Missing Him
Chapter 9: Missing Him
Merlin was done. He was just done with everything. As he knelt on the ground next to Crane's limp form, Merlin yelled a cry of frustration into the air. It was enough to make his blood boil, the animals in this world. He watched the slave traders circle the knights, wary of the way they held themselves, indicative of combat training, even a fool could tell that. They still had grins on their faces, triumphant over their perceived victory.
"Awww, look at the girlie, cryin' o'er the dead old man. Was he your panderer, eh missy?" Merlin felt his cheeks grow hot, through his frustration. That he had to share the world he lived in with scum such as this was infuriating, he tried to breathe through his nose, willing himself to look away from Derek's sobbing figure, grieving his father's death, whose head snapped up at the insult to both Elladora and his father's character. His face was sooty from the fire and streaked from the tears that streamed unchecked down his cheeks.
"You will take those words back you spineless bastards." Derek's eyes swam with tears as he spit the venomous words out. Another man from the group laughed, the sound smug and grating on their ears. He was spindly and looked filthy, his expensive clothes covered in grime and his teeth blackened, no doubt from continued chewing of tobacco.
"An' whatchu gonna do boy? I'll cut ya down the same way Master here cut down yer miserable excuse for a pa." Derek's eyes flashed and he made to charge the man, but Merlin threw an arm out, blocking Derek from advancing. Arthur took over then, addressing the crew the first time, while effectively distracting them from the townspeople's renewed efforts to put out the blaze that had consumed the tavern.
The screaming had stopped, Gwaine noticed with a grimace. It didn't bode well for those trapped inside. Either they were so injured that they had lost consciousness, or...or they no longer required the help that was desperately coming. He forced himself to pay attention to the men in front of them. Then Arthur spoke, drawing his focus.
"I am going to ask you once, lay down your weapons and I will spare you injury. Come quietly and face the consequences of your actions." Arthur did not yell, he did not rage as Merlin or Crane had. Instead, his eyes bore a quiet, deadly intent. Merlin had seen this look countless times before. He was trying to avoid killing, and only offered this as a way out to those who he saw were afflicted with blood lust. And afflicted they were. Anyone could see that these men were taking pleasure from the chaos that they had wreaked on the small town. Reveling in the townspeople's attempts to drag their neighbors and relatives out from the wreckage.
The slave traders, who had yet to introduce themselves by name, openly laughed in Arthur's face.
"Ya hur that men? He'll let us go." He made an expression of mock contrition. "'Oh we're ever so sorry sir.' Who the hell made ye' boss and gave ya' power to pass judgmen' on us? Huh? Ya lousy oaf? Ya couldn't even get rid of Lady Morgana's men wit' out nearly killin' yerselves!" The man who had spoken earlier said the words with glee until he was whacked upside the head by the 'Master'.
"Ya fool! Her Ladyship told us not to mention those twits!" The group looked alarmed momentarily, eyes flicking about as if Morgana were to appear by mere mention of her name. Arthur's brow furrowed as he took in the implications of their words. Then it had been Morgana. A weight eased off of Arthur's chest as his worst fear was thwarted, at least for now. Wherever he was, Merlin had not been behind this attempt on his life. He readjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword and caught Lancelot's eye. They communicated wordlessly, a plan of attack, their backs creating a shield around Elladora and her two comrades, one of whom Arthur could see had died.
The scene in front Merlin's eyes wavered abruptly, and Merlin tried to steady himself. He knew what this was, an inconvenient side effect of having been in the crystal caves earlier in the year, that he'd had to bear was the sudden onslaught of visions at usually the most inopportune moments. His mind's eye showed him a glimpse of the future, a man in dark robes, drinking the blood of a slain unicorn, an enormous serpent with paralyzing power. He staggered where he stood, his mind recoiling from sensing the evil in the man his mind saw. A man with an ashen face, as serpentine in appearance as his vile pet that followed his every move. When his subconscious released his psyche, Merlin felt violated, a feeling of seeing something he wished he hadn't, but now had no other choice to but to carry knowledge.
