Post by Arctura on Aug 4, 2014 0:22:52 GMT
After weeks of stagnant apple pie life, Sibyl finally finds a way of communication with Malus, and the boys set off on their journey. Again.
“I know how we can talk to Malus,” she states. “I know how you can find the answer to destroying It.”
...
That night, just after sunset, Merlin, Arthur, and Sibyl hold hands around a campfire. The fire has been set on a slab of stone they found in the woods. Intricate symbols have been painted on the slab, and one larger than the others encircles the three of them and the campfire. The fire glows gold from an infusion of Merlin’s magic. At a few whispered words from Merlin the symbols glow gold as well.
“Remember: don’t let go of each other’s hands. If the circle breaks, I might lose touch with myself.”
Arthur shudders. This whole plan reeks like a bad idea. There’s so much magic in the air he can practically taste it, and it’s making all the hairs on his body stand on end, like there’s an electric charge going through them. But he keeps his opinions to himself. Both Sibyl and Merlin seem sure that this will work.
Sibyl begins to utter the words of a spell. They sound like nonsense to Arthur, yet he can feel the darkness in them, as though she speaks a language wrought from pure evil. He shivers as the temperature drops quickly. He sits mere inches from the fire, but it feels like it’s burning cold instead of hot. As Sibyl chants, the wind picks up. Leaves and tree branches take off and fly past them, but nothing gets inside their magic circle. He can hear the wind and see it blowing, but all he can feel inside the circle is the cold. Merlin grips his hand tighter and says “hǽte” and Arthur feels warmth flood through him. Soon the shivering stops and he is grateful.
Arthur watches silently as a storm brews outside their circle. Thunder, lightning, rain, and wind ravage the forest around them, but they stay safe and dry and, thanks to Merlin, warm, within the confines of their symbol.
Sibyl chants louder and faster as the storm picks up. Lightning strikes a tree not ten feet from them, and only Merlin’s grip on his hand keeps him from breaking the circle. Finally, Sibyl throws her head up to the sky and shouts “Lætt wea buan beinnan mé!” and the world comes to a screeching halt.
Everything is quiet, still. As if time itself has stopped. The raging storm has calmed. The trees have stopped bending, raindrops and leaves sit hovering in midair, and when Arthur looks up he notices a streak of lightning frozen in the charcoal sky above.
He looks back to the prophetess and finds her staring into the fire. The flames waver gently, and in its golden glow Arthur sees that Sibyl’s eyes have gone pure black. He gasps, but doesn’t let go.
Finally, Sibyl looks up to Merlin with her empty black eyes, and the voice that leaves her is deep and gravelly, no longer her own. “Emrys…what an honor it is to finally speak to you in person.”
“Malus,” Merlin replies, vitriolic. “I wish I could say the same.”
Malus grins at him, and it’s a look so unlike anything that’s ever graced Sibyl’s face that it makes Arthur wince.
“You have great power, warlock. Great power, indeed. I respect that. We can never be friends, Merlin. I am not naïve enough to believe we could be. But two powerful forces such as ourselves should at least be able to treat each other with respect.”
Arthur’s not sure if it’s the words themselves, or the way Malus speaks them, but he feels swayed to believe It. Malus is clearly powerful, but It’s also old and wise, trying to convince Merlin that they have something in common. Arthur finds that he’s nodding despite himself.
But when Merlin answers, it’s clear he’s thoroughly unmoved. “You don’t deserve it,” Merlin spits out. “You’re a coward. You’ve killed all these people, forced them to kill each other, yet you won’t face me. Even now you’re hiding in the body of this little girl, trying to taunt me.”
Malus frowns, and Arthur can feel Its anger growing from across the fire.
“You would do well to watch how you speak to Me, boy. You may be over two thousand years old, but my age is beyond count. I am as old as the universe itself, and I will not be taunted by the likes of you.”
Merlin smiles, and the look sends shivers down Arthur’s spine. This isn’t his Merlin: the clumsy, smart, curious, adorable, wonderful man he’s fallen in love with. This is Emrys: two thousand years of rage and agony and pure power. And he’s not backing down.
“Oh, I think you will. Why else would you have agreed to speak with me directly? You’re afraid, Malus. You want this world all for yourself and you’re afraid I’m going to stop you. You want to take me down as soon as you can. And I want nothing more than to do the same to you.”
