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Merlin/Dark Is Rising: Trembling on the Edge (5b/?)
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5a
Ch. 5b word count: 3,232
~ * ~
“No,” Will said when he saw Mordred enter his room. “I have a feeling you want something from me, but my answer is no. You should have left Bran alone. Your fight with him is childish.”
Mordred took a chair and moved it so that it was next to the desk Will was sitting at. He had been in the middle of composing a letter before Mordred had come into the room.
“It’s not my fault that Bran continues to argue with me. It’s our special thing,” Mordred remarked in a mock-sentimental tone to which Will looked at him as if he were mad. “I didn’t send him anywhere dangerous. Actually, I think it’s rather funny where I sent him.”
Will granted him a disbelieving look.
“All right…not for you maybe,” Mordred amended.
“I know you didn’t send him to a dangerous place. Bran would have immediately returned here – cancelling any spell you put on him – if you had endangered him. I know you wouldn’t want to risk me casting you out so you could return to playing hide and seek with the Dark.”
“You won’t do that now, right?” Mordred asked uncertainly. “It was just a joke…and Bran will return here. I just thought it’d be good to keep you two apart for a little while. In case you get distracted from the apocalypse business with all that kissing…” he commented, smirking.
Will raised his brow. “Barring all else, the safest place for Bran is in the Sanctuary. I want to see for myself that he’s all right.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s still asleep right now. He’s in a room in my mansion. I’ll take you to see Bran when he’s awake. Believe me, he’s not hurt or anything.”
Will still looked at him with disbelief. He closed his eyes and was silent for a long moment.
He opened his eyes and nodded. “I feel him. Bran’s alive and unharmed, it seems. But really, Mordred? You left him with a conjured version of your birth father?”
“Unoriginal, I know. But I thought it was a nice touch of irony,” Mordred remarked, looking smug.
“The Black Rider appears to have affected Arthur in some way…” Will brought up, peering at Mordred carefully. “He’s arguing with Merlin.”
“So?” Mordred asked carelessly.
“Arthur is your father.”
“So says all the Arthurian texts, yeah. But the Black Rider told me Arthur Pendragon raped my mother, so the only thing I want from him is money for being a right bastard. I don’t care if he has issues. He deserves all the crap he gets.”
“You don’t believe that now, do you?” Will guessed shrewdly. “That he did that to your mother?”
“No,” Mordred admitted slowly. “I now believe the Dark is full of shit, but growing up having it ingrained in you that your birth father is the worst sort of man… I can’t just forget that,” Mordred declared with finality in his tone.
Will sighed, looking sadly at Mordred. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“I don’t need anyone’s pity,” Mordred said. He changed the subject. “So I’m guessing a conflict between any of the Six weakens the bond of the whole? That they’ll be less able to defeat the Dark when the Time comes? United in love or whatever…something maudlin like that.”
“Yes,” Will acknowledged solemnly. “They’ve only had one big argument. We’re hoping they could resolve it on their own…naturally, but if need be, I’ll have to get Merriman involved. I want to give Arthur and Merlin a chance to figure it out between the two of them.”
“Merlin hasn’t remembered his past life yet? Like a full return?”
Will shook his head. “No.”
“Ha! Well good luck with all that. Merlin better remember soon…can’t have a proper argument if one person has amnesia.”
“Your optimism amazes me,” Will remarked with a weary sigh.
Mordred shrugged, not looking particularly affected. He then went into what he was hoping Will could help him with. Well, not for him specifically. Mordred was asking for Charlie’s sake.
~ * ~
Late that evening, Mordred apparently believed that to be a good time for some decorating…
But an Old One approached him, quick to ruin his fun.
“And what are you doing wearing the Pendragon’s face?” The Old One asked him, frowning.
“I’m sorry,” Mordred said quickly, not wanting to antagonize the Old One before him.
He was a thin man with dirty blond hair. The man’s Russian accent lacing his English made Mordred almost positive that he was the Old One who went by Aleksandr. Earlier when Mordred had met and talked to another Old One, Feliks, he had mentioned Aleksandr with not an inconsiderable amount of exasperation. Feliks had still admitted that he respected his fellow Old One, as Aleksandr did him. They just got a bit sick of each other after knowing one another for centuries, so they couldn’t help bickering.
“Change back, would you? It’s a bit insulting, I say.”
