Merlyn's Final Truth

Aithusa P1

Merlyn had always loved thunderstorms. Back in Ealdor, she remembered sitting beside her father in their small, wooden hut, listening to the howling of the wind as it blew through the cracks in their flimsy walls. The rain pounded down on them, but never seemed to seep through the flimsy roof, probably due to some kind of unnatural intervention. They'd keep warm by the fire, her father casting shapes in the glow of the flames, his dragons' roars punctuated by thunder. When she'd come to Camelot, safe within the castle walls, she often admired the way that lightning lit up the night sky, illuminating the lower town despite the dreary rain. It was a small comfort, a reminder of home.

Since Uther's death, however, the weather had become an almost constant accompaniment to her fatigue. Arthur seemed to be faring as well as he could be taking on his new responsibilities as king, especially with Agravaine's greasy presence by his side. He was a good man, and so far, a just ruler, even calling off the guards he'd sent after Dragoon, hardly one to lose himself entirely to revenge. He spent his days surrounded by the council, finding brief respite upon the muddy training field or in the arms of his lover, but it didn't take long for Merlyn to notice that his new duties were threatening to overwhelm him. He needed a break; perhaps she could drag him on one of the hunting trips he liked so much when the weather cleared.

The servant had found herself almost dead on her feet, running around the castle after the king and the knights and some visiting nobles and, for one interesting afternoon, Gwen. What job her friend actually held in the palace, Merlyn wasn't exactly sure, but she always seemed rather purposeful, keeping herself busy to forget, even just for a moment, that she was alone. Merlyn could understand the feeling; perhaps it was this kinship that had drawn the two of them together, Gwen, mourning the loss of her husband and Merlyn, the deaths of her friends and father and lover. Sometimes, she wondered if Lancelot had told his wife of Merlyn's gifts, noticing the occasional glance she recieved whenever anything went awry, but Gwen never brought it up in the evenings they shared, where Arthur was either brooding or asleep or in a late council meeting, leaving Merlyn with her stolen moments of liberty. It reminded her of the nights she'd spent with Morgana, whispering secrets and gossip whilst magic twisted through the air, turning bright colours in the firelight. It seemed like years since those lessons had started; Merlyn supposed that she hadn't seen Morgana so free in a long time. She forgot, sometimes, that it had been over half a decade since she'd stepped through the city gates for the first time. She'd been so innocent then. Blissfully ignorant.

The night that Merlyn was awoken by loud knocking was after one of her visits to Gwen's old home, not that the noblewoman lived there anymore. She had an early start in the morning, Arthur wanting to join drills before his first council meeting, so had reveled in the chance to get some proper sleep. But apparently it wasn't to be. As she listened to the urgent knocking for a second time, she sat up in bed, rubbing her tired eyes. If Gaius had a visitor this late, she expected that she would want to hear what they had to say.

"Why are you here?" she heard Gaius question sternly, clearly not pleased to be woken at such an hour. Merlyn stood from her bed, avoiding the creaky floorboards as she approached her door, curious of the stranger standing beyond it.

"Please." the low voice of a man responded, the rain lashing harder against her windowpane. "I could do with drying myself by your fire."

Merlyn peered through the gap in her door, spying a man maybe just under twice her age, his brown hair plastered to his forehead. His clothes weren't fitted, like that of a nobleman, but, though old, didn't appear frayed or ripped. She frowned, unsure of how to place him.

"You have a nerve coming back here." Gaius glared with obvious dislike. "You left me in a lot of trouble."

"Yeah. Sorry about that." the man shrugged, not appearing even remotely sincere. "What can I say? Execution didn't really appeal to me."