Malus smiles again. “I am not afraid of you, Emrys. You pose a threat to Me, it is true. But I am not afraid of you.”
“Then fight me,” Merlin goads him. “Two weeks from now, you pick the place. Fight me yourself - no more hiding inside children. Fight me alone.”
Malus grins once more, and Arthur’s more terrified than he’s ever been in his life, but he has to say something. “Fight both of us,” he corrects, trying to inject his words with royal command, and curses himself when they sound weaker than desired.
It throws Its head back and laughs. “You are pathetic, Arthur Pendragon. You may have fought bravely in your past life, but you are nothing against the likes of Me. Why you were even brought back is a mystery I cannot begin to fathom. If you want to throw away your second chance in an attempt to help Emrys, then I will gladly take your life as well.”
Merlin grips Arthur’s hand tighter, though his eyes never leave Malus. “Two weeks time. Just pick the place, Malus. I’d like to go to sleep sometime tonight.”
“Yes, I suppose you would, warlock. I am sure you cannot wait to sleep so you can watch Me destroy more of the world you love.”
Its words have the desired effect. Merlin seems to shrink into himself, and the laugh that escapes Malus’ throat is one of pure darkness.
“Sunrise. Two weeks from tomorrow morning. Camelot’s throne room. The ruins of the place you once called home; it seems an appropriate place to destroy you.”
“I accept your challenge. We’ll be there,” Arthur says firmly, as if a knight had just thrown his gauntlet down. “We’ll be ready.”
“You really think you can destroy Me, Pendragon? You really think you and your lover have what it takes?”
“Yes. I do.”
Malus smirks, clearly unimpressed. “This is not a fairytale, Arthur Pendragon. This is real life. Good does not always win, and love does not conquer all.”
Arthur thinks about everything Merlin has told him and shown him about the past two thousand years. “Maybe not,” he replies. “But this time it will.”
It scoffs. “Humans. As I said before: pathetic. See you in two weeks.”
In the blink of an eye, the storm rages once more, the fire burns out, and Sibyl collapses to the ground.
...
Two days later, Merlin and Arthur say goodbye to Sibyl and the rest of the village and begin their journey back to the ruins of Camelot. Arthur thanks her for everything she’s done for them. She smiles at him and tells him it was her pleasure.
“I feel like I’ve finally found a purpose for my visions,” she says to them. “Helping the both of you save the world, even in such a small way…it’s why I’ve been given this gift in the first place.”
“You don’t see it as a curse anymore?” Merlin asks, doubtful and a touch awed.
Sibyl smiles warmly. “I used to. But now…I have faith in you. Both of you. I haven’t seen the outcome of this fight, but I know that if you work together, you have all the power you need to defeat It. It was my destiny to meet you and to help set you on the right path.”
“Destiny,” Merlin scoffs, a bitter smile on his face. “I know all about destiny.”
Arthur knows that he cannot erase Merlin’s millennias’ worth of struggle, so he tries to ignore the anger in the warlock’s voice. The king clears his throat and says matter-of-fact, “We should be heading out.” He bends down and puts on his backpack, replete with clothes, food, and medicine that the village kindly provided. “Ready, Merlin?”
“In a minute,” Merlin replies. “There’s something I need to ask Sibyl. In private.”
...
It takes them a week to return to Camelot - a journey that took them almost two weeks in the other direction. They don’t rush, because though neither of them will admit it, they aren’t in a hurry to face what lies ahead of them. Instead, they take in the scenery around them. They spend a few nights exploring abandoned towns, visiting villages bursting with life, and enjoying the bits of countryside that remain surprisingly untouched by the wars of man.
They start their journey in good spirits. Arthur’s not sure what Merlin needed to talk to Sibyl about, but he doesn’t ask. If he wants to talk about it, he will.
Merlin’s happy at first to show him some of the sights they missed on their way to Windermere, bogged down as they were by storms and Merlin’s being ill. They find good weather and plenty of food on their way.
