldn’t lose him as a friend. There was no way he would ever allow himself to stand by and watch Will die when he had the chance to prevent it.
“I hate you,” Bran said to Mordred before he moved off of him.
“Why am I not surprised?” Mordred said idly. He lifted the spell he had placed on Will.
Bran ignored Mordred and went to Will’s side. Will was breathing hard, trying to get fresh air back into his lungs. It hadn’t been long ago after all that he had been fatally shot. He was still recovering from that incident and now being nearly choked to death certainly wasn’t helping matters.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Bran apologized to him.
“It’s all right,” Will said quietly.
“No. I shouldn’t have…please don’t ever think that – I would always choose you, always,” Bran told him fiercely.
Then he tilted his head and pressed his lips to Will’s. It was a soft kiss, and Bran wasn’t quite sure why he had done it, other than being caught up in the moment, the need to prove to Will that he cared for him.
“Was that--? I wasn’t thinking,” Bran said quickly when Will remained silent.
He smiled at Bran a moment later. “I didn’t mind. I liked it,” Will assured Bran.
“What goes on in that head of yours? I’d love to know,” Bran said coaxingly.
Will shrugged, unwilling to take the bait. Then he leaned toward Bran and whispered to him, “Mordred has gone.”
Bran looked at the spot where Mordred had been. He had disappeared. “When did he go?”
“Shortly after you kissed me, I think,” Will said thoughtfully.
Bran really didn’t want to dwell on what Mordred was planning to do next. What Will thought of Mordred was his business, but it would be a cold day in hell before Bran considered Mordred a good friend.
With that decision made, Bran kissed Will again. This time, Will returned the kiss.
~ * ~
After Arthur had returned to the Sanctuary with Gwen and Lancelot, a female Old One named Tabrett had taken the sword from him. The Old One looked to be in her thirties. She had strawberry blonde hair and her eyes were a light green color that drew you in.
Tabrett had confided in them that despite her young look, she had been born 600 some years ago in Ireland. Despite her birthplace, she had spent considerable time in Australia and New Zealand in her long life on Earth prior to retiring with her fellow Old Ones. That explained her accent as she spoke to them in English.
Tabrett informed the three of them that Excalibur needed to be placed in a room. The room had been made specially to keep the sword protected.
With his sword gone from his side, Arthur began to feel a growing irritation. He recalled a past event that he was half-surprised that he hadn’t re-evaluated already. But now the memory was front and center and Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about it. He remembered the terrible feeling of betrayal when Merlin finally revealed his magic to him. To find out that Merlin had been lying to him all those years. It had hurt and angered him all in one go.
And now, as that feeling of intense frustration was all coming back to him, he held on to that anger as if his life depended on it. Arthur was nearly blinded by it. Something small in the back in his mind warned him that he should be reasonable about this, that this was the Dark at work again…the same entity who had made him believe he was a vampire, that he would hurt even kill Merlin…
…but Arthur didn’t want to listen to reason now, and so the small voice was drowned out.
This was a legitimate problem. Maybe Merlin didn’t remember his past life yet because of the unpleasant feelings of overwhelming guilt and self-blame he would experience when he remembered his past life fully? That Merlin’s mind was intentionally preventing the return of his memories to deny Arthur the satisfaction of rehashing this past conflict of theirs?
It just wasn’t fair. He needed to settle this now.
But since he couldn’t find Merlin in his room, Arthur wandered the halls of the Sanctuary looking for him. He ended up in a corridor that he hadn’t been in before.
He was surprised when he saw Merlin come by.
“Hi, Arthur,” Merlin greeted him with a smile. He quickly frowned when he noticed the grim, almost angry look on Arthur’s face.
“Arthur, are you okay?” Merlin asked him.
“You don’t remember yet, do you?”
“No, I’m sorry, but not yet. If I could know what the trigger is…”
“You lied to me all that time about who you were,” Arthur declared, sounding frustrated.
“What?”
“About your magic.”
“Oh,” Merlin only said. He did recall Arthur telling him about the magic ban in Camelot before Arthur became King. How it led magic users like Merlin himself to be extra cautious while in Camelot. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t remember how I felt. I wish I could give you a better answer…why are you bringing this up now? Maybe when I--”
“Maybe the reason why you don’t remember is it’s too much of a pain to deal with the lies, how guilty you must have felt,” Arthur grit out.
“But we must have resolved the problem, didn’t we? We made peace somehow…don’t you remember that as well?” Merlin suggested tentatively, backing away from Arthur a bit.
Arthur’s fists clenched at his sides. Merlin wondered if Arthur was going to punch him.
But then luckily, a man who looked their age passed them by. His presence created an effective distraction. He had dirty blond hair and an inscrutable look in his light eyes. He was on the thin side, possibly from a fast metabolism, but maybe his tall height helped in projected that false illusion of leanness. He wore a white collared shirt with a black and silver horizontally striped silk tie while his trousers were black.
He gave them a cursory glance, muttering something under his breath that was hard to hear, but didn’t sound much like English. The man knocked on a door that was a few doors away from where Arthur and Merlin stood.
Merlin had walked by that particular door. He recalled that the door had golden writing on it as if the words had been applied with golden paint by an expert calligrapher. The words told who the room belonged to:
Feliks Ossoliński
Rzeczpospolita Polska
The unfamiliar man turned to them. “Don’t stop on my account,” he said with a mild Eastern European accent.
Then he changed tact and spoke with an Estuary English accent. The switch startled Arthur and Merlin a bit, to hear the sudden yet smooth transition. “Just don’t kill each other, all right?” He asked of them, his tone a bit careless like he doubted Arthur and Merlin would be crazy enough to kill one another.
Then the man with the dirty blond hair went into the room.
Arthur and Merlin heard the man say inside the room. “I have a bone to pick with you, you good for nothing aristocrat. Ah, make that two…or twenty.”
“What is it now, Aleksandr?” Another male voice spoke with a similar Eastern European accent. He sounded impatient, but a bit resigned to the other man’s ‘issues’ like it was a usual thing with them.
They couldn’t hear anything more after that. Maybe some type of silencing spell had been placed.
“He had to be an Old One – no question,” Merlin declared self-assuredly. His sparked interest in the unfamiliar Old One made him temporarily forget the argument he had been in the midst of with Arthur. “They know every language, so that must extend to the accents too when it comes to speaking English, at least…”
“Great,” Arthur muttered.
He recalled what the Black Rider had told him about the Old Ones:
They are only pretending, slipping into society, blending in, being so painfully normal, that the false sense of security they give you is nothing but that: false.
And one way they accomplish that, Arthur thought darkly, was use their knowledge of every language to gain access to any country. Because that was one of the best ways to blend in, to be so well-versed in a language that people would think the Old One had been a native of that country all along. It gave Arthur an unsettling feeling.
That Old One they had just encountered didn’t even ask who they were. Arthur could tell that he knew their identities without needing to ask. When his discerning gaze had landed upon Arthur, he wondered if the Old One had been unraveling all his secrets without Arthur’s permission.