Mordred shifted from Bran’s too pale appearance into his original dark-haired, blue-eyed, not freakishly pale form.
“I think Feliks mentioned you. You’re Aleksandr, right?”
“Yes, and if I knew I would be babysitting on my night patrol, I would have taken some cigarettes with me,” Aleksandr said, now speaking with an Estuary English accent.
“I should just be going now.”
“Not until you clean up your artwork. You expect this to stay? Though I must say that this one is somewhat amusing,” Aleksandr indicated, pointing at the fictional character drawn on Arthur’s door.
The character was Cinderella in her blue ball gown, complete with little white mice scurrying underfoot. Merlin’s door, on the other hand, had Merlin a la Sword in the Stone. Donned in blue robes, he was holding a model airplane in one hand while Archimedes the owl was perched on his ridiculously tall blue wizard’s hat.
“That was my goal,” Mordred told him. Anything that would make his father annoyed at seeing on his door was a job well done. The Merlin on Merlin’s door was just because he felt in the mood to do another character. He hadn’t met this reincarnated Merlin, but Mordred guessed he’d just find it cute. If this Merlin had any sense of humour, that was. “Do I have to take the Merlin one down, though? I’m really happy with that one.”
Mordred was no artist in the traditional sense, but he found that with his magic, he could sort of circumvent the process. This allowed him to paint relatively decent-looking pictures on doors when he was in the mood to do so. He had done some painting work, murals and such, within his mansion when he had been itching to do something with his magic.
“If either Arthur or Merlin sees this come morning when they wake, how will we explain the artwork?”
“It was a happy accident?” Mordred suggested with a grin.
Aleksandr just looked at him.
Mordred sighed and made the works of art magically vanish from the door fronts.
“Your name means ‘defender of men’, doesn’t it? Did your parents--? Well I’m guessing they didn’t know you would be an Old One…”
“They didn’t know, of course, no. Every parent believes their child is special. Some don’t know how true that belief is. Still, there is an awareness. A parent’s intuition is a fascinating thing. My mother always told me that I had old-looking eyes, like that of a wise man. I knew that she felt deeply that I was meant for greater things, things she could
scarcely begin to understand, but there it was.”
Mordred sighed, sitting down against the wall. “I wish my mother…it’s not fair that she died. And it was because of me, because my magic was too strong, too powerful. She couldn’t handle the aftershock after my birth. I know that. Sometimes I think, she must hate me so much to cause her to die, to cut her life short…if I could just have the chance to apologize to her, you know?”
The Old One sat down across from him, his piercing gaze directed upon Mordred. “You were too young to even comprehend the effect of your birth. It is not your fault. Your magic is a gift. You did not ask for it, but you were given it and you must accept that. Your magic is a part of you as much as the stars are a part of the night sky. I’m sure your mother would never blame you. She would only wish that you are happy.”
Mordred looked unhappy and felt it too. “I’m scared,” he admitted quietly.
While he had been nervous and unwilling to reveal his true emotions amidst the Old One gathering earlier, he had survived that experience. That helped to reassure Mordred in speaking honestly to one of them. And after all, it was less daunting to talk to one Old One in an empty hallway compared to being the sole non-Old One in a crowd – like he had been an army of one against an opposing army of many. Now, Mordred felt more in control of the situation even as he confessed his state of mind and opened himself up to appearing weak.
Aleksandr looked at him for a long moment, then coming to a decision, he said, “I’d like to show you something. Come on.”
He stood up and held out his hand to Mordred to help him up. Mordred took it.
“But what about your patrol?” Mordred pointed out. “I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
“Oh don’t worry about that. I know just the person to take my place,” Aleksandr assured him.
The two of them left the corridor.
~ * ~
Merlin was a bit surprised and alarmed (considering their fight, it was understandable) when he discovered that Arthur had been knocking on his door.
It was the middle of the night, Merlin thought tiredly to himself. Just because Arthur was next door to him didn’t give him the excuse to knock on his door, disturbing his sleep, at a ridiculous early morning hour.
Merlin was also puzzled to see that Arthur looked sad. Had he decided to make amends with Merlin?
Merlin was intrigued and suddenly feeling more awake due to his curiosity.
“Arthur, what is it?” Merlin asked him.