They visit Victor and Ella, the kind couple who let them sleep under their roof more than a month ago. Merlin and Arthur offer them the whole deer they were able to kill earlier that day, and that night the entire village gathers together for a feast. With their deer and what food the village has, it’s not a terribly large feast, but it's a feast none the less. There’s singing and dancing, music played on hand carved instruments, and a bonfire. Merlin takes the younger children aside and shows them some of his magic tricks with the fire. Arthur’s favorite is the golden dragon that hovers gently over the flames and shimmers brilliantly in the dark.
As the feast winds down, Merlin and Arthur sneak off to the edge of the forest and make love under the stars. Arthur’s never felt closer to Merlin, and he doesn’t think he’s ever loved him more than he does that night.
They sleep soundly under Victor and Ella’s roof until Merlin wakes in the morning screaming.
“An island,” Merlin gasps. “An entire island. Somewhere in the Caribbean. One minute everyone’s sleeping, and then the next the entire island is flooding. Everyone’s running in terror, screaming, but there’s nowhere to go. The whole place is flooding. Everything…everyone, just…just gone. Dead. In a matter of minutes. Thousands of lives just…”
Arthur pulls Merlin close, but he’s already sobered up, grim. “Arthur…we have to stop It.”
“We will,” Arthur says firmly, “Sybil said we have the power. Combined, we’re unstoppable.”
And he believes it.
He’s just not sure if Merlin believes it, too.
...
The closer they get to Camelot, the quieter Merlin gets. Arthur knows he's upset and tired from the visions, which haven’t stopped since they left Victor and Ella’s village. He just doesn’t know what more he can beyond comforting him after the images stop, quelling his shaking. When Morgana suffered the same, Gaius concocted a draught for her, but something tells Arthur that a simple potion won’t stave off Merlin’s visions. Not when they are sent from an ancient being like Malus. Arthur has to accept that until they defeat It, there’s nothing to be done.
One morning, as they sit quietly and finish their breakfast, Merlin tells him that they’ll reach the cabin by nightfall. But first, he needs to take a detour.
“I must first stop by the Crystal Caves. Sibyl told me that a friend would be able to help us.”
Arthur says, brow raised, “This friend...does he happen to be a dragon, Merlin?” But he isn’t accusing, only jesting.
Merlin grins widely, every truth told a weight off his shoulders. “Yes, I had a feeling he'd be the one to help us. Well, we should get moving then. We have about a week to come up with a plan.”
As the World Comes to an End: Part V
It’s early morning when they go to visit Sibyl. They find her already awake.“I know how we can talk to Malus,” she states. “I know how you can find the answer to destroying It.”
...
That night, just after sunset, Merlin, Arthur, and Sibyl hold hands around a campfire. The fire has been set on a slab of stone they found in the woods. Intricate symbols have been painted on the slab, and one larger than the others encircles the three of them and the campfire. The fire glows gold from an infusion of Merlin’s magic. At a few whispered words from Merlin the symbols glow gold as well.
“Remember: don’t let go of each other’s hands. If the circle breaks, I might lose touch with myself.”
Arthur shudders. This whole plan reeks like a bad idea. There’s so much magic in the air he can practically taste it, and it’s making all the hairs on his body stand on end, like there’s an electric charge going through them. But he keeps his opinions to himself. Both Sibyl and Merlin seem sure that this will work.
Sibyl begins to utter the words of a spell. They sound like nonsense to Arthur, yet he can feel the darkness in them, as though she speaks a language wrought from pure evil. He shivers as the temperature drops quickly. He sits mere inches from the fire, but it feels like it’s burning cold instead of hot. As Sibyl chants, the wind picks up. Leaves and tree branches take off and fly past them, but nothing gets inside their magic circle. He can hear the wind and see it blowing, but all he can feel inside the circle is the cold. Merlin grips his hand tighter and says “hǽte” and Arthur feels warmth flood through him. Soon the shivering stops and he is grateful.
Arthur watches silently as a storm brews outside their circle. Thunder, lightning, rain, and wind ravage the forest around them, but they stay safe and dry and, thanks to Merlin, warm, within the confines of their symbol.
Sibyl chants louder and faster as the storm picks up. Lightning strikes a tree not ten feet from them, and only Merlin’s grip on his hand keeps him from breaking the circle. Finally, Sibyl throws her head up to the sky and shouts “Lætt wea buan beinnan mé!” and the world comes to a screeching halt.
