Entry tags:
Merlin - Voices to be Heard
Someone did a search over on
merlin_finders earlier this week for fics with Merlin up on the battlements. This little tidbit has not left me alone since.
Title: Voices to be Heard
Genre: Gen, slight hint of Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Length: 2025 words
Spoilers: None, really
Synopsis: Magic doesn’t die, it just gets quieter.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin was not where Arthur had expected to find him. He should have known better by now. It was the middle of the night with a thick mist rolling in, the moisture and fog thick enough to feel it through his tunic and trousers and making the stones slick and damp beneath his booted feet.
Merlin should have been in bed, or in the stables with some drunken find, or even in the kitchens with a stolen sweetcake in his hands. No, Merlin was none of those places, instead he was atop the highest battlement, leaning against the parapet, lost in thought and oblivious to the fact Arthur had stood there watching him long enough for the torch he carried to sputter fitfully against the moisture in the air.
He stood there, watching, feeling his clothing grow heavy and damp, and wondered how he had reached this point in his life, how he would readily wake and wander about the castle at some awful hour to find his errant servant instead of the servant standing ready to see to his needs. He thought of Gaius’ face though, and the look of panic upon it, as he came knocking on his door all aflutter as he could not find Merlin and had, in truth, not seen him since the event with yet another sorceress earlier that evening.
She had been easy enough to dispatch, though why she had been staring at Merlin and not at Arthur and his sword, Arthur will never know. She rushed for them, and knocked Merlin to the side before Arthur pulled her off of him and wounded her enough for the guards to do the rest. She now sat in the dungeons under watch, and would breathe her last come daybreak.
Merlin had been sent to wash as he was splattered with blood and, quite honestly, Arthur had thought he could use a break after getting the wind knocked out of his as he had. Gaius had left him in his room to change while he provided nominal care to the sorceress, knowing she should die come morning but at least her last night would not be as uncomfortable as it could have been. No one had seen Merlin since.
Arthur watched him now, barefoot and still wearing the stained clothing, and knew he had likely left as soon as Gaius had closed the door. He questioned why though, as there was simply no reason for it. They had been attacked by and succeeded against foes far worse than this, so why did this one tiny woman make so much of a difference? Why did Merlin grieve for her when he had barely blinked at the death of others?
Merlin was talking, low and under his breath. Arthur had to strain to hear to words against the growing wind, and yet they still made little sense to him. “I didn’t know,” he pleaded. “Too many secrets,” he muttered.
Merlin shifted, and the tiny light from the moon glinted off his pale skin and made the blood on his tunic shine against the dullness of the rest of the fabric. Something was wrong though, as it was far more blood than when Arthur last saw him. The spatter had spread and become a solid mass that covered the lower portion of his tunic. Something else glinted, and Arthur cursed his own stupidity.
He had not seen it when he had pulled Merlin to his feet, his jacket swinging around as he did. Now though, stripped to just the plain and rough-woven fabric, he saw the little speck of gold, and remembered the elaborate hairstyle the sorceress had worn, and how it had fallen down about her shoulders when she collapsed to the floor.
“I see it now,” Merlin said. He was louder, loud enough for Arthur to hear without really trying. “They’re still there. There is so much still there. Sad we can’t see it until we try. Sad we don’t know to try because we can’t see it.”
While Arthur tried to puzzle out the meaning of those words, he almost missed Merlin’s next move. He clamoured to the top of the wall, feet fit neatly in the crenel as he stared out into nothingness, not seeming to notice the ground so far below. “Merlin!” he shouted, but it was as though a sudden breeze drew the sound away as Merlin did not turn and did not acknowledge him in any way.
Arthur stepped carefully forward. He felt his boots skid across the wet rock and tried not to think of Merlin’s bare feet doing the same. The stone the other man stood on was wide but Merlin’s toes still seemed to curl around the far edge, the rough surface smoothed down from long years of use and exposure. It would be so easy for him to slip, just one tiny move in the wrong direction would do it, but thankfully he was still slightly crouched, one had resting on the raised kneeler, braced against the stone and the wind.
