For the Ones We Love (Merlin Fan Fiction)

Chapter Eighteen

I spent the next three weeks studying relentlessly. On the first day, Iseldir explained to me what a Messenger was. He told me that it was someone who could access other people's minds. They--we could read thoughts people didn't want read and make people think thoughts they didn't want to think. That explained how Talon knew so much. It explained how he had tricked me into doing so many awful things while I was still his apprentice.

It wasn't until the second week that I began learning how to delve, first into my mind and then into others'. Iseldir had been correct when he said it wouldn't be easy. It was the hardest thing I had ever done. Sifting through thoughts was like trying to swim through amber. It caused a sharp taste like iron in my mouth. Iseldir also had me going through my own thoughts. Horrible memories resurfaced. Memories I had long ago forced myself to forget.

I had nightmares. Worse than thoughts of Gwaine dying in my arms and worse than watching my own dead body float to the surface of a lake of blood.

Night after night, I watched everyone I ever loved slaughter each other until there was only one left. The one remaining would then walk over to the cell where I had been brutally imprisoned and stab me in the chest. They would then slit their own throat and force me to watch them die as I died with them. Every time, just before my eyes closed for the last time, a star would fall from the sky as if Heaven was crying.

That night, it came down to a duel between Merlin and Mordred. Mordred, despite his small size, was able to get the better of Merlin. I shouted for Merlin to use his magic, but neither of them seemed to hear me. Merlin's sword flew out of his hand and Mordred finished the job swiftly. He then turned to me, a blank look in his eyes.

I screamed.

"Cleo," Mordred whispered. He sounded assuring, but the hollow look in his eyes was still there. This was the first time a victor had ever spoken to me.

I whimpered.

"Cleo, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you."

An invisible hand touched the side of my face and my own fear woke me. I found myself tangled in sheets, cold sweat covering my face. Mordred hovered over me.

"I don't think this training is good for you," he murmured. It was rare for Mordred to verbally contradict authority, so speaking his mind in this case took a lot of work. He was genuinely scared for me. It was touching how much he cared.

"It'll get harder before it gets easier," I told the boy. I sat up and he pulled his hand away from my face. "Something good will come out of this eventually. I promise."

"You promise a lot of things," Mordred murmured. He flashed a smile that faded quickly.

"Yeah, but I keep my promises." I smiled and pushed myself up onto my feet.

The boy said nothing. I could tell he doubted me. I didn't know why, though. "Does it hurt?" he asked finally.

I lifted my eyebrows. "Does what hurt?"

"Delving."

I was surprised Mordred knew the word. It was the word Iseldir and Healer used when speaking of entering one's mind. I let it slip for the time being, but later I wondered if Messengers were common druid knowledge that I just hadn't been around long enough to find out about for myself.

I shrugged. "It's physically strenuous," I told him. "And a lot of memories aren't good ones. Seeing those--watching them... feeling... experiencing them--that's the painful part."

"Are your memories painful?"

I bit my lip. "We, as people with the ability to use magic, have all seen things no human should ever have to see." I stared blankly at nothing. "We have all been persecuted for what we are and forced into hiding." I tore my gaze away from whatever it was I had been staring at and met the boy's eyes. They were so old. They had seen much in his few short years. He was growing up not only physically, but emotionally and mentally.