Arthur ran his hand through his blond hair, looking miserable now. “I just – I couldn’t wait. I shouldn’t have pressured you into talking about an event you didn’t remember. That wasn’t right of me… I – you still don’t remember yet, right?” Arthur asked him, hope evident in his voice.
Merlin sighed. He shook his head and moved aside to allow Arthur in. The two of them sat down beside each other on Merlin’s bed. “Trust me, Arthur. When I remember everything, I’ll come running to you and you’ll be the first to know,” Merlin assured him softly. “Are you feeling better now? How you’ve been acting has been worrying me. I know we’re just getting to know each other – well, from my perspective since you remember your past life…but I think you need to talk to a therapist. Or an Old One, I suppose, is more possible considering we’re to remain here.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Arthur disagreed with a hint of disdain in his voice. Merlin wasn’t sure why Arthur was adverse to his suggestion.
Then Arthur caught sight of something – like a tattoo – on Merlin’s forearm.
He grabbed Merlin’s arm to get a closer look at it. It was a symbol. A quarter-cross circle on Merlin’s forearm as if it had been there for a long time.
Arthur didn’t realize he was holding on to Merlin’s forearm so tightly until Merlin spoke up, “Arthur, let go of my arm. It hurts,” he informed him.
Merlin tried to pull his arm away from Arthur, but Arthur didn’t budge. “What is this symbol? Why do you have it?” He demanded of Merlin.
Arthur only strengthened his grip on Merlin’s forearm.
Merlin felt anxious at the now hard look on Arthur’s face. “I didn’t know I had the sign until recently, Arthur. It had been invisible before. But my uncle, my Uncle Stephen that is…he gave it to me when I was a baby. As a symbol of protection. It’s a Sign of the Light…” Merlin explained, growing worried as Arthur’s jaw clenched. He seemed to be on the verge of getting really angry.
“You’ve been brainwashed since before you could think for yourself. Don’t you see? This ‘Sign of the Light’ is making you into one of their pawns. You don’t even question them. There’s no talking to you,” Arthur said in irritation.
“What--?” Merlin uttered, completely taken aback. “I am not brainwashed, Arthur. This is crazy. I don’t know where you’re getting this idea from. The sign has protected me. I didn’t feel the compulsion to join the organ donation programme, for one. You’ve got it wrong. And if you could just not speak badly about it, since it was my uncle’s way of keeping me safe, I’d appreciate it.”
“Your uncle has a dark secret. There’s something wrong with his hands. I don’t know what that is, but I will find out one day,” Arthur declared, his blue eyes glinting with determination. He still kept an uncomfortable hold on Merlin’s forearm.
“What? Please, Arthur. Let go of my arm,” Merlin pleaded with him.
Arthur traced his finger over the quarter crossed circle. “There must be a way to remove this. To cure you of being brainwashed,” Arthur mused.
Merlin’s eyes widened. “No, Arthur. Stop this. You’re not thinking straight. I told you. I’m not brainwashed,” he repeated firmly.
To Merlin’s alarm, Arthur pulled out a dagger. Merlin renewed his efforts to wrench his arm away from Arthur’s maddening grip.
“I could slice it away,” Arthur decided, ignoring Merlin’s struggle as his grip remained solid and strong.
Full of fear, Merlin desperately called on the magic inside of him. He may not have known all the possibilities his magic offered since he just had it returned days ago…but Merlin still trusted his magic to protect him especially in his hour of need.
Arthur pressed the blade of the dagger on the outer part of the symbol. He cut through Merlin’s skin, and blood began to well up and drip down Merlin’s wrist and hand.
“Please help me,” Merlin said silently to himself, hoping that would get his magic to aid him.
To Merlin’s relief, he heard the roar of a dragon before he saw the magical creature. Anyone else would have been far from relieved to hear a dragon’s roar, but Merlin had always loved dragons. He found them comforting. He knew that this was his magic coming to save him. The dragon was his savior.
Arthur dropped the dagger, and let go of Merlin’s forearm upon hearing the roar. He turned around, startled, to see a formidably sized black dragon with glowing golden eyes that challenged Arthur to fight the creature.
Merlin’s eyes glowed golden as well, though he himself couldn’t see the change. He felt it though -- the welcoming warmth behind his eyes.
“Leave now, Arthur. Or my dragon will not be so kind to you,” Merlin warned him, his voice surprising him in how confident it sounded. He almost felt like another person as his magic gave him a sense of power that he found both comforting and exhilarating.