“Fuck,” Arthur swore out loud.
“Arthur, what--?”
“Just leave me alone, Merlin,” Arthur dismissed him, feeling tired of him and just this whole situation he was in.
Apocalypse or no, the fact of the matter was that it was far from okay to be trapped – as he saw it – in a place full of people who weren’t quite human, superhuman some would see the Old Ones as, but they just carried human faces… they weren’t quite human at all in the first place…
“Listen, Arthur,” Merlin started, bringing Arthur out of his thoughts. “I don’t know why I can’t remember, but you know how much I do want to remember my past life. You’re accusing me of something I can’t even recall! That’s not fair!”
“I remember like it was yesterday. It was years, Merlin,” Arthur emphasized firmly, giving Merlin a withering glare. “Not days, weeks, months, but years by the time you told me about your magic. Do you know how that made me feel? What a fool you made of me? I who trusted you with my confessions and you had little trust in me to spare. How is that fair, Merlin? Tell me.”
“Arthur…if I could just…I don’t remember that event!” Merlin exclaimed desperately, trying to get his point across. “I can’t – you’re forcing this issue on me and I can’t properly defend myself. I’m sorry – I know it sounds bad in your view, but everyone makes mistakes, right? I must have had my reasons…there was the magic ban in Camelot like you told me the other day. That had to do with it, right?”
“Then that makes you a coward to use that as an excuse. I called you a true friend, you know…and now I know you aren’t deserving of that title.”
“Arthur, please…” Merlin pleaded with him.
But Arthur was done. He walked away from Merlin.
Merlin looked despondently after him. He needed to talk to someone.
Gwen.
~ * ~
Fortunately Lancelot wasn’t in the room when Merlin came to visit Gwen. He was out taking a walk around the place. Merlin felt that there were just some things that were easier to talk about to a woman versus to another man where you had to worry about not being too sensitive or emotional.
Lancelot was great and all, and sure, he probably wouldn’t make fun of Merlin for anything, but still Merlin just couldn’t help feeling a bit insecure right now.
He wondered what was going on with Arthur. The apologetic behavior, the accidental biting and now, Arthur was suddenly angry at him for an understandable issue, but Merlin didn’t have his memories back. Why couldn’t Arthur be reasonable about it? He had to realize that Merlin couldn’t properly defend his actions when he couldn’t precisely remember why he had chosen to keep his magic secret from Arthur for years.
He himself, without the help of his memories, felt bewildered why he would do such a thing. If he was so close to Arthur why had he not trusted him enough despite Camelot’s magic ban? Wasn’t that a part of being friends with someone? To trust them enough to tell them a secret – especially one as big as his magic that was a big part of his identity?
Well, Merlin could only assume that magic had been rather important to him back in his past life. If anyone had wanted to get a better picture of him as a person, then surely knowing of his magic would have been a good start. He had only regained some of his magic not long ago, so he didn’t personally feel like his possession of magic defined him…yet at least.
Surely at least a year or two years of seeing Arthur on a daily basis -- attending to him as manservant, gaining the prince’s confidence -- would have been long enough for Merlin to summon the courage to tell Arthur the truth about him. But the way Arthur made it sound -- it was certainly more than just two years before Merlin confided in him.
Merlin explained the problem to Gwen and she gave him a sad look.
“You must tell Will about it,” Gwen advised him. “Well, when he returns from wherever he went to with Bran. Something odd is definitely going on with Arthur. He’s not acting like himself. We need to get this resolved.”
Merlin covered his face with his hands, groaning. “I don’t know. Yes, I should tell him, but I would think the Old Ones around here aren’t blind. They must be aware of what’s going on. Living for as long as they have, hundreds even thousands of years… there was an Old One who saw us arguing and he didn’t seem surprised. Just told us not to kill each other and that was it.”
“Maybe it’s important that you and Arthur resolve this issue between you two? The Old Ones could be hoping that the both of you can get through this without intervention. You’ve just had one argument. There’s still opportunity to smooth things over,” Gwen pointed out to him, trying to sound reassuring. “Maybe the next time you talk it out with Arthur, he’ll be more receptive?”
“I’m not sure. I got the feeling that Arthur was not even trying to be reasonable. I’m hoping that some time will give Arthur a chance to calm down. But for him to force an issue that I can’t remember…and now I feel like it’s my fault since my memories haven’t returned yet. That if they had, then I could have a proper conversation with him and could have settled this issue by now. If there was a way to get back my memories, a key to find to unlock a door or something… I feel a bit useless now,” Merlin admitted miserably.
“Oh Merlin,” Gwen said sympathetically. She hugged him.
Then she suggested, “I know your room is next to Arthur’s. If you need to find another room to stay in… I know where there’s a spare room. You need to talk to Feliks about it…”
“Oh, I passed by his room,” Merlin cut in to inform her. “That’s where Arthur and I had our row, not far from his room.”
“Oh good. Then you’ll know where to go. There’s an unoccupied room in the same hallway as Feliks’s room. So if you want that room, you could speak to him about it.”
“Why him? There was an Old One, Alexander, I think his name was…who went inside his room. He didn’t seem very happy with him…called the other man a ‘good for nothing aristocrat.’”
Gwen rolled her eyes, looking quite exasperated. “Never mind Aleksandr. He and Feliks have known each other for centuries. They bicker, but it doesn’t mean anything. I talked to Feliks a few times – met him before even Lancelot came here – and he says he only half-listens to Aleksandr. It’s always the same thing with him. In fact, one time Aleksandr told Feliks to, ‘go suck a pig.’”
“What? Are you serious?” Merlin said, almost wanting to laugh at the ridiculous insult.
Gwen smiled lightly. “Yes, unfortunately I suppose. Trust me though – I thought Feliks was rather friendly, and it’ll be easiest to talk to him in my opinion. He’ll most likely agree to you taking the spare room if you need to. But it’s best to let him know. It’s only polite.”
“Of course. I don’t want to move into another room in another hall without informing anyone. That would be awkward. But why did Alexander call him an aristocrat though?”
Gwen looked at him disbelievingly, as if she was miffed that he hadn’t deduced what that meant. “Well, because Feliks was born into a Polish aristocratic family in the 15th century. There were quite a few Old Ones born 500 some years ago before that long gap of time before Will’s birth. The family was a rather rich and powerful one – Ossoliński was the surname, they have a coat of arms as well. Aleksandr is a bit envious, I suppose, of that fact since he himself wasn’t born into a rich family in Russia.”
“Never really considered…” Merlin confessed. “But I suppose Old Ones could be born into wealthy families as well as the opposite…”
“Or somewhere in the middle. I’m thinking there’s no set rule about to whom an Old One is born to…it’s almost as if it’s at random,” Gwen mused. But then she appeared to recall something. “Oh well, I guess you can count Will being ‘a seventh son of a seventh son’ as a sign. That’s definitely something that doesn’t happen often. Will told me that his father told him that the family used to joke about it –what with the whole belief that such a person would have special powers – when Will was a baby. But once he got older, they didn’t bring it up in case of Will getting ideas that he had second sight or something like that. Kind of funny and ironic now,” Gwen commented with an amused smile.
