Fight For Me

Chapter 10

Arthur sits anxiously outside the tent the druids took Merlin into. He's restless. He's bouncing his knees, leaning his elbows on them and face resting on both his hands, set in a fist. He's biting his lip. Nothing he does takes away the worry, nor does it stop him thinking of Merlin.

Gwen and Morgana are off with the druids, being welcomed and distracted in a way that Arthur envies. Even if he went to join them in their displays of magic and their conversations, he still wouldn't be able to stop thinking about Merlin. The unease would still be there.

He doesn't even know what they're doing to him, right now.

They don't even know if they can help him.

What if they can't? What if Sigan's too powerful? What if the spell, or whatever it is, can't be broken?

What if Merlin's lost forever?

And Arthur never got to tell him... And now, he never will.

The whole magic secret revealing has been overshadowed by Merlin's state of mind, which isn't his own. Arthur still feels betrayed that Merlin never felt he could tell him, but then he just gets angry at himself, and thinks of Merlin's point of view.

He had to live, knowing he could get convicted at any point just for something he couldn't help. He was born with magic. There's no helping it. It's second nature to him, like breathing. An impulse, like Arthur reaching for his sword every time danger is present. Magic is just Merlin's weapon in battle, his extra sense, or organ, something he needs, something he can't live without.

The woman, Aimee, comes out with an unreadable look on her face. This antagonises Arthur more than he can say. As soon as she comes out, Arthur stands, expectantly.

"I'm telling you now," she says, letting a tiny bit of sadness and sympathy leak through in her voice, "this may take a long time--"

"I will wait," Arthur interrupts.

"Ugh," she sighs, a little annoyed. "That's not the point. You don't get this sort of thing often. Or... ever, actually. The process may be long. It will be hard. We're at as much a loss as you are, but we can try. I don't guarantee anything. In fact, I'm highly doubting our ability--" She breaks off, clearing her throat nervously at Arthur's ever saddening face. "And, there will be a lot of magic involved, so if that bothers you, clear off."

"It-- It's not," Arthur says.

She scoffs. "Right."

"I mean it!"

"Oh, yes, sorry Sire. You seem so sure of yourself."

Arthur drops his head to look at the ground.

"Are you actually a druid?" he asks, hesitantly.

Her eyebrows raise, and her interest seems to spark. "Why do you ask that?"

"It's just... Well, all the druids I've met seem... nicer." He looks to the others, playing and chatting, with Morgana and Gwen as well.

"Yet you still managed to murder them," Aimee mutters.

Arthur shoots a look of hurt. "I didn't want to."

"The dead would say otherwise."

"Look, I know why your sceptic, and why you hate me, I don't blame you--"

"I don't hate you," she says, absent-mindedly, watching as one of the young druids makes a little fire-dragon in their palm, showing it to Morgana proudly. "I just don't particularly like you, either."

"Then why do you treat me so?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, is this not good enough, Sire? Let me just keep my thoughts to myself and walk on eggshells when around you. So sorry, my Lord." She bows, mockingly.