Thread: Don't Lose Your Head Over It: A Merlin RP (SevenxKawa)

Bony, white, every knuckle distinguished under ropey skin, fingers like claws and like a line of hideous, chalky pearls. A long curve of blood, scarlet on old ochre, the smell of metal and gore mixing with the burnt air. The child was screaming, gurgling, fighting, but the old hag held on, white claws digging into the flesh of rosy, plump cheeks to muffle the screams, the dull knife working at the neck. The knife was its own monster, an extension of the crone and apart from her, rusted over orange and caked with a darker brown, the same color on the old stone altar, the same color that crusted along ancient, carved ridges in the surface. Years and years ago, before men like Uther Pendragon swept in and tried to girdle the Old Religion, this place had seen use . That blood, layered up over more years than the Roman Empire had existed, spoke of eons of sacrifice. There were, however, no priests or priestesses here to watch over the act, just one old woman and one little boy. The child had stopped struggling now, just the barest dribble of blood oozing out over the metal. He couldn??t have been more than four, just barely past the age where children were expected to survive and parents started thinking them of real members of the family that would stay with them for a long time. His dull blonde hair, the color of dirty wheat and dirty children, matted up where it touched the blood, darkening, just like her own shockingly white hair. The old woman stuck the knife deeper into skin, going after blood like dragging teeth along the skin of fruit for the last slivers of flesh, then dropped the child. His body fell, limp, a broken toy, garbage at the foot of the altar. Her first act would be to properly dispose of it, rites must be observed, but she was not priestess yet. Soon. So very soon. The magic called to her, more beautiful than birdsong and more insistent than a baby??s cry, familiar and silky and dark like a lover??s voice from bed. Power. Power should not be left alone. That nasty boy that had killed the last priestess, he had orphaned this island, attempted to disrupt a long line of magic and women that stretched back, weaving with the blood of the altar over years and years. Her second act, then, would be proper revenge for the old priestess. There were precious few of them around, even if she had gone a little mad at the end. But who wouldn??t, with a mad king killing off everything that sneezed sparks? It was so lonely. She understood loneliness. She understood madness, too, but she was beyond that. Skeletal fingers smeared with blood reached out over the altar as her reedy voice sung an incantation older than even the idea of kings and war. Her voice rose with the wind that had picked up, unnatural for this time of day even on an island. The air took on that same burning smell, the one she had come across at first, and for a moment, she was afraid. But there was so much to gain, so little to lose, and after a life the magic owed her. There were rules, and every one of them had a greater price for disobeying than any method Pendragon could employ. They went above petty, human morality. Men liked to think that children were special, that they should be protected and fostered. And today, this child was. The old hag covered her face, the alter glowing too bright with a blue flame for her to keep her eyes on it. The spell was finished. Long strands of words had been woven, died with the child??s blood, and even if she couldn??t take up the previous priestess?? position, she would have gotten something in return. There was the ??whoosh?? of the fire being killed, then the wind died down suddenly, leaving behind a heavy silence. The woman stayed still, her dark brown robes and black hair settling around her, flayed of the dust of travel. For a moment, everything was still, unnaturally so, then the woman dropped her smooth, bloodied hands, shaking. And, for the price of a child, everything was right again. ---- Everything was right again. Uther kept glancing to his side, couldn??t help himself. Arthur was putting on a show for court, letting them know exactly how well their crown prince was. After all, fights over the crown were bloody for all, from the lowest peasant to the fattest noble in his gold cloth. And Arthur was so ? So likeable , unlike his father. It didn??t bother Uther that one day the golden-haired youth drinking and eating and laughing near him would one day be given a peaceful kingdom that he could rule kindly and would, God willing, never know what it was like to make violent, disliked decisions nearly every week to keep it like that. In fact, it was the thing that kept him strong. Arthur would be a good king, a beloved king, able to do what was right and what was liked at the same time, where Uther had to choose between the two. And if Arthur had died? if Gaius hadn??t come through, and his only son had simply withered away and died, Uther would have, too. There would have been no crown prince and no king, because Arthur was his life in a way even Igraine hadn??t been. So he stared, drinking the sight of Arthur