“But how is he the seventh son? There’s one brother missing…”
Gwen frowned. She sighed, shaking her head. “Before Will’s eldest brother, Stephen, there was another brother born…Tom, I believe. The poor child lived for only three days, died due to a lung disease. Will never knew him.”
“I didn’t know. To barely get a chance to live before succumbing to illness…at least Will’s parents had more children after losing their first. It’s a mixed blessing,” Merlin remarked.
Gwen gave him a small smile.
“I’m fine in my room for now,” Merlin decided. “But I’ll take your advice if I need to change rooms. Thanks, Gwen. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. Come to talk to me any time if you have any more trouble with Arthur.”
Merlin nodded, acquiescing to her request.
~ * ~
“Found you,” Gwydion declared.
Charlie looked up, smiling upon seeing him.
She was wearing a favorite long grey t-shirt with an image of a dark fairy** emblazoned on the front. She had on black leggings and grey elbow-length gloves to match her shirt. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, Charlie had been watching the ducks in the pond before her and sometimes perusing the book she had on her lap.
**
“I got you something, Charlie,” Gwydion told her. He sat down beside her.
He showed her the sterling silver dragon bracelet that looked like the dragon was eating the golden ring clasp.
Charlie looked impressed. “Thank you, Gwydion. It’s really nice. I love it,” she said graciously.
He put the bracelet on her right wrist, clicking the clasp in place. “I thought you’d like it.”
“This is real gold, isn’t it? The ring?” Charlie asked. “‘Child support’ from your birth father again?” She assumed, quirking her eyebrow.
“Well, he’s not going to be home for some time, being Outside Time and everything. Why not collect the child support payments I would be getting if he knew about me?”
“But he doesn’t…and so that’s…”
“Borrowing,” Gwydion contributed, winking at her. Charlie only sighed, shaking her head. “And anyway, he won’t realize the loss of money. He has more than enough of it to spare,” he said assuredly.
“Modern-day Robin Hood, aren’t you?” Charlie teased.
“I wanted to buy you something nice,” Gwydion said honestly. “And I was thinking…do you want to see the Taj Mahal? In the non-apocalyptic reality, of course. We can sneak in, invisible…at night…could be a bit creepy, but it’s more fun that way. What about it?”
Charlie’s blue eyes lit up. She looked excited. “Sure. I’d love to.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Gwydion said with a smile.
When they returned, Gwydion looked forward to carrying out his scheme that would surely frustrate Bran.
~ * ~
The last thing Bran expected was Mordred to appear in the Sanctuary. Bran had returned with Will back to the Sanctuary in reasonably good spirits. That was in large part due to the kiss he had shared with Will in Wales. Because of that, Bran had almost forgotten about the annoyance that was Mordred.
He was walking down a hallway by himself when someone pulled him into a room, shutting the door behind them.
It was Mordred. He covered Bran’s mouth to prevent him yelling out.
Bran narrowed his eyes at him and then bit Mordred’s hand in retaliation.
“Ow,” Mordred said, pulling his hand away and waving it to stem the pain.
“I don’t know how you got here, but you wouldn’t dare try anything here. You know this place is full of Old Ones.”
“I found a magical way in since I’m so trusted now,” Mordred informed him with a smirk. “But sure, you have a point. I better make this quick.”
“Talk to the wall, why don’t you? I don’t care what you have to say. I’m going,” Bran told him firmly.
He went to open the door, but groaned when he discovered that Mordred must have locked the door from the inside.
“I guess you’re staying,” Mordred stated the obvious, his smile overly pleased.
Bran crossed his arms, looking defiantly at him. “What is it? What do you want?” He demanded of him.
Mordred stood in front of him, and much to Bran’s chagrin, he was backed up against the wall. Mordred had him trapped, the bastard. Mordred explained to him, “When I took your blood, I didn’t only use it on the sword.”
Bran simply gave him an impatient look.
Mordred shifted shape and Bran gasped in shock. Mordred now looked like Bran, barring the different clothes.
Bran pushed him, trying to ignore the fact it was incredibly odd to push someone who carried his likeness.
Mordred, for his part, let himself be pushed and kept his distance away from Bran. Bran moved to stand in front of the door – in case the door would open and he could make a quick exit.
“What are you going to do? Stealing my identity now? You know you can’t fool the Old Ones, especially Will, with the trick. All of them, except for Will of course, have lived for centuries and they’ll see through your illusion,” Bran said confidently, not sounding the least bit uneasy, though inside, he wish he knew what Mordred was planning to do.
“True, I can’t fool the Old Ones. I can’t see them believing me to be the true Pendragon,” Mordred admitted with a shrug. “But, you see, not everyone here is an Old One…some people can be tricked.”
“You mean the Four? Merlin, Arthur, Gwen and Lancelot? Are you really on the side of the Light or looking for an opportunity to create mischief? You just love to amuse yourself at other people’s expense, don’t you?” Bran figured, annoyed at his form of entertainment. “And can you please return to your normal self? The only way I want to look at myself is through a mirror,” he said curtly.
Mordred shifted back to his original form. “I am on the side of the Light. I know the truth of what the Dark has in store for me, and I want nothing to do with them. I rebuilt the mansion – where Excalibur had been placed – and it’s now under my control. Everything about the Dark’s presence that Will felt was an illusion by me.”
“So when Arthur, Gwen and Lancelot went in there to get the sword…they weren’t in any real danger? Is that it?” Bran concluded disbelievingly.
“It wasn’t the Dark’s stronghold, it was mine… well, the mansion used to be the Dark’s stronghold until I took it over. So that’s not completely untrue,” Mordred clarified. “Will’s aware now of what I’ve done with the mansion. I told him through mental communication when we were in Wales. He knows I can be trusted.”
“I don’t know what to make of you,” Bran said frankly.
“Well it’s true even if you believe in it or not. Ask Will if you want to. I’m not worried. But since we’re on the subject...it seems like you’ve taken my words of Will abandoning you into account,” Mordred addressed with a growing smile.
“No I haven’t,” Bran denied fiercely.
“Then how do you explain kissing him and being so interested in keeping him with you? It’s such a shame,” Mordred remarked, pretending to be disappointed. “I was looking forward to a good punch from you, but Will being in danger put an end to my hopes. You’re trying so hard, and yet you don’t see what the future will bring.
“Unlike you, Will can blend in anywhere he wants – his appearance so average, hardly anyone would look at him twice. Sure, he can be a bit strange, but his magic could be hidden, his personality adjusted as necessary. In the end, he doesn’t need you. Do you see?
“What makes him strange, he can better conceal; but you…you were damned to stand out by how you look. And there’s nothing you can do to change that. You need him more than he needs you. You have to work twice as hard to make your life bearable. How terrible for you,” Mordred said, not looking that sympathetic at all.
“You don’t know Will. Not like I know him,” Bran countered. His golden eyes flashed – he was not going to back down any time soon.
