Merlin: Witness

by mirwalker

CHAPTER ONE

The two pails of scalding hot water seemed to grow heavier, rather than cooler, on Merlin's long, lonely trek up from the castle kitchens. One bucket was to renew the aromatics Gaius had ordered kept at the prince's side, to soothe and revive him; another to re-apply warm compresses to the bruises along his side, back and head. Then, he had to replace the coals in the bedwarmer, and the sweat-stained pillowcases, if not the pillows themselves. And he'd still not had a chance to get to Arthur's bloodied clothes, only removed and cast aside when he'd first been brought up from the field. The constant, if understandable, bedside presence of the king and Lady Morgana had only made juggling these demands that much harder.

Beyond wanting his master well as its own good end, Merlin wanted Arthur better for the sheer extra work the injured prince created for his faithful manservant. To both ends, as he finally reached the top step, he hoped Gaius had succeeded in convincing the royal family to take a break from their vigil, to get some rest of their own, and in rousing some sign of fight from the unconscious prince.

Reaching Arthur's door, he set down the leaden pails, to open the door quietly and without again spilling his hard-slogged cargo. Pausing briefly to rest his arms for the last distance, he heard a thin, muffled tune within the room. Too low in pitch to be the Lady or her handmaiden, the voice was too tuned to be the gruff sovereign; and Gaius was simply not the singing type. Merlin realized he'd paused in mid-action, frozen both by his own curiosity and the soft, calming sounds of the mystery singer.

Not wanting his delivery to cool and need repeating, and wanting to learn who'd joined the prince's care, Merlin carefully lifted the latch on the heavy door and pushed, intending to lead his entrance with an eye out for the soloist. But no sooner had the first creak of moving timber sounded, than the song stopped; and Merlin stepped into the chamber to find himself alone with the still sleeping prince.

Fairly certain he'd not imagined the song, he glanced around with narrowed eyes, not appreciating any prank or mischief at his, or Arthur's, expense. But, no person was visible in any space across the room; no movement in any corner to suggest someone had just slipped away; and no sound beyond the slow slosh in his buckets. No indication that there'd been any song or source beyond his own, admittedly, weary head.

"Merlin," chided Gaius behind him in the hallway, "Don't just stand there like a lump! Your water is cooling, but your heels needn't do the same!"

Startled from his reflection, Merlin stepped aside, with an "I'm sorry" look, as the healer pushed past him toward the bed. But it took another stern and expectant look to get a shrug and sigh from the pauper, as he dutifully delivered the water to where Gaius was checking the royal patient.

Gaius nodded in acknowledgement of the pails, and explained, "I've asked Gwen to stay with Morgana; and just gave the king a draught to help him rest. That should give me a little time to change these bandages, and you time to catch up on your long list of chores. Still, do be quick…" Not looking particularly pleased with what he noticed under the fabric draped on Arthur's forehead, he rummaged in his satchel.

"How is he?" Merlin asked, as he set about his own next task.

"No better," the court physician sighed. "If it has just been the fall from the horse, even onto the joust railings, he'd be sore, and scratched, and perhaps have a broken rib. Even the bruising where the burst lance lodged in his breastplate is not too severe. But the blow to his head when he was pulled back into the railing… I understand a knight, and especially a prince, must train hard; but these are still just boys…"

"If I'd been there, been paying attention, I could have done something: moved him, turned the rail to clothe, or something."

"You couldn't have known, Merlin; and you can't be there every time. Such are the perils of knight life, and of serving nobles."

"But magic," Merlin continued in a whisper.

But his mentor wouldn't hear more self-doubt and –crimination. "Not all bad things are magic, just as not all magic is bad. Accidents do happen," he reminded with stern and caring force.

Little assured by the truth in Gaius' advice, Merlin carefully slid the warming pan under the thick linens, careful not to place it too close. "Are you going to sing to him?" he asked sheepishly, not believing it likely, but needing to rule out even this improbable culprit.

"Sing? Sing! Arthur needs to rest and heal, not be subjected to shrieks and gasps. So no, I won't be singing to him." He looked up to Merlin with a suspicious glare, "And don't you try to either. 'Sing'…" he harrumphed dismissively. "I'm going to get a different fragrance for the bowl, and a stronger salve for the cut on his head. The variation alone might help to stimulate him."

Wiping his hands, Gaius shuffled out, throwing a final instruction over his shoulder, "Open the curtains as well, Merlin; a little sunlight might do us all some good."

The young wizard sighed toward the closing door, realizing that he was now alone, was deeply guilty at having allowed his friend and master to come to this situation, and was still far from making progress on his chore list. Frustrated by that collection of woes, he stalked over to the pile of tournament garb near the door, and grumbled a spell to shed some light on the space: "Onhlídath nihthelmas!"(1)

Having chosen his words a little too broadly, and perhaps imbued the magic with too much strong emotion in his tired haste, every pair of curtains around the room whipped open at once; and the prince's sheets flew to the foot of the bed. With a guilty grimace, Merlin carefully pulled the covers back over Arthur, and returned to his laundry. Only in heading back toward the door, did he notice that his urgent cast had also exposed a large mirror behind an ornate tapestry beside the entrance—a corner of the room he'd paid little attention to in the past, and a rare mirror he'd also never noticed before.

Stepping up to the giant looking glass, as much from curiosity as intent to return its covering, Merlin was even more surprised to be greeted in it, not by his own reflection, but by the also-startled image of a grizzled, dark-eyed and cloth-shrouded young man.

"You can see me?!" they each exclaimed at the same time.

NOTES

1. Old English command: transliterated imperative plural of onhlídan (to open, reveal, unclose, appear) + accusative plural of nihthelm (night curtains).

tbc...