The black dragon’s eyes flashed and he breathed out a small fire that singed the floor. Arthur got the message.
“Fine. If it has to be like that,” Arthur said, shrugging it off. He took his dagger and went to leave Merlin’s room.
“Maybe you need some rest, Arthur,” Merlin advised him.
Arthur didn’t deign him with a response. The dragon’s gaze was focused on Arthur until he left the room.
Once Arthur had gone, the dragon looked to Merlin. The creature – a male, Merlin guessed – rubbed his scaly head against Merlin in an affectionate gesture.
Merlin kissed him on the head. “Thank you,” he praised the dragon.
The dragon disappeared, the last thing to go were his golden eyes. But they too faded away.
Merlin smiled quietly. He hoped he could summon his dragon again one day. He was already thinking up names for the magical creature.
He went to the bathroom sink to run cold water over his wound to stem the flow of blood.
Thankfully it wasn’t as bad as it could have been if Arthur hadn’t been stopped.
After wrapping a clean piece of cloth around his wound, Merlin left the bathroom that was connected to his room.
He was surprised to find a dark-haired man looking not much older than Merlin himself in his room.
“You’re an Old One?” Merlin figured.
“Too easy, right? Not even worth three guesses,” the man said, sounding a bit disheartened about it. He spoke with an Eastern European accent.
The Old One was of lean build and just under six feet in height. His hair was dark though his eyes were a light brown shade. He wore a dark collared shirt with a red tie over it as well as grey trousers.
“I’m Feliks,” he introduced himself. “I was on patrol, and I’ve made sure Arthur’s returned to his room. He didn’t look terribly happy. I put him into a deep sleep. He shouldn’t trouble you any more tonight. You two had an altercation?” He inquired; looking at the cloth wrapped around Merlin’s wound.
“Yes,” Merlin admitted grimly. “He believed me to be brainwashed.”
Merlin then noticed a small child standing by Feliks. Judging by the boy’s transparency, he thought it was the ghost of a blond boy who was about six years of age. The boy flickered in and out and then he disappeared completely. A moment later, he reappeared on the other side of the room.
Merlin blinked. “Is that a ghost?” He wondered.
Feliks waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry about him. That’s my little brother, Mietek. From the family I was born into in the 15th century. And yes, that’s a ghost of him. He only has a passing understanding of English, so if he looks at you in confusion, that’s why,” he informed Merlin.
The ghost boy, Mietek, waved at Merlin before disappearing again. He reappeared on Merlin’s bed, jumping on it and then doing a cartwheel off the bed. If the boy wasn’t a transparent ghost who clearly couldn’t eat (unless there was information on ghosts that proved Merlin wrong), Merlin would assume the child was on a sugar high and had some pent-up energy to release.
“But yes, I’m sorry to hear about Arthur,” Feliks continued. “We will try to help you in any way we can. Arthur just needs some time to re-think things.”
“I think I need to move into a different room,” Merlin decided. “I need to be away from Arthur.”
Feliks nodded, understanding. Then he said to his brother, “Mietek, chodź tutaj.”
The boy stuck out his tongue at Feliks, said something in Polish, and then he disappeared. He reappeared beside Feliks.
Old Ones were definitely not without their eccentricities, Merlin thought. Feliks and his brother left him to get in a few more hours of rest. Feliks told Merlin that they would discuss the room change later that morning.
~ * ~
End of Ch. 5.
“Chodź tutaj,” (Polish) means “Come here,” in English.
Name Meanings (if you're interested):
Bran:
It's the Welsh for crow or raven (in the Dark is Rising books, Bran is referred to as the "raven boy" in a prophetic verse). It is also the name of a Celtic mythology figure - Bran the Blessed, who was a giant. (After his death, his head was buried at the Tower of London, to keep Britain safe from harm).
Gwydion (Mordred's middle name):
Gwydion means god of magic. He’s known as a magician, hero, and trickster of Welsh mythology.
Feliks (Felix in English, but there is no 'x' in the Polish alphabet, so Feliks is the Polish spelling of it):
Happy, fortunate, lucky (Felix Felicis potion in the Harry Potter series is probably a familiar thing to most, so that's easy to discern...;)).
Mietek (Feliks's younger brother who's a ghost):
Short for Mieczyslaw. The name means sword and glory.