Of course that is when the idiot decided to stand, one arm stretched forward as if reaching for something Arthur could not see while the other arm wobbled to help him balance. No, not reaching, pointing, though to what Arthur had no idea. “Right there. There’s so many of them. Right there but not here. Never here any more,” Merlin continued his nonsense whispers.
“Merlin?” Arthur tried. He took another step forward and wondered how he could hold a torch and make a grab for his servant at the same time. He also wondered if whatever the witch had stuck him with was making him mad, or if it was a simple fever from his wounds. Whatever the source, he needed to be seen by Gaius, preferably in once piece or as close to it as he currently was.
Merlin ignored him though and continued to babble, “They stay. If you know where to look for them, you’ll see them. They watch over us even though we’re the ones...” He cut off suddenly and gripped his head, balance wavering, feet seeking purchase. “Too many! There’s too many of you at once!” His hands dropped and he shook his head as if to clear it, body still swaying wildly. “It’s not my fault, not all of it. So many gone before I got here. But I’m going to make it right. I’m going to make it better again. I promise.”
Arthur reached forward. He meant to grab Merlin’s sleeve but his fingers touched a flailing hand instead and he held on to what he got. “Merlin?” he tried again. “Come down from there.” He was a prince and used to giving orders, but knew it came out more as a plea instead.
Merlin startled at the touch and Arthur used his grip to help him keep his balance. Slowly, the other man turned to face him, a touch of madness in the eyes that glowed near gold in the torchlight. “They’re still there, Arthur. Every witch and warlock, every dragon and sorcerer and everything else. Their voices... I can hear them all. I can hear their screams and curses, the way they suffered and the way they suffer still.”
“They’re dead, Merlin,” Arthur reminded him. He tugged lightly on the hand in his grasp and hoped his friend would see it as a sign to come down from his dangerous perch. “There are no voices to be heard. They are gone.”
Merlin shook his head and looked back out across the mist, eyes searching for something only he could see. “The magic doesn’t die, it just gets quieter,” he corrected, voice no more than a whisper. “We can’t hear it here, but out there… out there it’s so loud and so alive.”
Arthur swallowed and knew he was losing him to whatever spell he was under. “It’s the witch, she did this to you. It’s her voice you hear,” he insisted.
Merlin shook his head again and Arthur saw the tracks of tears across his face. “No, it’s not just her. It’s all of them. Every last one of them,” Merlin told him in that same quiet voice. “They want to know why they suffer while I still live. They want to know why I serve the Pendragons while you put innocents to death.”
“They died because they were evil,” Arthur explained with a calmness he did not truly feel. He thought the fact one of them held Merlin in her grasp, ready to sacrifice him just to make another suffer was evidence enough of that. “You live because you are good. God help me, Merlin, you might be incompetent and annoying and incredibly dense at times but, underneath it all, you are good and true and nothing is going to change that, no amount of magic or spells or witches or anything else. You are good.”
“Am I really?” Merlin asked. His voice was so small, so tiny, it made Arthur ache as he strained to hear it. Merlin turned slightly on his foothold to face him, tears and all, and it was as though a fog lifted from his eyes as he asked, voice no more than a stuttered breath, “Arthur?”
“I’m right here,” he promised.
Merlin looked up and around as though just seeing his surroundings for the first time. His eyes grew wide and he doubled over suddenly as he screamed in pain. Arthur swore he saw the pin in his side glow brightly, just as he swore he heard the sorceress’ own screeching upon the wind. He watched as Merlin’s right foot slipped and felt the force of more than just the breeze push at them both.
He threw his torch to the side and heard it clatter against the stone as he wrapped both arms around Merlin and tugged with all his might. After a brief and terrifying moment of resistance, Merlin came crashing down on top of him, sending both of them flailing across the walkway, Arthur’s shoulder colliding with the stone and Merlin’s elbow colliding with his ribs.