“But he left you, didn’t he? When you forgot? He dropped contact with you. Will couldn’t stand to see you when you were normal…with no idea of your true heritage. You were just an odd albino boy with an aloof father. That wasn’t enough for Will. Shocking isn’t it that Will is so happy to have you by his side now that you remember again?” Mordred pointed out sarcastically.
“There’s a chance that I’ll keep my memories. It’s in discussion. So your point is moot,” Bran argued, standing his ground and not letting Mordred sway him.
“Right. It’s in discussion,” Mordred reiterated, rolling his eyes.
Then Mordred rushed him before Bran could form a proper reaction. Mordred pressed his hand against Bran’s forehead, his eyes glowing white as he did the sleeping spell.
Bran’s eyes closed as he succumbed to the fast-working sleeping spell. Mordred cradled Bran’s head so it wouldn’t suffer an unwanted bruise as Bran fell to the ground.
“Sweet dreams,” Mordred wished him, his tone ironic.
He ran his fingers through Bran’s snow-white hair, an odd indulgence, but he quickly let it go. As he said the spell to send Bran away, he watched as Bran disappeared until he was completely gone.
Mordred had decided that Will and Bran needed a break from each other. For a little bit at least.
Their friendship nauseated him.
~ * ~
Chapter 5b
Author: dk323
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~9,878 (for all of Ch. 5) Ch. 5a: 6,646
Characters/Pairings: Merlin/Arthur, Lancelot/Gwen, Mordred, Will Stanton, Bran Davies, OCs (Charlie, Old Ones)
Warnings: mention of past non-con, underage (no more than kissing), violence (minor), swearing
Beta: a8c_sock (Thank you! :-))
Disclaimer: The show Merlin is property of the BBC. The Dark Is Rising book series is property of Susan Cooper. Some elements inspired by the 2010 film, “Never Let Me Go.”
Summary: As darkness descends, six people come together to save the world. Nothing will ever be the same again.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
Author’s Note:
A repeat note: Mordred’s middle name is Gwydion, and he sometimes goes by that name. So Gwydion = Mordred. Also, dewin (Welsh) means wizard in case anyone needs a reminder.
This chapter got a little long, so it has been divided into two parts. Hopefully it's easier to read this way. The link to the second half of Chapter 5 is at the end of this part. I apologize for the delay on this update -- I had to focus on a class, but I'm done with it now. I'm hoping that I'll finish Ch. 6 within the next few weeks. The title for Ch. 6 will be "Fire Alarm."
~ * ~
Chapter 5: Charlie visits the conjured inhabitants of the mansion. Arthur and Merlin’s friendship is left in a precarious position, which could affect the Light’s victory over the Dark. Bran and Mordred continue to be annoyed by one another, and Will gets caught in the middle. Bran becomes a target of Mordred’s antics.
~ * ~
Family, Love and Conflict
~ * ~
Charlie hoped Gwydion -- or Mordred as she liked to call him to get on his nerves -- would return soon. It now fell to her to make the visits. According to Gwydion, it wasn’t the best idea to leave the conjured people to their own devices for long stretches of time…hence, the need for regular visits. In a way, it was like babysitting.
Not that Gwydion really did a great job of it anyway. The last he had told her was that the conjured version of his father had annoyed him, so he’d made him mute to keep him quiet.
But then there was Merlin for instance. Gwydion had gotten a bit attached to him, Charlie had noticed. Particularly after Gwydion rebuilt the mansion (after he had completely destroyed it some months back in “the overthrow” as Charlie called it); his overall appreciation of the old wizard had grown stronger. Though, then again, Merlin did have a wealth of magical knowledge, so that could have been a big factor to it.
Growing up with Gwydion, she felt she knew him well enough. Charlie was sure his respect for Merlin was genuine.
There was Gwydion’s mother, the Lady Morgana, who lay on a bed in her designated room. She was donned in a deep blue dress with a bouquet of red, white and black roses held in her hands. Gwydion had felt wrong about bringing a magicked version of his mother to life, so he’d simply turned her room into a memorial.
Charlie went to the Lady Morgana’s room first as due to her being dead, she could get through what she needed to do. Once you got past the dead, not sleeping, woman on the bed; then it was much easier.
The issue came in when the person was alive. Then that person could look at you, impressing their judgment upon you just by a piercing gaze. Definitely something she wasn’t thrilled about dealing with.
Quietly, she entered Morgana’s room and replaced the flowers in the vase on the bedside table with a fresh bunch. As Charlie expected, the roses Morgana held had not wilted as Gwydion had placed an enchantment to sustain them for a long while.
After tossing the old flowers in the bin, Charlie decided to go to King Arthur’s room. She dreaded it, but it had to be done. While he couldn’t do her any harm – none of the conjured entities could – he could still unnerve her, made worse if he couldn’t speak.
Not that he had said much to her before Gwydion’s mute spell. Early on, Arthur had asked her who her parents were, and Charlie had told him that she didn’t know. That she had been left in front of a church and a Lord of the Dark, the White Rider, took her and raised her as her own.
Arthur had frowned at the mention of the White Rider, but he declined to comment further on that point. He had also asked her if she was Gwydion’s friend then. Charlie had confirmed it at which Arthur looked thoughtful. But then he’d told her curtly, dismissively, “Good luck with that,” as if it was difficult to be Gwydion’s friend.
After that encounter, their interactions mostly consisted of small talk.
When she went to the King’s room, Charlie sighed as she noticed that the crown had been thrown at the door again.
The room was cloaked in darkness, the tall deep red curtains blocking out the sunlight.
“It’s dark in here,” Charlie said out loud.
King Arthur was not far from the door, only a few feet away, and as usual, he was sitting in his throne chair. A book was laid open on his lap.
Of course as he couldn’t speak, he didn’t answer her. He just looked up and shrugged.
She set the flowers she had been carrying on a nearby half table shoved against the wall adjacent to the entryway.
“Well you shouldn’t be reading in the dark,” Charlie remarked. She went to open the curtains to let the light in.
“Do you want your crown back?” She ventured, nodding at the discarded item behind her.
But the King seemed not to hear her, not even giving her a nod or shake of the head. His apparently fascinating book had already recaptured his attention.
Charlie shook her head and resignedly, she picked up the crown and placed it on the round table by Arthur.
“The fire’s a little low,” she said idly.
Arthur was facing away from the fire. Most likely his last encounter with Gwydion, whereupon he’d lost his voice, had left him in an unhappy mood. And as such, the King preferred to stay in the darkness that would compliment his feelings nicely. Charlie was used to the King’s dark moods. He had his good and bad days like anyone else.
Taking off her elbow-length gloves, she went over to the grand fireplace. There was a button on the wall beside the mantel. Gwydion had set it up so that only electricity making contact with the button was needed to get a strong, steady fire going in the hearth.
Some time ago, Gwydion had given Charlie the power to release electric currents from her bare hands. That was why she had to be careful and wear gloves in case the power was unleashed when it wasn’t meant to. It served as a helpful defensive power – to electrocute anyone giving her trouble if she made a trip to the town.