Everything is quiet, still. As if time itself has stopped. The raging storm has calmed. The trees have stopped bending, raindrops and leaves sit hovering in midair, and when Arthur looks up he notices a streak of lightning frozen in the charcoal sky above.
He looks back to the prophetess and finds her staring into the fire. The flames waver gently, and in its golden glow Arthur sees that Sibyl’s eyes have gone pure black. He gasps, but doesn’t let go.
Finally, Sibyl looks up to Merlin with her empty black eyes, and the voice that leaves her is deep and gravelly, no longer her own. “Emrys…what an honor it is to finally speak to you in person.”
“Malus,” Merlin replies, vitriolic. “I wish I could say the same.”
Malus grins at him, and it’s a look so unlike anything that’s ever graced Sibyl’s face that it makes Arthur wince.
“You have great power, warlock. Great power, indeed. I respect that. We can never be friends, Merlin. I am not naïve enough to believe we could be. But two powerful forces such as ourselves should at least be able to treat each other with respect.”
Arthur’s not sure if it’s the words themselves, or the way Malus speaks them, but he feels swayed to believe It. Malus is clearly powerful, but It’s also old and wise, trying to convince Merlin that they have something in common. Arthur finds that he’s nodding despite himself.
But when Merlin answers, it’s clear he’s thoroughly unmoved. “You don’t deserve it,” Merlin spits out. “You’re a coward. You’ve killed all these people, forced them to kill each other, yet you won’t face me. Even now you’re hiding in the body of this little girl, trying to taunt me.”
Malus frowns, and Arthur can feel Its anger growing from across the fire.
“You would do well to watch how you speak to Me, boy. You may be over two thousand years old, but my age is beyond count. I am as old as the universe itself, and I will not be taunted by the likes of you.”
Merlin smiles, and the look sends shivers down Arthur’s spine. This isn’t his Merlin: the clumsy, smart, curious, adorable, wonderful man he’s fallen in love with. This is Emrys: two thousand years of rage and agony and pure power. And he’s not backing down.
“Oh, I think you will. Why else would you have agreed to speak with me directly? You’re afraid, Malus. You want this world all for yourself and you’re afraid I’m going to stop you. You want to take me down as soon as you can. And I want nothing more than to do the same to you.”
Malus smiles again. “I am not afraid of you, Emrys. You pose a threat to Me, it is true. But I am not afraid of you.”
“Then fight me,” Merlin goads him. “Two weeks from now, you pick the place. Fight me yourself - no more hiding inside children. Fight me alone.”
Malus grins once more, and Arthur’s more terrified than he’s ever been in his life, but he has to say something. “Fight both of us,” he corrects, trying to inject his words with royal command, and curses himself when they sound weaker than desired.
It throws Its head back and laughs. “You are pathetic, Arthur Pendragon. You may have fought bravely in your past life, but you are nothing against the likes of Me. Why you were even brought back is a mystery I cannot begin to fathom. If you want to throw away your second chance in an attempt to help Emrys, then I will gladly take your life as well.”
Merlin grips Arthur’s hand tighter, though his eyes never leave Malus. “Two weeks time. Just pick the place, Malus. I’d like to go to sleep sometime tonight.”
“Yes, I suppose you would, warlock. I am sure you cannot wait to sleep so you can watch Me destroy more of the world you love.”
Its words have the desired effect. Merlin seems to shrink into himself, and the laugh that escapes Malus’ throat is one of pure darkness.
“Sunrise. Two weeks from tomorrow morning. Camelot’s throne room. The ruins of the place you once called home; it seems an appropriate place to destroy you.”
“I accept your challenge. We’ll be there,” Arthur says firmly, as if a knight had just thrown his gauntlet down. “We’ll be ready.”
“You really think you can destroy Me, Pendragon? You really think you and your lover have what it takes?”
“Yes. I do.”
Malus smirks, clearly unimpressed. “This is not a fairytale, Arthur Pendragon. This is real life. Good does not always win, and love does not conquer all.”
Arthur thinks about everything Merlin has told him and shown him about the past two thousand years. “Maybe not,” he replies. “But this time it will.”
It scoffs. “Humans. As I said before: pathetic. See you in two weeks.”
In the blink of an eye, the storm rages once more, the fire burns out, and Sibyl collapses to the ground.
...