laughing and Arthur smiling and Arthur flirting horribly with Morgana, because less than a week ago his boy had been lying in bed, sweating and pale. Uther had pulled his glove off and touched clammy flesh and had felt a heartbeat that was too soft for a young man like Arthur. His boy, who sometimes had his temper and wouldn??t back down from a challenge, his pulse had been so faint, his breathing laboured and Gaius, Gaius had prepared him for dying. ??To make him comfortable, sire.? The words echoed in his head, unable to be drowned out with noise and wine, and even that ridiculous red feather on Arthur??s servant??s head. Arthur??s servant. Merlin. There was something not quite right with the boy. No. That was his paranoid mind talking. There was something fantastic about the boy, the way he looked at Arthur, the amazing loyalty. The way Gaius fawned over him, when the old man was just as wounded in trust as he was. Where had he gone when Arthur was ill? Uther hadn??t thought to question it after all, his life, his very heart, had been laying on his deathbed. When the king blinked, he could still see the little pricks of candlelight, the vigil, to guide Arthur??s soul away from his suffering body and into Paradise. Away from his father, who needed him more than angels did. But again, he??d been distracted. Where had Merlin gone? And why had, when he disappeared and returned again, Arthur woken up? Uther did not believe in miracles, but he had been willing to accept just that one, just like Arthur??s birth. That thought made him sit up a little straighter in his chair. Like Arthur??s birth. That hadn??t been a miracle. That had been... betrayal. A bargain he hadn??t expected, a contract he wasn??t fully given notice of. No, there weren??t miracles. Something had happened. Gaius had suddenly produced a cure, out of thin air, when he had been preparing his king for the worst. Uther turned his head slightly, taking in the boy at the sides. He managed, somehow, to not stand out horribly, even with that silly feather that made him look more like some damaged bird of idiocy than a manservant. Morgana??s made was there as well, the orphan whose father he had... Fool. Tonight was not a night to reflect on every mistake he had made in his life. Consorting with Nimueh and nearly losing Arthur were enough. His face was thoughtful as he considered the boy. He was attractive, in pieces. It was simply a matter of presentation, like several good fruits that simply did not go together. The ears, of course, were ridiculous and Uther knew very well they did nothing for his hearing. The hair was a common black, boring, nothing special and he certainly did nothing with it. He was tall, but not attractively so he never seemed to have filled out like most boys did, keeping the awkward, gangly limbs of adolescence. And he seemed to have no more brain than he did muscle. All and all, he was not a remarkable child. But there was something. Something that, once Uther caught sight of him, made him want to keep looking. It might have been, of course, too much wine, not enough sleep or food, and simple joy for anyone that was even tangentially related to his son??s recovery after all, he had wanted to kiss the woman who had brought fresh linens into the boy??s room right after he had woken up. This was something different. The boy, made of pieces that didn??t fit well together but were highlighted by that extraordinary loyalty. He had lovely eyes. Uther remembered that as he rested his chin on a gloved hand thoughtfully, his grey hair glinting gold and red in the happy, festive colors of the feast, the crown, as ever, sitting straight. When he had commanded his son??s care into Merlin??s hands, the boy had showed intelligence there and the love of a good man for his liege. Not Uther, but Arthur. He had meant to call him, to thank him, but he had forgotten after that all. And now he was being reminded of him. Perhaps Merlin had more involvement in his son??s miraculous recovery than Gaius was letting on. But why? Gaius would not take credit for another man??s work his place in Uther??s castle was established, especially after that nasty episode with the burned boy. And hadn??t Merlin been involved there. He remembered, very vaguely, touch of hands that weren??t dry and lined, a soft voice. Pieces. A lot of little pieces, none of which made sense or were even distinguished apart save for that shining jewel of loyalty, but together, they? Well, there was something to be said for the whole. Something indeed. Morgana was still playing with her food, playing with Arthur and he was free to examine the serving boy. The way he met his eyes. He remembered that, too, when he had lied for Arthur. Uther had chalked it up to a rather nasty hit on the head or some high fever, but not after all this. Both Morgana and Arthur seemed to like the lad. They??d even run off to help him, hadn??t they? There was something very curious about a boy that had managed to wiggle his way into the hearts of his son, his ward and his closest friend. That love should have stuck out like that ridiculous red feather. Why hadn??t he noticed before?