She placed her ungloved hand on the big button and she concentrated, getting the flow of electricity to exit through her hand.
There was a crackling noise as the current sparked on the button. Then the weak fire roared and grew stronger, flames full of life as they danced within the fireplace.
“All right. Well. I should go,” Charlie declared. “Did Merlin visit you?”
Arthur nodded, pointing at the book he had been reading.
“Can’t keep him out of the library, it seems,” Charlie remarked lightly, smiling.
Arthur looked mildly amused.
With a goodbye, she left the room.
She found Lady Elaine walking down the hallway. Charlie handed her some flowers.
“Hello, Lady Elaine,” she greeted.
“Oh, Charlotte, dear. Thank you,” Elaine said to her pleasantly. She breathed in the flowers’ fragrant scent.
While Charlie preferred her shortened name, she sort of liked it when Elaine called her by her full name.
As she conversed with Elaine, Charlie decided that it would be nice to take a walk outside. Maybe go to the duck pond in a nearby park. Or something like that. Anything to escape this place if only for a little while.
~ * ~
Will and Bran told Mordred that they would go to Wales, in the non-apocalyptic reality, to discuss the situation.
It was early evening when they arrived. They sat in a circle at the base of a hill.
The air was cool, which mirrored Bran’s cool, almost judging look directed at Mordred. Mordred seemed not to care and Will had a far-off look on his face. Bran wondered if he was mentally communicating with another Old One, Merriman most likely. Because his expression was certainly not that different than when he was in the midst of that sort of conversation.
Will spoke first. “What do you need to tell us, Mordred?”
“The Lady has been visiting me since I was young,” Mordred admitted. “She always had the rose-coloured stone ring on her finger…sometimes; she looked younger where she had a heart-shaped face, fair hair…while other times she was in the guise of a small old woman. I don’t think I’ve felt as calm and just, well, happy as when I am in the Lady’s presence,” Mordred revealed, smiling wistfully as he recalled his meetings with her. “But the most important thing I need to tell the both of you is of Merriman visiting me. Not long ago, you see. And he told me that he had faith in me. He said that I needed to memorize some lines, to make you believe in my sincerity…that I was to be trusted.”
“Well say them,” Bran prodded him. He looked irritated.
Will placed his hand over Bran’s, stroking it, as if to calm the paler boy.
Bran swore he detected a hint of envy on Mordred’s face. He gave him a smug look in return as if to say, “You have your magic. I have Will. You get your own dewin. Will is mine.”
Mordred saw Bran’s reaction. In answer, Mordred frowned and he shook his head. His face changed to a carefully blank expression. The envy had been wiped away.
“What Merriman told me,” Mordred began, looking directly at Will. “Were these lines:
When light from the lost land shall return,
Six Sleepers shall ride, six Signs shall burn,
And where the midsummer tree grows tall--”
“By my sword the Dark shall fall,” Bran finished.
“It’s not ‘my sword’,” Mordred argued.
“Well it has the same meaning,” he said flippantly. “And I was the one who used Eirias in the last apocalypse to cause the fall of the Dark. I have every right to make alterations.”
“Bran, stop it please,” Will interjected lightly. “The three of us need to cooperate. We can’t sit here arguing about the accuracy of the verses. Thank you, Mordred. I’m glad we can count on you.”
“Seriously? I had to do the same thing. Recite a few lines. But this is different. Mordred’s clearly been raised by the Dark. He’s a--”
Will gave him a piercing look. “Bran,” he only said, though his tone was firm.
Mordred looked a bit delighted at Bran being scolded. At seeing that, Bran had the urge to punch him in the face, to wipe that smirk from it.
“Fine,” Bran said a bit bitterly. “Apparently someone trusts you. Lucky you, Mordred. But if you betray us, you will not be left unscathed.”
“What can you do?” Mordred asked in disbelief, directing his question at Bran. “You don’t possess magic, not anywhere near my level at least. You’re just Will’s puppet. A pawn of the Old Ones.”
“Well then so are you,” Bran shot back.
“Of course we all know why you’re enjoying this so much,” Mordred continued on, undeterred. “Rather be involved in stopping the apocalypse than returning home to those who mock you because of your looks. Saying things behind your back. Thinking you’re evil. One of the dangerous, otherworldly Fairy people. A boy so colourless can’t be human. Not at all.”
“You don’t know anything,” Bran retorted fiercely.
“Stop it, the both of you!” Will intervened.
“Isn’t telepathy a magical skill? I find it a helpful learning tool,” Mordred said slyly.
Bran lunged forward, pushing Mordred to the ground so that his head hit it with a dull thump.
Bran wanted to punch him, strangle him, something…to make him feel the pain he himself didn’t like acknowledging. Bran hated thinking about how much of an outsider he was at school, how the boys and girls his age looked at him. How before Will came along, Bran had felt—no…
He didn’t want to think about it.
But before Bran could leave some lasting damage on Mordred, he heard someone choking.
It was Will.
“Hurt me if you want to,” Mordred told him with a twisted smile. “But I doubt you’d want to watch Will choke to death. Though since he’s immortal, it’ll lack dramatic effect, but--,” Still smiling, Mordred put forward a question. He looked far too pleased with himself. “--I wonder: would Will Stanton want a friend who’s willing to watch him die when that friend could stop it? What do you think?”
Bran watched as Will clutched at his throat, gasping for air he couldn’t get. His blue-grey eyes were fixed on Bran. He wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but Bran almost thought he saw accusation in Will’s eyes…accusing Bran.
“I can’t lose you,” Bran thought earnestly, a hint of desperation seeping into his words.
And it wasn’t about losing Will to death because Will could never truly die.
But something more important to Bran. He couldn’t lose him as a friend. There was no way he would ever allow himself to stand by and watch Will die when he had the chance to prevent it.
“I hate you,” Bran said to Mordred before he moved off of him.
“Why am I not surprised?” Mordred said idly. He lifted the spell he had placed on Will.
Bran ignored Mordred and went to Will’s side. Will was breathing hard, trying to get fresh air back into his lungs. It hadn’t been long ago after all that he had been fatally shot. He was still recovering from that incident and now being nearly choked to death certainly wasn’t helping matters.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Bran apologized to him.
“It’s all right,” Will said quietly.
“No. I shouldn’t have…please don’t ever think that – I would always choose you, always,” Bran told him fiercely.
Then he tilted his head and pressed his lips to Will’s. It was a soft kiss, and Bran wasn’t quite sure why he had done it, other than being caught up in the moment, the need to prove to Will that he cared for him.
“Was that--? I wasn’t thinking,” Bran said quickly when Will remained silent.
He smiled at Bran a moment later. “I didn’t mind. I liked it,” Will assured Bran.
“What goes on in that head of yours? I’d love to know,” Bran said coaxingly.
Will shrugged, unwilling to take the bait. Then he leaned toward Bran and whispered to him, “Mordred has gone.”
Bran looked at the spot where Mordred had been. He had disappeared. “When did he go?”
