Merlyn's Last Dream

Queen of Hearts P3

The bells had tolled through the night, but Merlyn couldn't say she was surprised that she was yet to be found. If any of the guards recognised her, she'd genuinely be rather impressed, but luckily, as she hurried through the corridors, nobody spared her a second glance. Quite frankly, that seemed rather problematic: she was, as far as they were concerned, a stranger wandering through the castle. She'd expected to be stopped at least once.

Relying heavily on a walking stick that she'd borrowed from Gaius, she could hear the indistinct mutterings of the prince as she approached his chambers. Arthur, it seemed, had been let out of his room. Apparently Uther had trusted him to lead the search for her but, judging by the way he was quietly asking the guards to search the grain stores and abandoned towers, she couldn't say he'd been the greatest choice. Then again, she was hardly going to complain.

With a shuddering breath, Merlyn hobbled as fast as she could, which is to say, quite slowly, towards Arthur's rooms. She could only hope that he'd caught a glimpse of her as she made her way over to the bed, Gaius' poultice clutched tightly in her palm.

Sticking out her hand, waving it ceremoniously above the pillow, she started to chant, her incantations little more than fantasy. Arthur wouldn't know the difference between real magic and this poor imitation of the art; as she glanced over her shoulder, she was amused to see the prince pointing his sword in her vague direction. The witch was certain that she had him fooled.

She continued to chant, waiting to feel the point of Arthur's blade digging into her back.

"Show yourself." the prince ordered. "Who are you?"

Merlyn hadn't thought this far ahead.

"I am..." she trailed off, trying to think of something clever, spinning around dramatically in an attempt to appear a little more daunting. "Dragoon, the Great."

Arthur didn't seem to be impressed. Then again, he'd probably met a thousand dignataries with equally pompous titles.

"Is it you who planted the poultice in my bed?" the prince questioned, eying the small pouch still clutched in her hand. Merlyn thought that it was a stupid question, but bit back her retort. She needed to focus on her freedom.

"You have caught me red-handed. I have no choice but to confess." she sighed, trying to seem disappointed.

Arthur touched his blade to her chest, but she didn't recoil, fairly certain he wouldn't run her through.

"An innocent girl is being hunted because of your actions." he stated, anger flaring in his eyes. At a different time, she would be flattered by the length of that unadulterated hatred; perhaps she would have time to appreciate it when it wasn't aimed in her direction.

"I suppose your father will have to release her now that you've caught me." she said, refusing to rely on the prince's intellect, but Arthur wasn't paying any attention.

He dug his sword further into her front, the tip almost slicing through her tunic.

"I should run you through where you stand." he said coldly, danger running through his tone.

Ah.

"I really wouldn't do that if I were you, because if you do that..." Merlyn had never been very good at coming up with excuses. She hesitated, hoping to find inspiration in the warm air.

"You will never know of my plan."

Arthur seemed to debate whether he cared enough to keep her alive. After a little deliberation, the pressure from his sword lessened fractionally.

"What plan?"

"Exactly!" Merlyn shouted, glad that her life had been spared for a little longer. "That's why you can't run me through."