In the moment of their distraction, Arthur, Gwaine and Leon barrelled forwards, surprising the slave traders, who tried to flee the attack by withdrawing and gaining momentum to counterattack which was blocked by simple fact that Lancelot and Elyan blocked their path of withdrawal .
It was a brief scuffle that followed, their attempts to rebel were pitiful in the face of Arthur's more knowledgeable and more practiced assault. It was mere moments before the group lay in a heap afore the smoldering heap that had once been the tavern. In the midst of their face, the townspeople had managed to control and eliminate the blaze, but as the smoke billowed out and away from the structure, Merlin knew that the hardest part of the ordeal was yet to come.
Leon made quick work of divesting them of their weapons and minimal armor, tying them to nearby tree, with knots that made sure any attempt to escape the restraints would result in self-injury. Merlin thought all of two minutes before he decided to use his magic in the town. They had already seen him use magic, and things could not get much worse. He knelt back down next to Thomas Crane's body, closing his eyes with a gentle hand, and crossing his arms over his chest. Derek quickly wiped his tears with the cuff of his sleeve, now stained red from his father's blood and scooped the man up in his arms, laying him some distance away from the Tavern, near the wreckage of what had been the marketplace.
With the imprisonment of the criminals out of the way, Arthur, Merlin and the Knight's began to help with the retrieval of people from Helaine's tavern. As the men dragged the charred timber out of the way, Merlin found he wasn't much help physically, his female form not capable of as much labor. He instead held his hands out, palms open, and then curled them into fists and raised them up and back toward him. In response, the wood rumbled, then levitated from the pile, and with effort, Merlin deposited it some distance from the crash site. Wiping his sweating hands on his tunic, Merlin turned back around to see the Arthur and the Knight's staring at him openmouthed.
Merlin shrugged.
"It would take forever if we waited for you to lift it by yourselves." Was the only explanation he offered, returning to the task. Arthur pursed his lips when he saw that the townspeople seemed to have no problem with Elladora and her sorcery. This was new territory for him. A woman who so astutely embodied everything that he had thought magic wasn't. She actually reminded him of – Arthur shook his head, refusing to think of Merlin and all that he was – had been.
Soon enough, under the combined minstrations of Elladora and Arthur and his company, they had unearthed the remainder of those that had been trapped inside the inferno.
Thankfully, the casualties were few. Helaine, who had ended up trapped in the cellar of the building was none the worse for wear, save for some isolated burns on her extremities. She was, however, spitting mad. As soon as Elladora had given her the all clear in terms of health, ("you're rather lucky Mistress" "Luck had nothing to do with it dearie. Now, leave me be, I'm nowhere near hurt enough for you to be wasting those valuable medicines on me. Off with you now."). Helaine, with her wild, short curly hair, and short, stocky build, had marched right over to where Leon stood, guarding the prisoners, and slapped the Master right across the face. The man's face cracked to the side from the force of it, Leon winced.
Helaine got right in his face.
"I hear these nice men are from the Capital ya trout." She grabbed his ear, ignoring his obscenely worded protests and silencing him with a sharp twist of the aforementioned ear. "Take a good look, because this is the face of the woman who landed your arse in the dungeons, and with any luck, it will take you to the gallows as well." Master's face paled as he realized the ramifications of what his capture meant. Helaine straightened, a hand braced on her back, and hobbled away, to find her husband, where was the lazy oaf any how?
As Merlin patched up the last of the injured he was relieved that this had ended with only two casualties, both who had directly been killed by the slave traders. The rest of the trapped had received rather significant burns. Eliane, who had been helping out, had sustained a large burn down the left side of her back, it left the skin red, raw and blistering. Merlin had her bite down on a leather bit as he tried to work out how best to heal her. He placed his hand directly on the burn, trying not to flinch at the feel of the burnt flesh and willed the skin to weave itself anew over the wound.