~ * ~
Ch. 5b word count: 3,232
~ * ~
“No,” Will said when he saw Mordred enter his room. “I have a feeling you want something from me, but my answer is no. You should have left Bran alone. Your fight with him is childish.”
Mordred took a chair and moved it so that it was next to the desk Will was sitting at. He had been in the middle of composing a letter before Mordred had come into the room.
“It’s not my fault that Bran continues to argue with me. It’s our special thing,” Mordred remarked in a mock-sentimental tone to which Will looked at him as if he were mad. “I didn’t send him anywhere dangerous. Actually, I think it’s rather funny where I sent him.”
Will granted him a disbelieving look.
“All right…not for you maybe,” Mordred amended.
“I know you didn’t send him to a dangerous place. Bran would have immediately returned here – cancelling any spell you put on him – if you had endangered him. I know you wouldn’t want to risk me casting you out so you could return to playing hide and seek with the Dark.”
“You won’t do that now, right?” Mordred asked uncertainly. “It was just a joke…and Bran will return here. I just thought it’d be good to keep you two apart for a little while. In case you get distracted from the apocalypse business with all that kissing…” he commented, smirking.
Will raised his brow. “Barring all else, the safest place for Bran is in the Sanctuary. I want to see for myself that he’s all right.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s still asleep right now. He’s in a room in my mansion. I’ll take you to see Bran when he’s awake. Believe me, he’s not hurt or anything.”
Will still looked at him with disbelief. He closed his eyes and was silent for a long moment.
He opened his eyes and nodded. “I feel him. Bran’s alive and unharmed, it seems. But really, Mordred? You left him with a conjured version of your birth father?”
“Unoriginal, I know. But I thought it was a nice touch of irony,” Mordred remarked, looking smug.
“The Black Rider appears to have affected Arthur in some way…” Will brought up, peering at Mordred carefully. “He’s arguing with Merlin.”
“So?” Mordred asked carelessly.
“Arthur is your father.”
“So says all the Arthurian texts, yeah. But the Black Rider told me Arthur Pendragon raped my mother, so the only thing I want from him is money for being a right bastard. I don’t care if he has issues. He deserves all the crap he gets.”
“You don’t believe that now, do you?” Will guessed shrewdly. “That he did that to your mother?”
“No,” Mordred admitted slowly. “I now believe the Dark is full of shit, but growing up having it ingrained in you that your birth father is the worst sort of man… I can’t just forget that,” Mordred declared with finality in his tone.
Will sighed, looking sadly at Mordred. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“I don’t need anyone’s pity,” Mordred said. He changed the subject. “So I’m guessing a conflict between any of the Six weakens the bond of the whole? That they’ll be less able to defeat the Dark when the Time comes? United in love or whatever…something maudlin like that.”
“Yes,” Will acknowledged solemnly. “They’ve only had one big argument. We’re hoping they could resolve it on their own…naturally, but if need be, I’ll have to get Merriman involved. I want to give Arthur and Merlin a chance to figure it out between the two of them.”
“Merlin hasn’t remembered his past life yet? Like a full return?”
Will shook his head. “No.”
“Ha! Well good luck with all that. Merlin better remember soon…can’t have a proper argument if one person has amnesia.”
“Your optimism amazes me,” Will remarked with a weary sigh.
Mordred shrugged, not looking particularly affected. He then went into what he was hoping Will could help him with. Well, not for him specifically. Mordred was asking for Charlie’s sake.
~ * ~
Late that evening, Mordred apparently believed that to be a good time for some decorating…
But an Old One approached him, quick to ruin his fun.
“And what are you doing wearing the Pendragon’s face?” The Old One asked him, frowning.
“I’m sorry,” Mordred said quickly, not wanting to antagonize the Old One before him.
He was a thin man with dirty blond hair. The man’s Russian accent lacing his English made Mordred almost positive that he was the Old One who went by Aleksandr. Earlier when Mordred had met and talked to another Old One, Feliks, he had mentioned Aleksandr with not an inconsiderable amount of exasperation. Feliks had still admitted that he respected his fellow Old One, as Aleksandr did him. They just got a bit sick of each other after knowing one another for centuries, so they couldn’t help bickering.
“Change back, would you? It’s a bit insulting, I say.”