Arthur ignored the pain from long practice and gathered both his breath and strength to struggle slightly upright, not daring to let go of Merlin should the spell still hold and he jump from the battlements on his own. One arm still wrapped in a crushing grip around his middle, Arthur grabbed blindly for the pin in Merlin’s side. His fingers sizzled upon contact but he held on regardless, pulling it free and tossing it as far away as he could in his present position.
It glowed brightly, burning with an eerie light in the dark mist, and soared back towards its target once more. Arthur was able to block it with only a glancing graze across his forearm, and it made an odd hollow noise as it hit the stone beside him. Merlin reached blindly back and grabbed a hold of the thing, head still buried against Arthur’s chest, and muttered something unintelligible before he threw it with all his might. It sailed over the edge of the parapet, though Arthur never heard it hit the ground below.
Merlin clutched at his side, fingers stained red with blood, but made no move away from Arthur’s embrace. His shoulders shook, rubbing damp fabric against damp fabric, and a new wave of warm moisture stained Arthur’s tunic, though he knew enough not to mention it. He shifted his grip to a slightly more comfortable position and simply held Merlin while he sobbed, not saying a word, not judging, just holding as the mist turned to a light rain and the dark of the night sky turned to shades of grey as the sun slowly rose to the East.
He pressed his own hand atop Merlin’s sticky fingers and willed his strength to his servant while his muscles grew stiff and his skin cold and he watched the hint of light break free above the battlements. Neither rose to watch the execution when the time came and neither were surprised when the wound disappeared as the axe fell.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
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Title: Voices to be Heard
Genre: Gen, slight hint of Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Length: 2025 words
Spoilers: None, really
Synopsis: Magic doesn’t die, it just gets quieter.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin was not where Arthur had expected to find him. He should have known better by now. It was the middle of the night with a thick mist rolling in, the moisture and fog thick enough to feel it through his tunic and trousers and making the stones slick and damp beneath his booted feet.
Merlin should have been in bed, or in the stables with some drunken find, or even in the kitchens with a stolen sweetcake in his hands. No, Merlin was none of those places, instead he was atop the highest battlement, leaning against the parapet, lost in thought and oblivious to the fact Arthur had stood there watching him long enough for the torch he carried to sputter fitfully against the moisture in the air.
He stood there, watching, feeling his clothing grow heavy and damp, and wondered how he had reached this point in his life, how he would readily wake and wander about the castle at some awful hour to find his errant servant instead of the servant standing ready to see to his needs. He thought of Gaius’ face though, and the look of panic upon it, as he came knocking on his door all aflutter as he could not find Merlin and had, in truth, not seen him since the event with yet another sorceress earlier that evening.
She had been easy enough to dispatch, though why she had been staring at Merlin and not at Arthur and his sword, Arthur will never know. She rushed for them, and knocked Merlin to the side before Arthur pulled her off of him and wounded her enough for the guards to do the rest. She now sat in the dungeons under watch, and would breathe her last come daybreak.
Merlin had been sent to wash as he was splattered with blood and, quite honestly, Arthur had thought he could use a break after getting the wind knocked out of his as he had. Gaius had left him in his room to change while he provided nominal care to the sorceress, knowing she should die come morning but at least her last night would not be as uncomfortable as it could have been. No one had seen Merlin since.
Arthur watched him now, barefoot and still wearing the stained clothing, and knew he had likely left as soon as Gaius had closed the door. He questioned why though, as there was simply no reason for it. They had been attacked by and succeeded against foes far worse than this, so why did this one tiny woman make so much of a difference? Why did Merlin grieve for her when he had barely blinked at the death of others?
Merlin was talking, low and under his breath. Arthur had to strain to hear to words against the growing wind, and yet they still made little sense to him. “I didn’t know,” he pleaded. “Too many secrets,” he muttered.
Merlin shifted, and the tiny light from the moon glinted off his pale skin and made the blood on his tunic shine against the dullness of the rest of the fabric. Something was wrong though, as it was far more blood than when Arthur last saw him. The spatter had spread and become a solid mass that covered the lower portion of his tunic. Something else glinted, and Arthur cursed his own stupidity.