And so it went for most of the severely burned patients. Merlin kept magicking away the burns and for those who had sustained easily remedied injuries, he applied medicinal poultices and sent them on their way, promising swift recovery. He was aware, of course, that the entire times, Arthur watched him like a hawk. In fact they all were.
He was the center of attention. A sorcerer, openly practicing magic, without fear of its repercussions. Merlin was almost dizzy with the thought. Or that might have been the energy he was putting into the healing spells, by now, he was having trouble finding the difference between the two.
When the last of the bandages was tied, Merlin got to his feet, surprised when he found himself unable to stay balanced on his feet. Derek was quick to catch him, a hand curling protectively around his waist. Merlin sighed and unwound the hand, patting it comfortingly and looked into Derek's eyes, feeling sorrow for having played with a man's affections. He glanced back at Crane's prone form.
"I am sorry, you know. I wish I could have done something for him." But before Merlin had finished his sentence, Derek was already shaking his head.
"No." The words were soft but growing stronger as he spoke. "There was nothing you could have done, even a sorceress cannot stop death from taking what he has already claimed." The words sent Merlin's mind right back to Rowena, lying back at the cabin. He had no idea what her condition was, and everything in his body was telling him to run back.
Derek must have sensed where his mind had gone, because he let go of his hand and lightly pushed her towards the forest.
"Go. I know you must be worried." Merlin looked hesitatingly at the rest of the villagers who nodded in agreement. A woman with a white scarf tied over her brown hair, her face smudged with soot encouraged him.
"Go, Elladora, she's a brave child, I saw she was trying to protect the elder, though in the end, the bastards finished the job." Merlin remembered her name to be Adelaide, and strode forward to hug her, his words failing to convey the gratitude he felt at their willingness to look past his abilities and see him (well her), for who he was. Then he turned, grabbed his skirts, and ran headlong into the forest, ignorant of whether the Knights and their leader followed or not.
. . . . . . .
When Merlin arrived at the cabin, breathless and fearful, he was slightly hopeful to see that the chimney puffing out smoke. He dimly registered the knights breaking through the forest foliage behind him. He took a deep breath and opened the door to the house.
The first thing he noted was that there was no one in the main room of the house, and at the end of the hallway, he spotted the patient room door ajar. Merlin whispered a quick prayer to Freya, to Avalon, to whoever was listening to save his daughter. The thought gave him pause as he stood just at the door, hisdaughter. Merlin realized that these children, who he had at firdt rescued on a whim had become irreplaceable to him. The reasonable part of his mind protested that he'd known the children for a brief amount of time and really, how could he be sure he loved them? Merlin shrugged the thought away. They were his in everything but blood, and since when had blood been a deciding element in who you could and couldn't consider family?
Merlin pushed past the door and entered the room to find Percival, Helga, Godric and Salazar watching Rowena's face intently as she slept on the cot. A fire crackled in the hearth and Percival was using a tender hand to continually wipe down her forehead, to prevent a fever from settling in.
Merlin cleared his throat, startling them, he approached the bed slowly.
"How is she?" His eyes roved over her tiny frame, looking for signs of any complications. Percival looked up at her, eyes unreadable.
"She looks to be getting better. I cannot tell if she's getting better but she's breathing without struggling. My mother always told me that was a good sign." Merlin gave him a small smile. He finally gave his attention to the other three children. His mild guiltily reminded him that the children had gone through two traumatic events in one day, (Arthur you absolute prat, his mind unhelpfully snarled), and he'd barely given them a moments attention notice.
He reached out and gathered all of their hands in his. Merlin saw with some sadness that there was a smudge of blood on Helga's cheek, likely Rowena's, and he found himself choked with emotion. It was unfair what they had had to go through, without someone to guide them. Who knows how long they had been alone since the death of their auntie, Merlin resolved never to let them feel abandoned again.
He licked his thumb and rubbed the blood off of Helga's cheek before pulling the three of them into a hug.