Mordred shifted from Bran’s too pale appearance into his original dark-haired, blue-eyed, not freakishly pale form.
“I think Feliks mentioned you. You’re Aleksandr, right?”
“Yes, and if I knew I would be babysitting on my night patrol, I would have taken some cigarettes with me,” Aleksandr said, now speaking with an Estuary English accent.
“I should just be going now.”
“Not until you clean up your artwork. You expect this to stay? Though I must say that this one is somewhat amusing,” Aleksandr indicated, pointing at the fictional character drawn on Arthur’s door.
The character was Cinderella in her blue ball gown, complete with little white mice scurrying underfoot. Merlin’s door, on the other hand, had Merlin a la Sword in the Stone. Donned in blue robes, he was holding a model airplane in one hand while Archimedes the owl was perched on his ridiculously tall blue wizard’s hat.
“That was my goal,” Mordred told him. Anything that would make his father annoyed at seeing on his door was a job well done. The Merlin on Merlin’s door was just because he felt in the mood to do another character. He hadn’t met this reincarnated Merlin, but Mordred guessed he’d just find it cute. If this Merlin had any sense of humour, that was. “Do I have to take the Merlin one down, though? I’m really happy with that one.”
Mordred was no artist in the traditional sense, but he found that with his magic, he could sort of circumvent the process. This allowed him to paint relatively decent-looking pictures on doors when he was in the mood to do so. He had done some painting work, murals and such, within his mansion when he had been itching to do something with his magic.
“If either Arthur or Merlin sees this come morning when they wake, how will we explain the artwork?”
“It was a happy accident?” Mordred suggested with a grin.
Aleksandr just looked at him.
Mordred sighed and made the works of art magically vanish from the door fronts.
“Your name means ‘defender of men’, doesn’t it? Did your parents--? Well I’m guessing they didn’t know you would be an Old One…”
“They didn’t know, of course, no. Every parent believes their child is special. Some don’t know how true that belief is. Still, there is an awareness. A parent’s intuition is a fascinating thing. My mother always told me that I had old-looking eyes, like that of a wise man. I knew that she felt deeply that I was meant for greater things, things she could
scarcely begin to understand, but there it was.”
Mordred sighed, sitting down against the wall. “I wish my mother…it’s not fair that she died. And it was because of me, because my magic was too strong, too powerful. She couldn’t handle the aftershock after my birth. I know that. Sometimes I think, she must hate me so much to cause her to die, to cut her life short…if I could just have the chance to apologize to her, you know?”
The Old One sat down across from him, his piercing gaze directed upon Mordred. “You were too young to even comprehend the effect of your birth. It is not your fault. Your magic is a gift. You did not ask for it, but you were given it and you must accept that. Your magic is a part of you as much as the stars are a part of the night sky. I’m sure your mother would never blame you. She would only wish that you are happy.”
Mordred looked unhappy and felt it too. “I’m scared,” he admitted quietly.
While he had been nervous and unwilling to reveal his true emotions amidst the Old One gathering earlier, he had survived that experience. That helped to reassure Mordred in speaking honestly to one of them. And after all, it was less daunting to talk to one Old One in an empty hallway compared to being the sole non-Old One in a crowd – like he had been an army of one against an opposing army of many. Now, Mordred felt more in control of the situation even as he confessed his state of mind and opened himself up to appearing weak.
Aleksandr looked at him for a long moment, then coming to a decision, he said, “I’d like to show you something. Come on.”
He stood up and held out his hand to Mordred to help him up. Mordred took it.
“But what about your patrol?” Mordred pointed out. “I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
“Oh don’t worry about that. I know just the person to take my place,” Aleksandr assured him.
The two of them left the corridor.
~ * ~
Merlin was a bit surprised and alarmed (considering their fight, it was understandable) when he discovered that Arthur had been knocking on his door.
It was the middle of the night, Merlin thought tiredly to himself. Just because Arthur was next door to him didn’t give him the excuse to knock on his door, disturbing his sleep, at a ridiculous early morning hour.
Merlin was also puzzled to see that Arthur looked sad. Had he decided to make amends with Merlin?
Merlin was intrigued and suddenly feeling more awake due to his curiosity.
“Arthur, what is it?” Merlin asked him.
Arthur ran his hand through his blond hair, looking miserable now. “I just – I couldn’t wait. I shouldn’t have pressured you into talking about an event you didn’t remember. That wasn’t right of me… I – you still don’t remember yet, right?” Arthur asked him, hope evident in his voice.