“Shortly after you kissed me, I think,” Will said thoughtfully.
Bran really didn’t want to dwell on what Mordred was planning to do next. What Will thought of Mordred was his business, but it would be a cold day in hell before Bran considered Mordred a good friend.
With that decision made, Bran kissed Will again. This time, Will returned the kiss.
~ * ~
After Arthur had returned to the Sanctuary with Gwen and Lancelot, a female Old One named Tabrett had taken the sword from him. The Old One looked to be in her thirties. She had strawberry blonde hair and her eyes were a light green color that drew you in.
Tabrett had confided in them that despite her young look, she had been born 600 some years ago in Ireland. Despite her birthplace, she had spent considerable time in Australia and New Zealand in her long life on Earth prior to retiring with her fellow Old Ones. That explained her accent as she spoke to them in English.
Tabrett informed the three of them that Excalibur needed to be placed in a room. The room had been made specially to keep the sword protected.
With his sword gone from his side, Arthur began to feel a growing irritation. He recalled a past event that he was half-surprised that he hadn’t re-evaluated already. But now the memory was front and center and Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about it. He remembered the terrible feeling of betrayal when Merlin finally revealed his magic to him. To find out that Merlin had been lying to him all those years. It had hurt and angered him all in one go.
And now, as that feeling of intense frustration was all coming back to him, he held on to that anger as if his life depended on it. Arthur was nearly blinded by it. Something small in the back in his mind warned him that he should be reasonable about this, that this was the Dark at work again…the same entity who had made him believe he was a vampire, that he would hurt even kill Merlin…
…but Arthur didn’t want to listen to reason now, and so the small voice was drowned out.
This was a legitimate problem. Maybe Merlin didn’t remember his past life yet because of the unpleasant feelings of overwhelming guilt and self-blame he would experience when he remembered his past life fully? That Merlin’s mind was intentionally preventing the return of his memories to deny Arthur the satisfaction of rehashing this past conflict of theirs?
It just wasn’t fair. He needed to settle this now.
But since he couldn’t find Merlin in his room, Arthur wandered the halls of the Sanctuary looking for him. He ended up in a corridor that he hadn’t been in before.
He was surprised when he saw Merlin come by.
“Hi, Arthur,” Merlin greeted him with a smile. He quickly frowned when he noticed the grim, almost angry look on Arthur’s face.
“Arthur, are you okay?” Merlin asked him.
“You don’t remember yet, do you?”
“No, I’m sorry, but not yet. If I could know what the trigger is…”
“You lied to me all that time about who you were,” Arthur declared, sounding frustrated.
“What?”
“About your magic.”
“Oh,” Merlin only said. He did recall Arthur telling him about the magic ban in Camelot before Arthur became King. How it led magic users like Merlin himself to be extra cautious while in Camelot. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t remember how I felt. I wish I could give you a better answer…why are you bringing this up now? Maybe when I--”
“Maybe the reason why you don’t remember is it’s too much of a pain to deal with the lies, how guilty you must have felt,” Arthur grit out.
“But we must have resolved the problem, didn’t we? We made peace somehow…don’t you remember that as well?” Merlin suggested tentatively, backing away from Arthur a bit.
Arthur’s fists clenched at his sides. Merlin wondered if Arthur was going to punch him.
But then luckily, a man who looked their age passed them by. His presence created an effective distraction. He had dirty blond hair and an inscrutable look in his light eyes. He was on the thin side, possibly from a fast metabolism, but maybe his tall height helped in projected that false illusion of leanness. He wore a white collared shirt with a black and silver horizontally striped silk tie while his trousers were black.
He gave them a cursory glance, muttering something under his breath that was hard to hear, but didn’t sound much like English. The man knocked on a door that was a few doors away from where Arthur and Merlin stood.
Merlin had walked by that particular door. He recalled that the door had golden writing on it as if the words had been applied with golden paint by an expert calligrapher. The words told who the room belonged to:
Feliks Ossoliński
Rzeczpospolita Polska
The unfamiliar man turned to them. “Don’t stop on my account,” he said with a mild Eastern European accent.
Then he changed tact and spoke with an Estuary English accent. The switch startled Arthur and Merlin a bit, to hear the sudden yet smooth transition. “Just don’t kill each other, all right?” He asked of them, his tone a bit careless like he doubted Arthur and Merlin would be crazy enough to kill one another.
Then the man with the dirty blond hair went into the room.
Arthur and Merlin heard the man say inside the room. “I have a bone to pick with you, you good for nothing aristocrat. Ah, make that two…or twenty.”
“What is it now, Aleksandr?” Another male voice spoke with a similar Eastern European accent. He sounded impatient, but a bit resigned to the other man’s ‘issues’ like it was a usual thing with them.
They couldn’t hear anything more after that. Maybe some type of silencing spell had been placed.
“He had to be an Old One – no question,” Merlin declared self-assuredly. His sparked interest in the unfamiliar Old One made him temporarily forget the argument he had been in the midst of with Arthur. “They know every language, so that must extend to the accents too when it comes to speaking English, at least…”
“Great,” Arthur muttered.
He recalled what the Black Rider had told him about the Old Ones:
They are only pretending, slipping into society, blending in, being so painfully normal, that the false sense of security they give you is nothing but that: false.
And one way they accomplish that, Arthur thought darkly, was use their knowledge of every language to gain access to any country. Because that was one of the best ways to blend in, to be so well-versed in a language that people would think the Old One had been a native of that country all along. It gave Arthur an unsettling feeling.
That Old One they had just encountered didn’t even ask who they were. Arthur could tell that he knew their identities without needing to ask. When his discerning gaze had landed upon Arthur, he wondered if the Old One had been unraveling all his secrets without Arthur’s permission.
“Fuck,” Arthur swore out loud.
“Arthur, what--?”
“Just leave me alone, Merlin,” Arthur dismissed him, feeling tired of him and just this whole situation he was in.
Apocalypse or no, the fact of the matter was that it was far from okay to be trapped – as he saw it – in a place full of people who weren’t quite human, superhuman some would see the Old Ones as, but they just carried human faces… they weren’t quite human at all in the first place…
“Listen, Arthur,” Merlin started, bringing Arthur out of his thoughts. “I don’t know why I can’t remember, but you know how much I do want to remember my past life. You’re accusing me of something I can’t even recall! That’s not fair!”
“I remember like it was yesterday. It was years, Merlin,” Arthur emphasized firmly, giving Merlin a withering glare. “Not days, weeks, months, but years by the time you told me about your magic. Do you know how that made me feel? What a fool you made of me? I who trusted you with my confessions and you had little trust in me to spare. How is that fair, Merlin? Tell me.”
“Arthur…if I could just…I don’t remember that event!” Merlin exclaimed desperately, trying to get his point across. “I can’t – you’re forcing this issue on me and I can’t properly defend myself. I’m sorry – I know it sounds bad in your view, but everyone makes mistakes, right? I must have had my reasons…there was the magic ban in Camelot like you told me the other day. That had to do with it, right?”