"I'm sorry." He said, his voice muffled in Godric's thick hair. "I'm sorry for leaving you alone today. I'm sorry that Rowena got hurt. I'm sorry I couldn't protect her." Merlin felt all the children snuggle closer for a moment. In the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware that the Knights and Arthur had re-entered his home. He ignored it, he would deal with them later. They all crowded into the room and Merlin could hear them consulting with Percival over what had happened on either end of the situation.
"...tied up outside the house, shouldn't be able to escape but we should probably sleep outside regardless."
"..was touch-and-go for a while, but eventually she got better. I've never seen anything like it."
"Mnngh." The soft sound, though quiet, rattled loudly through the air in room, every head swiveled towards Rowena, whose eyelids were fluttering open. Merlin ran to the ebony haired child, frantic, his hands bracketing the child's head on either side as he leaned down, trying to ascertain whether she was waking up or just groaning in her sleep.
After what seemed like an age, Rowena's slowly opened, blurry and unfocused.
"Rowena? Rowena, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?" Merlin tried waving a hand before her eyes, to give her something to focus on. It worked as he saw Rowena trying to figure out how her mouth worked again.
"Mist-" The words died in her throat as her eyes widened, her gaze locking with Arthur's behind Merlin.
"NO!" She shrieked, her legs kicking up under the blankets. Merlin tried to calm her down. It was understandable that she would be wary of Arthur after this morning's debacle. What he wasn't expecting, however, was that with every stomp of Rowena's foot on the bed, the thick and corded vines that sprouted through the cracks in the floor board.
Arthur made a placating gesture, taking a step towards Rowena.
"It’s alright, you're okay - "
"No! Please! I'll be good!" Her arms wound tight in an iron grip around Merlin's shoulder's, yanking him down until he was almost lying down next to Rowena, the position bringing him into a kneeling position at her bedside. Merlin tried to pry her arms off but found them too taught to tension. "Please don't take Mistress away! I won't do magic, I won't do anything, just don't burn her!"
Arthur recoiled as if stung. It was jarring, to see that in the child's eye, Arthur was a figure of fear. He was used to being hailed a savior and hero by his people that he found himself at a loss at the blatant terror in her eyes. Her words reverberated in the air, heavy with meaning, the untold story unraveling itself slightly. Elladora spoke soothingly to Rowena, and the knight's and the children took this as their cue to retreat from the room quietly.
They closed the door and sat for a moment, silently in the main room. Here too, a fire flamed brightly, warming the room, and a smell of cooking meat wafted through the air. Arthur turned to find Salazar stirring a pot over the fire, the movements jerky and forced.
"We were making food, in case Rowena was hungry when she woke up." Godric's voice was small in the room, his face only half illuminated as Gwaine saw the sunset reflected in young Helga's forlorn eyes. She clung tightly to Godric's hand, like a lifeline.
"What Rowena mean when she said …" Lancelot's question was quiet, and gentle, unintrusive though very intrusive in nature. The silence following the question stretched for so long that Lancelot assumed his inquiry had been ignored. He was just about to get up and try to find something to do, when Salazar's icy voice rang out, anger washing over his every word.
"Auntie took us in when we were just babies. Our parents decided we were too dangerous." His words were taut, seemingly ill-fitted on such a small child.
"You don't know that Salazar - "
"Don't pretend Godric. Our parents didn't want us." The brunette had no response to that, Gwaine was already with the dark beginning of the conversation, never mind that they hadn't even begin to truly discuss what had truly happened.
"Auntie raised us, she taught us how to keep ourselves from doing magic in front of us. She wasn't magic. She didn't have a single magic bone in her body. That's what she used to say." Salazar's expression was grim, despite the memory, the fondness it should have elicited replaced by what Percival could only identify as sadness. He was reminded of her, she had been tall, bony but incredibly strong. Her friendly pats on the back had been a source of annoyance for him.
"The village people didn't like her. Kept saying something about being a suspicious spinster. They thought she was magic because she had an herb garden that would make the King himself jealous. That's what Auntie was would tell us." Arthur had a horrible feeling he knew exactly where this story was going.