Merlin sighed. He shook his head and moved aside to allow Arthur in. The two of them sat down beside each other on Merlin’s bed. “Trust me, Arthur. When I remember everything, I’ll come running to you and you’ll be the first to know,” Merlin assured him softly. “Are you feeling better now? How you’ve been acting has been worrying me. I know we’re just getting to know each other – well, from my perspective since you remember your past life…but I think you need to talk to a therapist. Or an Old One, I suppose, is more possible considering we’re to remain here.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Arthur disagreed with a hint of disdain in his voice. Merlin wasn’t sure why Arthur was adverse to his suggestion.
Then Arthur caught sight of something – like a tattoo – on Merlin’s forearm.
He grabbed Merlin’s arm to get a closer look at it. It was a symbol. A quarter-cross circle on Merlin’s forearm as if it had been there for a long time.
Arthur didn’t realize he was holding on to Merlin’s forearm so tightly until Merlin spoke up, “Arthur, let go of my arm. It hurts,” he informed him.
Merlin tried to pull his arm away from Arthur, but Arthur didn’t budge. “What is this symbol? Why do you have it?” He demanded of Merlin.
Arthur only strengthened his grip on Merlin’s forearm.
Merlin felt anxious at the now hard look on Arthur’s face. “I didn’t know I had the sign until recently, Arthur. It had been invisible before. But my uncle, my Uncle Stephen that is…he gave it to me when I was a baby. As a symbol of protection. It’s a Sign of the Light…” Merlin explained, growing worried as Arthur’s jaw clenched. He seemed to be on the verge of getting really angry.
“You’ve been brainwashed since before you could think for yourself. Don’t you see? This ‘Sign of the Light’ is making you into one of their pawns. You don’t even question them. There’s no talking to you,” Arthur said in irritation.
“What--?” Merlin uttered, completely taken aback. “I am not brainwashed, Arthur. This is crazy. I don’t know where you’re getting this idea from. The sign has protected me. I didn’t feel the compulsion to join the organ donation programme, for one. You’ve got it wrong. And if you could just not speak badly about it, since it was my uncle’s way of keeping me safe, I’d appreciate it.”
“Your uncle has a dark secret. There’s something wrong with his hands. I don’t know what that is, but I will find out one day,” Arthur declared, his blue eyes glinting with determination. He still kept an uncomfortable hold on Merlin’s forearm.
“What? Please, Arthur. Let go of my arm,” Merlin pleaded with him.
Arthur traced his finger over the quarter crossed circle. “There must be a way to remove this. To cure you of being brainwashed,” Arthur mused.
Merlin’s eyes widened. “No, Arthur. Stop this. You’re not thinking straight. I told you. I’m not brainwashed,” he repeated firmly.
To Merlin’s alarm, Arthur pulled out a dagger. Merlin renewed his efforts to wrench his arm away from Arthur’s maddening grip.
“I could slice it away,” Arthur decided, ignoring Merlin’s struggle as his grip remained solid and strong.
Full of fear, Merlin desperately called on the magic inside of him. He may not have known all the possibilities his magic offered since he just had it returned days ago…but Merlin still trusted his magic to protect him especially in his hour of need.
Arthur pressed the blade of the dagger on the outer part of the symbol. He cut through Merlin’s skin, and blood began to well up and drip down Merlin’s wrist and hand.
“Please help me,” Merlin said silently to himself, hoping that would get his magic to aid him.
To Merlin’s relief, he heard the roar of a dragon before he saw the magical creature. Anyone else would have been far from relieved to hear a dragon’s roar, but Merlin had always loved dragons. He found them comforting. He knew that this was his magic coming to save him. The dragon was his savior.
Arthur dropped the dagger, and let go of Merlin’s forearm upon hearing the roar. He turned around, startled, to see a formidably sized black dragon with glowing golden eyes that challenged Arthur to fight the creature.
Merlin’s eyes glowed golden as well, though he himself couldn’t see the change. He felt it though -- the welcoming warmth behind his eyes.
“Leave now, Arthur. Or my dragon will not be so kind to you,” Merlin warned him, his voice surprising him in how confident it sounded. He almost felt like another person as his magic gave him a sense of power that he found both comforting and exhilarating.