He had not seen it when he had pulled Merlin to his feet, his jacket swinging around as he did. Now though, stripped to just the plain and rough-woven fabric, he saw the little speck of gold, and remembered the elaborate hairstyle the sorceress had worn, and how it had fallen down about her shoulders when she collapsed to the floor.
“I see it now,” Merlin said. He was louder, loud enough for Arthur to hear without really trying. “They’re still there. There is so much still there. Sad we can’t see it until we try. Sad we don’t know to try because we can’t see it.”
While Arthur tried to puzzle out the meaning of those words, he almost missed Merlin’s next move. He clamoured to the top of the wall, feet fit neatly in the crenel as he stared out into nothingness, not seeming to notice the ground so far below. “Merlin!” he shouted, but it was as though a sudden breeze drew the sound away as Merlin did not turn and did not acknowledge him in any way.
Arthur stepped carefully forward. He felt his boots skid across the wet rock and tried not to think of Merlin’s bare feet doing the same. The stone the other man stood on was wide but Merlin’s toes still seemed to curl around the far edge, the rough surface smoothed down from long years of use and exposure. It would be so easy for him to slip, just one tiny move in the wrong direction would do it, but thankfully he was still slightly crouched, one had resting on the raised kneeler, braced against the stone and the wind.
Of course that is when the idiot decided to stand, one arm stretched forward as if reaching for something Arthur could not see while the other arm wobbled to help him balance. No, not reaching, pointing, though to what Arthur had no idea. “Right there. There’s so many of them. Right there but not here. Never here any more,” Merlin continued his nonsense whispers.
“Merlin?” Arthur tried. He took another step forward and wondered how he could hold a torch and make a grab for his servant at the same time. He also wondered if whatever the witch had stuck him with was making him mad, or if it was a simple fever from his wounds. Whatever the source, he needed to be seen by Gaius, preferably in once piece or as close to it as he currently was.
Merlin ignored him though and continued to babble, “They stay. If you know where to look for them, you’ll see them. They watch over us even though we’re the ones...” He cut off suddenly and gripped his head, balance wavering, feet seeking purchase. “Too many! There’s too many of you at once!” His hands dropped and he shook his head as if to clear it, body still swaying wildly. “It’s not my fault, not all of it. So many gone before I got here. But I’m going to make it right. I’m going to make it better again. I promise.”
Arthur reached forward. He meant to grab Merlin’s sleeve but his fingers touched a flailing hand instead and he held on to what he got. “Merlin?” he tried again. “Come down from there.” He was a prince and used to giving orders, but knew it came out more as a plea instead.
Merlin startled at the touch and Arthur used his grip to help him keep his balance. Slowly, the other man turned to face him, a touch of madness in the eyes that glowed near gold in the torchlight. “They’re still there, Arthur. Every witch and warlock, every dragon and sorcerer and everything else. Their voices... I can hear them all. I can hear their screams and curses, the way they suffered and the way they suffer still.”
“They’re dead, Merlin,” Arthur reminded him. He tugged lightly on the hand in his grasp and hoped his friend would see it as a sign to come down from his dangerous perch. “There are no voices to be heard. They are gone.”
Merlin shook his head and looked back out across the mist, eyes searching for something only he could see. “The magic doesn’t die, it just gets quieter,” he corrected, voice no more than a whisper. “We can’t hear it here, but out there… out there it’s so loud and so alive.”
Arthur swallowed and knew he was losing him to whatever spell he was under. “It’s the witch, she did this to you. It’s her voice you hear,” he insisted.
Merlin shook his head again and Arthur saw the tracks of tears across his face. “No, it’s not just her. It’s all of them. Every last one of them,” Merlin told him in that same quiet voice. “They want to know why they suffer while I still live. They want to know why I serve the Pendragons while you put innocents to death.”
“They died because they were evil,” Arthur explained with a calmness he did not truly feel. He thought the fact one of them held Merlin in her grasp, ready to sacrifice him just to make another suffer was evidence enough of that. “You live because you are good. God help me, Merlin, you might be incompetent and annoying and incredibly dense at times but, underneath it all, you are good and true and nothing is going to change that, no amount of magic or spells or witches or anything else. You are good.”