"Last month. The villagers got into their heads that Auntie was the reason that one of the girls in the village had died. She came to us a few days earlier asking for some basil, she wanted to pulp it for a poultice. But then the idiot had to do die by falling down the well. She - " Arthur watched apprehensively as Salazar furiously tried to force his mouth to work, but his own betrayed him. He couldn't find the words to continue.
"They broke the door down." It was Helga's timid voice that continued Salazar's abandoned story. Her finger's nervously knotted in the skirt of her dress as she continued, the words pouring out almost as if she couldn't stop. "It was dark, we were all sleeping. They dragged Auntie out of bed, they had sticks with fire, and pitchforks and they were so angry. It wasn't our fault Emma died, but they wouldn't listen. We tried to get them to stop. Honest, we did. But-but, Auntie told us not to get involved, she said they were all idiots and that if she were really a witch, they'd all be toads, then their insides and outsides would finally look the same. And then -"
"And then they tied her to a stake and burned her." Godric finished, interrupting Helga, not allowing her to utter the words. "She burned for ages. At first she could say things. Then...then she got quiet. And when it was over...Auntie was gone." Godric stared at the ground, remembering what it had been like to stare at the pile of blackened ash and know that it was their mother.
"We were alone for three weeks. We had nothing to eat. We begged the Baker's wife to give something, scraps, we don't eat a lot, but she wasn't in the practice to give the devil food she said. Then, one day they got really angry." Salazar had found his voice, returning to the tale of what had been their lives what felt like an eternity ago but was in reality had only happened a fortnight ago. "They chased us through the village, calling us devil's spawn. That's when Mistress Elladora appeared." Now there was the ghost of a smile on Salazar's lips. "Now, we're here."
The silence that followed their tale was horrified. Elyan and Percival were mirror images of outraged fury. Lancelot, Gwaine and Leon looked positively nauseated. Arthur could scarcely believe his ears. An innocent woman burned at the stake for a crime she hadn't committed, and yet, all four of these children were magic. By their own admission. What was he to do with that information? There had never been a case like this when his father had been King. Surely he wouldn't have executed children? Arthur had no idea what to do.
Magic was evil. This he knew. But what of impressionable youth? What now?
Nothing made sense.
. . . . . . . . .
By the time Merlin had managed to calm Rowena down, it was deep into the night. It was silent, and Merlin hoped the Knight's had been useful and at least helped the children to sleep. Merlin eased into the hallway, illuminated only by the height of the moon in the sky. It was a milky white orb in the sky, hung in the sky like an ornate painting.
A crack made Merlin jump, head turning to find the source of the noise, and after a moment, he realized it came from directly outside, under the window. The large tree outside the house was where the slave traders were tied up to be taken to Camelot in the morning. That meant that someone must have been sitting outside, keeping watch in shifts. They were propped up against the cabin walls, outside, watching the men as they squirmed, involuntarily sleeping against the restraints.
"What are you thinking?" Merlin recognized Percival's measured and sure voice. The night was still for a period, then:
"I keep thinking about him and what he would do right now." Gwaine's voice sounded distant and far away, like he was lost in thought.
"Merlin?"
"Yeah. He always knew what to say. What to do. Anything that happened, you could count on Merlin to fix it."
"...He truly was like that wasn't he." There was a huff of laughter from Gwaine at that.
"Truly he was. I know you didn't know him as long as Lancelot and I have, but he had this way about him. That awful smile of his and those god-awful ears of his. He could make you smile by being his odd, odd self.
Percival was quiet as Merlin had often seen him get when someone spoke with him at length. It was as if he was weighing whether or not to say something. Perhaps it was something in Gwaine's expression that prompted him to say what he did next.
"….You loved him."
"Love, him. Not past tense. Present. And Lords help me, I know I shouldn't, but I do."
Merlin's arms fell to his sides, utterly gobsmacked. His exhausted brain was creaking to life, sputtering in the wake of Gwaine's confession to Percival.
Gwaine sighed, low and desolate.
"He was the first friend I ever had, and....I miss him."