Two days later, Merlin and Arthur say goodbye to Sibyl and the rest of the village and begin their journey back to the ruins of Camelot. Arthur thanks her for everything she’s done for them. She smiles at him and tells him it was her pleasure.
“I feel like I’ve finally found a purpose for my visions,” she says to them. “Helping the both of you save the world, even in such a small way…it’s why I’ve been given this gift in the first place.”
“You don’t see it as a curse anymore?” Merlin asks, doubtful and a touch awed.
Sibyl smiles warmly. “I used to. But now…I have faith in you. Both of you. I haven’t seen the outcome of this fight, but I know that if you work together, you have all the power you need to defeat It. It was my destiny to meet you and to help set you on the right path.”
“Destiny,” Merlin scoffs, a bitter smile on his face. “I know all about destiny.”
Arthur knows that he cannot erase Merlin’s millennias’ worth of struggle, so he tries to ignore the anger in the warlock’s voice. The king clears his throat and says matter-of-fact, “We should be heading out.” He bends down and puts on his backpack, replete with clothes, food, and medicine that the village kindly provided. “Ready, Merlin?”
“In a minute,” Merlin replies. “There’s something I need to ask Sibyl. In private.”
...
It takes them a week to return to Camelot - a journey that took them almost two weeks in the other direction. They don’t rush, because though neither of them will admit it, they aren’t in a hurry to face what lies ahead of them. Instead, they take in the scenery around them. They spend a few nights exploring abandoned towns, visiting villages bursting with life, and enjoying the bits of countryside that remain surprisingly untouched by the wars of man.
They start their journey in good spirits. Arthur’s not sure what Merlin needed to talk to Sibyl about, but he doesn’t ask. If he wants to talk about it, he will.
Merlin’s happy at first to show him some of the sights they missed on their way to Windermere, bogged down as they were by storms and Merlin’s being ill. They find good weather and plenty of food on their way.
They visit Victor and Ella, the kind couple who let them sleep under their roof more than a month ago. Merlin and Arthur offer them the whole deer they were able to kill earlier that day, and that night the entire village gathers together for a feast. With their deer and what food the village has, it’s not a terribly large feast, but it's a feast none the less. There’s singing and dancing, music played on hand carved instruments, and a bonfire. Merlin takes the younger children aside and shows them some of his magic tricks with the fire. Arthur’s favorite is the golden dragon that hovers gently over the flames and shimmers brilliantly in the dark.
As the feast winds down, Merlin and Arthur sneak off to the edge of the forest and make love under the stars. Arthur’s never felt closer to Merlin, and he doesn’t think he’s ever loved him more than he does that night.
They sleep soundly under Victor and Ella’s roof until Merlin wakes in the morning screaming.
“An island,” Merlin gasps. “An entire island. Somewhere in the Caribbean. One minute everyone’s sleeping, and then the next the entire island is flooding. Everyone’s running in terror, screaming, but there’s nowhere to go. The whole place is flooding. Everything…everyone, just…just gone. Dead. In a matter of minutes. Thousands of lives just…”
Arthur pulls Merlin close, but he’s already sobered up, grim. “Arthur…we have to stop It.”
“We will,” Arthur says firmly, “Sybil said we have the power. Combined, we’re unstoppable.”
And he believes it.
He’s just not sure if Merlin believes it, too.
...
The closer they get to Camelot, the quieter Merlin gets. Arthur knows he's upset and tired from the visions, which haven’t stopped since they left Victor and Ella’s village. He just doesn’t know what more he can beyond comforting him after the images stop, quelling his shaking. When Morgana suffered the same, Gaius concocted a draught for her, but something tells Arthur that a simple potion won’t stave off Merlin’s visions. Not when they are sent from an ancient being like Malus. Arthur has to accept that until they defeat It, there’s nothing to be done.
One morning, as they sit quietly and finish their breakfast, Merlin tells him that they’ll reach the cabin by nightfall. But first, he needs to take a detour.
“I must first stop by the Crystal Caves. Sibyl told me that a friend would be able to help us.”
Arthur says, brow raised, “This friend...does he happen to be a dragon, Merlin?” But he isn’t accusing, only jesting.
Merlin grins widely, every truth told a weight off his shoulders. “Yes, I had a feeling he'd be the one to help us. Well, we should get moving then. We have about a week to come up with a plan.”