The black dragon’s eyes flashed and he breathed out a small fire that singed the floor. Arthur got the message.
“Fine. If it has to be like that,” Arthur said, shrugging it off. He took his dagger and went to leave Merlin’s room.
“Maybe you need some rest, Arthur,” Merlin advised him.
Arthur didn’t deign him with a response. The dragon’s gaze was focused on Arthur until he left the room.
Once Arthur had gone, the dragon looked to Merlin. The creature – a male, Merlin guessed – rubbed his scaly head against Merlin in an affectionate gesture.
Merlin kissed him on the head. “Thank you,” he praised the dragon.
The dragon disappeared, the last thing to go were his golden eyes. But they too faded away.
Merlin smiled quietly. He hoped he could summon his dragon again one day. He was already thinking up names for the magical creature.
He went to the bathroom sink to run cold water over his wound to stem the flow of blood.
Thankfully it wasn’t as bad as it could have been if Arthur hadn’t been stopped.
After wrapping a clean piece of cloth around his wound, Merlin left the bathroom that was connected to his room.
He was surprised to find a dark-haired man looking not much older than Merlin himself in his room.
“You’re an Old One?” Merlin figured.
“Too easy, right? Not even worth three guesses,” the man said, sounding a bit disheartened about it. He spoke with an Eastern European accent.
The Old One was of lean build and just under six feet in height. His hair was dark though his eyes were a light brown shade. He wore a dark collared shirt with a red tie over it as well as grey trousers.
“I’m Feliks,” he introduced himself. “I was on patrol, and I’ve made sure Arthur’s returned to his room. He didn’t look terribly happy. I put him into a deep sleep. He shouldn’t trouble you any more tonight. You two had an altercation?” He inquired; looking at the cloth wrapped around Merlin’s wound.
“Yes,” Merlin admitted grimly. “He believed me to be brainwashed.”
Merlin then noticed a small child standing by Feliks. Judging by the boy’s transparency, he thought it was the ghost of a blond boy who was about six years of age. The boy flickered in and out and then he disappeared completely. A moment later, he reappeared on the other side of the room.
Merlin blinked. “Is that a ghost?” He wondered.
Feliks waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry about him. That’s my little brother, Mietek. From the family I was born into in the 15th century. And yes, that’s a ghost of him. He only has a passing understanding of English, so if he looks at you in confusion, that’s why,” he informed Merlin.
The ghost boy, Mietek, waved at Merlin before disappearing again. He reappeared on Merlin’s bed, jumping on it and then doing a cartwheel off the bed. If the boy wasn’t a transparent ghost who clearly couldn’t eat (unless there was information on ghosts that proved Merlin wrong), Merlin would assume the child was on a sugar high and had some pent-up energy to release.
“But yes, I’m sorry to hear about Arthur,” Feliks continued. “We will try to help you in any way we can. Arthur just needs some time to re-think things.”
“I think I need to move into a different room,” Merlin decided. “I need to be away from Arthur.”
Feliks nodded, understanding. Then he said to his brother, “Mietek, chodź tutaj.”
The boy stuck out his tongue at Feliks, said something in Polish, and then he disappeared. He reappeared beside Feliks.
Old Ones were definitely not without their eccentricities, Merlin thought. Feliks and his brother left him to get in a few more hours of rest. Feliks told Merlin that they would discuss the room change later that morning.
~ * ~
End of Ch. 5.
“Chodź tutaj,” (Polish) means “Come here,” in English.
Name Meanings (if you're interested):
Bran:
It's the Welsh for crow or raven (in the Dark is Rising books, Bran is referred to as the "raven boy" in a prophetic verse). It is also the name of a Celtic mythology figure - Bran the Blessed, who was a giant. (After his death, his head was buried at the Tower of London, to keep Britain safe from harm).
Gwydion (Mordred's middle name):
Gwydion means god of magic. He’s known as a magician, hero, and trickster of Welsh mythology.
Feliks (Felix in English, but there is no 'x' in the Polish alphabet, so Feliks is the Polish spelling of it):
Happy, fortunate, lucky (Felix Felicis potion in the Harry Potter series is probably a familiar thing to most, so that's easy to discern...;)).
Mietek (Feliks's younger brother who's a ghost):
Short for Mieczyslaw. The name means sword and glory.
~ * ~