Merthur - The Blue Butterfly

Chapter 2 - The Light of Truth

"You must be good at lots of things."

"Of course I am," Arthur says, sounding more than just a little egotistic, "I need to lead the best kingdom ever after all."

"You sound so talented. I can't do anything," Merlin mumbles, sounding embarrassed.

"Well, not everyone can be as talented as me, but I'm sure you can do something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. You need to find out. Just think about it."

Merlin is quiet for a moment as he thinks and after a few minutes Arthur peers through the grate again with concern. Just as he's about to call for the other boy, Merlin answers, "I can make things fly."

Arthur frowns at the grate, wondering if he's joking with him. "Make things fly?"

"Yup! See, I'll show you!"

Within a few seconds there's a flash of gold from the darkness and a small pebble floats up through the grate, hovering a few inches off the ground before him. Arthur stares at it in awe and at first all he can think about is that the rock really was flying and how Merlin is a very special child if he can make things fly. He smiles while he waves his hand around the object, finding no strings attached to it. He pokes the pebble and sure enough it stays aloft, staring back at him. He lets out an amused chuckle but it quickly dies away when a sudden realization hits him. Sorcery. This is sorcery.

The prince reels back, crashing into a box behind him in his frantic attempt at escape. A plume of dust rises up as the crate crashes to the floor, further separating him and the sorcerer down in the cell. It doesn't stop him from hearing Merlin calling out to him, voice filled with worry and concern. "Are you okay? There was a loud noise," the boy calls out.

Arthur finds his throat tightening, closing up until words can no longer escape from his mouth. He remembers all the stories his father and nursemaids used to - and sometimes still - tell him. He remembers the ones about blood thirsty sorcerers and treasonous witches. He remembers the stories about how they would bewitch young and unsuspecting children into their homes before they would cook them up into stew. He remembers his father's warnings about them. About how they aren't human. About how they aren't the same as him and the other townspeople around him.

Suddenly, the pebble that just moments before had seemed so extraordinary now seems like a harbinger for death. He scrambles back even further, not stopping until his back hits the wall behind him. He shivers and trembles, not wanting to be enchanted and lured away into some pot of a warty old witch.

"Arthur?" Merlin calls, voice quiet and afraid, "are you still there?"

The prince doesn't reply, but instead starts pushing the crates around him, shielding himself with the piles of empty boxes. He ducks behind the small mountain he's erected around himself, holding up a piece of timber as a weapon before calling back. "Get away! Sorcerer!" he shouts, feeling his eyes tear up at the thought of perhaps dying here in this dusty old closet.

Regret starts to naw away at his mind, the guilt from not listening to his nursemaid and his father making him feel ill to the stomach. Despite this he keeps a firm grip on the piece of wood in his hands, using all the tactics and skills his father had taught him thus far in his knight training. His eyes are focused on the pebble and his arms shake when he sees the stone falter momentarily in the air. He lifts his arms up, ready to strike in case the little rock comes flying at him but instead it clatters to the ground.

Arthur lowers his guard, letting his grip on the timber loosen. He frowns at the grate on the wall then looks to the door in front of him that leads back out into the hall. After crouching on the ground motionless for a few more seconds he gets to his feet, quickly crawling over the crates and rushing towards the door.