“Am I really?” Merlin asked. His voice was so small, so tiny, it made Arthur ache as he strained to hear it. Merlin turned slightly on his foothold to face him, tears and all, and it was as though a fog lifted from his eyes as he asked, voice no more than a stuttered breath, “Arthur?”
“I’m right here,” he promised.
Merlin looked up and around as though just seeing his surroundings for the first time. His eyes grew wide and he doubled over suddenly as he screamed in pain. Arthur swore he saw the pin in his side glow brightly, just as he swore he heard the sorceress’ own screeching upon the wind. He watched as Merlin’s right foot slipped and felt the force of more than just the breeze push at them both.
He threw his torch to the side and heard it clatter against the stone as he wrapped both arms around Merlin and tugged with all his might. After a brief and terrifying moment of resistance, Merlin came crashing down on top of him, sending both of them flailing across the walkway, Arthur’s shoulder colliding with the stone and Merlin’s elbow colliding with his ribs.
Arthur ignored the pain from long practice and gathered both his breath and strength to struggle slightly upright, not daring to let go of Merlin should the spell still hold and he jump from the battlements on his own. One arm still wrapped in a crushing grip around his middle, Arthur grabbed blindly for the pin in Merlin’s side. His fingers sizzled upon contact but he held on regardless, pulling it free and tossing it as far away as he could in his present position.
It glowed brightly, burning with an eerie light in the dark mist, and soared back towards its target once more. Arthur was able to block it with only a glancing graze across his forearm, and it made an odd hollow noise as it hit the stone beside him. Merlin reached blindly back and grabbed a hold of the thing, head still buried against Arthur’s chest, and muttered something unintelligible before he threw it with all his might. It sailed over the edge of the parapet, though Arthur never heard it hit the ground below.
Merlin clutched at his side, fingers stained red with blood, but made no move away from Arthur’s embrace. His shoulders shook, rubbing damp fabric against damp fabric, and a new wave of warm moisture stained Arthur’s tunic, though he knew enough not to mention it. He shifted his grip to a slightly more comfortable position and simply held Merlin while he sobbed, not saying a word, not judging, just holding as the mist turned to a light rain and the dark of the night sky turned to shades of grey as the sun slowly rose to the East.
He pressed his own hand atop Merlin’s sticky fingers and willed his strength to his servant while his muscles grew stiff and his skin cold and he watched the hint of light break free above the battlements. Neither rose to watch the execution when the time came and neither were surprised when the wound disappeared as the axe fell.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
no subject
Arthur still thinks that the sorceress enchanted Merlin, doesn't he? But we know better... poor Merlin, hearing all those voices and having survivor's guilt :/
I love this tiny peeks into their characters. Still no offer from Shine et al? ;)
no subject
The sorceress made Merlin see what he had been trying to hide from himself, yet still totally knew, at least at some level. It hit home and it hit hard, and poor Arthur knew none of the background, so he's at a loss other than knowing, at least to him, that Merlin is *good*, whether Merlin thinks it or not.
Heh - no offers from Shine. Always tickled that you like my stuff enough to think that though. You are so very good for my ego, my dear. *g*
no subject
Seriously, I keep thinking you should be writing for them because your stories can run parallel to their ideas. I mean, all the gen with the subtext, but with the deep emotional friendship, laced with humour and angst. It'll be perfect. I was thinking about that Arthur in the stocks fic, that would fit in the show, with the humour it provides but also the underlying message that Arthur can't get away with being a prat all the time, and that he is in the process of growing up. And certainly will contribute more to people's confusion whether to love or hate Uther. XD
Take this fic for instance. All the emotional impact, and the secret only we viewer/readers are aware of - we can appreciate both Merlin and Arthur's situation. Plus the secret is still a secret, but not in a stupid way. It's so simple yet elegant and feeds our emotional needs... why can't people write like this on the show?
:D