“Then that makes you a coward to use that as an excuse. I called you a true friend, you know…and now I know you aren’t deserving of that title.”
“Arthur, please…” Merlin pleaded with him.
But Arthur was done. He walked away from Merlin.
Merlin looked despondently after him. He needed to talk to someone.
Gwen.
~ * ~
Fortunately Lancelot wasn’t in the room when Merlin came to visit Gwen. He was out taking a walk around the place. Merlin felt that there were just some things that were easier to talk about to a woman versus to another man where you had to worry about not being too sensitive or emotional.
Lancelot was great and all, and sure, he probably wouldn’t make fun of Merlin for anything, but still Merlin just couldn’t help feeling a bit insecure right now.
He wondered what was going on with Arthur. The apologetic behavior, the accidental biting and now, Arthur was suddenly angry at him for an understandable issue, but Merlin didn’t have his memories back. Why couldn’t Arthur be reasonable about it? He had to realize that Merlin couldn’t properly defend his actions when he couldn’t precisely remember why he had chosen to keep his magic secret from Arthur for years.
He himself, without the help of his memories, felt bewildered why he would do such a thing. If he was so close to Arthur why had he not trusted him enough despite Camelot’s magic ban? Wasn’t that a part of being friends with someone? To trust them enough to tell them a secret – especially one as big as his magic that was a big part of his identity?
Well, Merlin could only assume that magic had been rather important to him back in his past life. If anyone had wanted to get a better picture of him as a person, then surely knowing of his magic would have been a good start. He had only regained some of his magic not long ago, so he didn’t personally feel like his possession of magic defined him…yet at least.
Surely at least a year or two years of seeing Arthur on a daily basis -- attending to him as manservant, gaining the prince’s confidence -- would have been long enough for Merlin to summon the courage to tell Arthur the truth about him. But the way Arthur made it sound -- it was certainly more than just two years before Merlin confided in him.
Merlin explained the problem to Gwen and she gave him a sad look.
“You must tell Will about it,” Gwen advised him. “Well, when he returns from wherever he went to with Bran. Something odd is definitely going on with Arthur. He’s not acting like himself. We need to get this resolved.”
Merlin covered his face with his hands, groaning. “I don’t know. Yes, I should tell him, but I would think the Old Ones around here aren’t blind. They must be aware of what’s going on. Living for as long as they have, hundreds even thousands of years… there was an Old One who saw us arguing and he didn’t seem surprised. Just told us not to kill each other and that was it.”
“Maybe it’s important that you and Arthur resolve this issue between you two? The Old Ones could be hoping that the both of you can get through this without intervention. You’ve just had one argument. There’s still opportunity to smooth things over,” Gwen pointed out to him, trying to sound reassuring. “Maybe the next time you talk it out with Arthur, he’ll be more receptive?”
“I’m not sure. I got the feeling that Arthur was not even trying to be reasonable. I’m hoping that some time will give Arthur a chance to calm down. But for him to force an issue that I can’t remember…and now I feel like it’s my fault since my memories haven’t returned yet. That if they had, then I could have a proper conversation with him and could have settled this issue by now. If there was a way to get back my memories, a key to find to unlock a door or something… I feel a bit useless now,” Merlin admitted miserably.
“Oh Merlin,” Gwen said sympathetically. She hugged him.
Then she suggested, “I know your room is next to Arthur’s. If you need to find another room to stay in… I know where there’s a spare room. You need to talk to Feliks about it…”
“Oh, I passed by his room,” Merlin cut in to inform her. “That’s where Arthur and I had our row, not far from his room.”
“Oh good. Then you’ll know where to go. There’s an unoccupied room in the same hallway as Feliks’s room. So if you want that room, you could speak to him about it.”
“Why him? There was an Old One, Alexander, I think his name was…who went inside his room. He didn’t seem very happy with him…called the other man a ‘good for nothing aristocrat.’”
Gwen rolled her eyes, looking quite exasperated. “Never mind Aleksandr. He and Feliks have known each other for centuries. They bicker, but it doesn’t mean anything. I talked to Feliks a few times – met him before even Lancelot came here – and he says he only half-listens to Aleksandr. It’s always the same thing with him. In fact, one time Aleksandr told Feliks to, ‘go suck a pig.’”
“What? Are you serious?” Merlin said, almost wanting to laugh at the ridiculous insult.
Gwen smiled lightly. “Yes, unfortunately I suppose. Trust me though – I thought Feliks was rather friendly, and it’ll be easiest to talk to him in my opinion. He’ll most likely agree to you taking the spare room if you need to. But it’s best to let him know. It’s only polite.”
“Of course. I don’t want to move into another room in another hall without informing anyone. That would be awkward. But why did Alexander call him an aristocrat though?”
Gwen looked at him disbelievingly, as if she was miffed that he hadn’t deduced what that meant. “Well, because Feliks was born into a Polish aristocratic family in the 15th century. There were quite a few Old Ones born 500 some years ago before that long gap of time before Will’s birth. The family was a rather rich and powerful one – Ossoliński was the surname, they have a coat of arms as well. Aleksandr is a bit envious, I suppose, of that fact since he himself wasn’t born into a rich family in Russia.”
“Never really considered…” Merlin confessed. “But I suppose Old Ones could be born into wealthy families as well as the opposite…”
“Or somewhere in the middle. I’m thinking there’s no set rule about to whom an Old One is born to…it’s almost as if it’s at random,” Gwen mused. But then she appeared to recall something. “Oh well, I guess you can count Will being ‘a seventh son of a seventh son’ as a sign. That’s definitely something that doesn’t happen often. Will told me that his father told him that the family used to joke about it –what with the whole belief that such a person would have special powers – when Will was a baby. But once he got older, they didn’t bring it up in case of Will getting ideas that he had second sight or something like that. Kind of funny and ironic now,” Gwen commented with an amused smile.
“But how is he the seventh son? There’s one brother missing…”
Gwen frowned. She sighed, shaking her head. “Before Will’s eldest brother, Stephen, there was another brother born…Tom, I believe. The poor child lived for only three days, died due to a lung disease. Will never knew him.”
“I didn’t know. To barely get a chance to live before succumbing to illness…at least Will’s parents had more children after losing their first. It’s a mixed blessing,” Merlin remarked.
Gwen gave him a small smile.
“I’m fine in my room for now,” Merlin decided. “But I’ll take your advice if I need to change rooms. Thanks, Gwen. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. Come to talk to me any time if you have any more trouble with Arthur.”
Merlin nodded, acquiescing to her request.
~ * ~
“Found you,” Gwydion declared.
Charlie looked up, smiling upon seeing him.
She was wearing a favorite long grey t-shirt with an image of a dark fairy** emblazoned on the front. She had on black leggings and grey elbow-length gloves to match her shirt. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, Charlie had been watching the ducks in the pond before her and sometimes perusing the book she had on her lap.
**
“I got you something, Charlie,” Gwydion told her. He sat down beside her.
