A Warlocks' Disguise {ArthurxFem!Merlin}

Chapter 21 - Merilyn

The streets of Camelot's lower town felt more like a graveyard than the bustling center of life they once were. The usual hum of traders haggling over goods, children laughing as they played, and blacksmiths hammering away had been replaced by an eerie stillness. It was as if the air itself had thickened with fear. The unknown illness, creeping from house to house, had cast a long, dark shadow over everything. Every cough, every pale face, was met with suspicion, and the unspoken dread that lingered between the villagers was palpable.

Merilyn moved quietly beside Gaius, the old physician's steady pace contrasting with the anxiety buzzing in her veins. She scanned the faces of the townsfolk they passed—haggard expressions, eyes filled with worry, and bodies that seemed to shrink away at the sight of anyone unfamiliar. Cloaked figures huddled together in corners, whispering prayers or clutching trinkets for protection, as if these small acts of faith could ward off the creeping illness that seemed to be swallowing Camelot whole.

They turned down a narrow, twisting alley, where the stench of sickness seemed even stronger, mingling with the dampness of the stones. Merilyn's sharp gaze caught movement—a man, slumped against the wall, his breath labored and shallow. His skin had turned a sickly shade of gray, sweat glistening on his brow despite the cool air, and his eyes, glazed with pain and confusion, stared blankly ahead.

"Gaius," Merilyn called, her voice cutting through the thick silence, urgency rising like a wave in her chest. "Gaius, he's still alive."

Gaius approached the man, his expression darkening with the weight of recognition. He knelt beside him, his experienced hands moving quickly but gently, feeling for a pulse, checking the man's temperature. But the slight shake of Gaius's head confirmed what Merilyn already feared.

"There's nothing we can do for him," Gaius murmured, his voice low and sorrowful, as though the illness had already claimed this man's fate.

Merilyn's heart clenched. The sight of the man struggling for breath, abandoned to die alone in the shadows of this alley, tore at her. Her instincts screamed to act, to do something—anything—to stop this suffering. "But we haven't even tried!" she protested, her voice rising with desperation. Her thoughts raced, knowing that with just a flick of her fingers and a whisper of magic, she could ease his pain, perhaps even save him.

But Gaius stood, his hand firm on her shoulder, grounding her. His gaze was filled with the weariness of someone who had seen death claim too many lives. "If we don't know what this disease is," he said softly but firmly, "then how can we cure him?" His eyes held hers, heavy with caution. "And this is not the time for magic, Merilyn. People are already on edge, and suspicion is growing. If you use magic now, you won't just put yourself at risk—you'll put everyone around you in danger."

Merilyn swallowed hard, glancing around at the few villagers who had dared to step outside. Their eyes, already wide with fear, tracked her and Gaius with a wary distrust, as though they believed anyone might be the source of the curse that was killing their neighbors. It was the same look that came before whispers of witchcraft, before accusations and the fire that often followed.

She knew Gaius was right, but the helplessness gnawed at her like a wound that wouldn't heal. She could feel the magic humming beneath her skin, itching to be used, but it stayed trapped, just out of reach, leaving her with a heavy sense of guilt. I could save him, she thought bitterly, her fingers twitching at her side. But I can't.

Reluctantly, she tore her gaze away from the man and followed Gaius as they continued their trek back to the physician's chambers, their footsteps echoing through the empty streets. The image of the dying man haunted her, etched deep into her mind, his pain and her inability to stop it pressing heavily on her heart.