Wings of a Warlock

Merlin had always been different. Since birth he has had a destiny that has been written since the dawn of time. He is Emrys, the most powerful magical being that has or will ever live. He does not have magic. He does not practice magic. He is magic. His birth was sensed by the druids and a single druid was sent to bestow a gift upon their infant saviour. A gift that many have dreamt of. A gift like no other. The gift of flight.

It is for this reason that Merlin could be found twenty years later sat in his room wrapping bandages round his torso. Bright sunlight streamed through the small window of the tiny room illuminating its contents and lighting up the bed where the young warlock sat. His fingers skimmed across the soft, glossy feathers of his enormous wings that folded neatly at either side of his spine as he covered them up with the fresh, holding them in place and hiding them from view.

When he had finished he quickly dressed in his usual, brown trousers, blue tunic, battered leather belt, worn, leather boots and his trademark, red neckerchief, and then hurried out of the room. Arthur would not be in a good mood, he was late, again. However he was spared the trouble of seeking the king out when he came bursting through the door of the physicians chambers. "Merlin!" he shouted, then, seeing his incompetent servant standing in the middle of the room, went on to ask "Where have you been? You were supposed to be in my chambers an hour ago!"

"Sorry Sire, I was just finishing an errand for Gaius," Merlin lied easily, reaching for his jacket over the closest bench and slipping it on. "Well hurry up then!" ordered the stressed king, "I've got a council meeting to prepare for and my uncle is nowhere to be found!" Merlin's stomach dropped as he followed Arthur out of the room and up to the royal chambers. This couldn't be good. The traitor, Agravaine, missing. This could not be good.

Did you like it? Please review.