He showed her the sterling silver dragon bracelet that looked like the dragon was eating the golden ring clasp.
Charlie looked impressed. “Thank you, Gwydion. It’s really nice. I love it,” she said graciously.
He put the bracelet on her right wrist, clicking the clasp in place. “I thought you’d like it.”
“This is real gold, isn’t it? The ring?” Charlie asked. “‘Child support’ from your birth father again?” She assumed, quirking her eyebrow.
“Well, he’s not going to be home for some time, being Outside Time and everything. Why not collect the child support payments I would be getting if he knew about me?”
“But he doesn’t…and so that’s…”
“Borrowing,” Gwydion contributed, winking at her. Charlie only sighed, shaking her head. “And anyway, he won’t realize the loss of money. He has more than enough of it to spare,” he said assuredly.
“Modern-day Robin Hood, aren’t you?” Charlie teased.
“I wanted to buy you something nice,” Gwydion said honestly. “And I was thinking…do you want to see the Taj Mahal? In the non-apocalyptic reality, of course. We can sneak in, invisible…at night…could be a bit creepy, but it’s more fun that way. What about it?”
Charlie’s blue eyes lit up. She looked excited. “Sure. I’d love to.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Gwydion said with a smile.
When they returned, Gwydion looked forward to carrying out his scheme that would surely frustrate Bran.
~ * ~
The last thing Bran expected was Mordred to appear in the Sanctuary. Bran had returned with Will back to the Sanctuary in reasonably good spirits. That was in large part due to the kiss he had shared with Will in Wales. Because of that, Bran had almost forgotten about the annoyance that was Mordred.
He was walking down a hallway by himself when someone pulled him into a room, shutting the door behind them.
It was Mordred. He covered Bran’s mouth to prevent him yelling out.
Bran narrowed his eyes at him and then bit Mordred’s hand in retaliation.
“Ow,” Mordred said, pulling his hand away and waving it to stem the pain.
“I don’t know how you got here, but you wouldn’t dare try anything here. You know this place is full of Old Ones.”
“I found a magical way in since I’m so trusted now,” Mordred informed him with a smirk. “But sure, you have a point. I better make this quick.”
“Talk to the wall, why don’t you? I don’t care what you have to say. I’m going,” Bran told him firmly.
He went to open the door, but groaned when he discovered that Mordred must have locked the door from the inside.
“I guess you’re staying,” Mordred stated the obvious, his smile overly pleased.
Bran crossed his arms, looking defiantly at him. “What is it? What do you want?” He demanded of him.
Mordred stood in front of him, and much to Bran’s chagrin, he was backed up against the wall. Mordred had him trapped, the bastard. Mordred explained to him, “When I took your blood, I didn’t only use it on the sword.”
Bran simply gave him an impatient look.
Mordred shifted shape and Bran gasped in shock. Mordred now looked like Bran, barring the different clothes.
Bran pushed him, trying to ignore the fact it was incredibly odd to push someone who carried his likeness.
Mordred, for his part, let himself be pushed and kept his distance away from Bran. Bran moved to stand in front of the door – in case the door would open and he could make a quick exit.
“What are you going to do? Stealing my identity now? You know you can’t fool the Old Ones, especially Will, with the trick. All of them, except for Will of course, have lived for centuries and they’ll see through your illusion,” Bran said confidently, not sounding the least bit uneasy, though inside, he wish he knew what Mordred was planning to do.
“True, I can’t fool the Old Ones. I can’t see them believing me to be the true Pendragon,” Mordred admitted with a shrug. “But, you see, not everyone here is an Old One…some people can be tricked.”
“You mean the Four? Merlin, Arthur, Gwen and Lancelot? Are you really on the side of the Light or looking for an opportunity to create mischief? You just love to amuse yourself at other people’s expense, don’t you?” Bran figured, annoyed at his form of entertainment. “And can you please return to your normal self? The only way I want to look at myself is through a mirror,” he said curtly.
Mordred shifted back to his original form. “I am on the side of the Light. I know the truth of what the Dark has in store for me, and I want nothing to do with them. I rebuilt the mansion – where Excalibur had been placed – and it’s now under my control. Everything about the Dark’s presence that Will felt was an illusion by me.”
“So when Arthur, Gwen and Lancelot went in there to get the sword…they weren’t in any real danger? Is that it?” Bran concluded disbelievingly.
“It wasn’t the Dark’s stronghold, it was mine… well, the mansion used to be the Dark’s stronghold until I took it over. So that’s not completely untrue,” Mordred clarified. “Will’s aware now of what I’ve done with the mansion. I told him through mental communication when we were in Wales. He knows I can be trusted.”
“I don’t know what to make of you,” Bran said frankly.
“Well it’s true even if you believe in it or not. Ask Will if you want to. I’m not worried. But since we’re on the subject...it seems like you’ve taken my words of Will abandoning you into account,” Mordred addressed with a growing smile.
“No I haven’t,” Bran denied fiercely.
“Then how do you explain kissing him and being so interested in keeping him with you? It’s such a shame,” Mordred remarked, pretending to be disappointed. “I was looking forward to a good punch from you, but Will being in danger put an end to my hopes. You’re trying so hard, and yet you don’t see what the future will bring.
“Unlike you, Will can blend in anywhere he wants – his appearance so average, hardly anyone would look at him twice. Sure, he can be a bit strange, but his magic could be hidden, his personality adjusted as necessary. In the end, he doesn’t need you. Do you see?
“What makes him strange, he can better conceal; but you…you were damned to stand out by how you look. And there’s nothing you can do to change that. You need him more than he needs you. You have to work twice as hard to make your life bearable. How terrible for you,” Mordred said, not looking that sympathetic at all.
“You don’t know Will. Not like I know him,” Bran countered. His golden eyes flashed – he was not going to back down any time soon.
“But he left you, didn’t he? When you forgot? He dropped contact with you. Will couldn’t stand to see you when you were normal…with no idea of your true heritage. You were just an odd albino boy with an aloof father. That wasn’t enough for Will. Shocking isn’t it that Will is so happy to have you by his side now that you remember again?” Mordred pointed out sarcastically.
“There’s a chance that I’ll keep my memories. It’s in discussion. So your point is moot,” Bran argued, standing his ground and not letting Mordred sway him.
“Right. It’s in discussion,” Mordred reiterated, rolling his eyes.
Then Mordred rushed him before Bran could form a proper reaction. Mordred pressed his hand against Bran’s forehead, his eyes glowing white as he did the sleeping spell.
Bran’s eyes closed as he succumbed to the fast-working sleeping spell. Mordred cradled Bran’s head so it wouldn’t suffer an unwanted bruise as Bran fell to the ground.
“Sweet dreams,” Mordred wished him, his tone ironic.
He ran his fingers through Bran’s snow-white hair, an odd indulgence, but he quickly let it go. As he said the spell to send Bran away, he watched as Bran disappeared until he was completely gone.
Mordred had decided that Will and Bran needed a break from each other. For a little bit at least.
Their friendship nauseated him.
~ * ~
Chapter 5b