154AN: Here's the edited version of this story. To new readers, I hope you enjoy what I have written. To re-readers, welcome back!
Beta: SummerQuill
Changes: Just a touch-up.
King
In Which Elvis Plays His Part In Arthur's Destiny
1976-1990
Merlin's most memorable encounter with singing went thus:
It was fall in Ealdor. The harvest had been brought in and most of the winter plants planted, so not much was left to be done except wait for the snow to set in.
Merlin and Will, both 13, had been unofficially elected as the leaders of The 10-14-Year-Old Troublemakers, and it just happened to be Will's turn to choose where they would go and what they would do. That is why seven boys and one girl found themselves crouching in the bushes outside the cobbler's home, not long after dark.
Will turned to Merlin and uttered the infamous words.
"I dare you," said he, "to go to one of the windows and serenade Violetta."
Violetta was the cobbler's middle daughter, also 13, and although she was considered to be the prettiest girl in the village, Merlin had always found he held little interest for her. But, a dare is a dare, and five other boys (and one girl) were watching. To refuse would have been social suicide.
And so he found himself standing in front of the back window where the likelihood of anyone seeing was nil, and singing a famous ballad he had learned by heart.
It was right then that he made a horrible discovery.
To sing with several other boys whose voices were also cracking was one thing. To sing by oneself, in front of a window of an occupied house with who knows how many people listening, while your voice was going through what he later deemed 'the death-throes of puberty', was something else altogether.
By the time the cobbler stepped outside to see what the noise was, he saw no one. This was both good and bad; it was good because then Merlin was momentarily spared the shame of explaining his presence. It was bad because Merlin was still there, and still singing. What had happened was, he had accidentally placed a please-please-PLEASE-don't-notice-mespell on himself out of sheer embarrassment. It took him three hours to get it off, and by that time there were search parties, and stories of a ghost with Merlin's voice.
It was about that time that he made a vow never to sing again.
He grew older, moved to Camelot, gained immortality and the ability to see the future in great detail. Arthur became king, and they built a kingdom across the whole of Albion. During these years, he broke his vow very little.
It was not until he was almost thirty-two that something changed. He was sitting in Arthur's study, and two were going over reports on a magical creature attacking in the north. Everything seemed fine.
Merlin dropped his papers with a thump, his eyes going wide and distant. Arthur, although he had seen this rarely enough, knew Merlin was having a vision, and so said nothing until his friend blinked and shook his head.
"Merlin?"
Merlin looked at him curiously. He said two words.
"Yasmin Debufort."
Then he turned and strode out, leaving behind a very confused Arthur.
Even then, Merlin did not know exactly who Yasmin Debufort was, he had simply heard her name, and known she was somehow important . . . but he didn't know how.
Again, he grew older. Centuries passed; he mourned the deaths of hundreds, but none more than Arthur, and Gwen, and all his first friends. He never became one instant older than 21.
When World War I had happened, he realized why the name was important. It was in that moment that he knew he would have to change his mind about music.
Why?
Because Yasmin Debufort, being a young lady from a wealthy family in Cardiff, loved nothing more than music, and any who cherished a hope of becoming friends with her had to love it too. Most specifically, they had to love Elvis Presley.
Merlin had to catch Yasmin attention, and hold it. He contracted piano lessons.
From the years 1922 to 1976 he soaked up all kinds of music, classical, rock, romance, everything he could get his hands on, but especially the music of Elvis, slipping record after record into his gramophone.
His hard work paid off. One day he was literally startled to discover that, after approximately fifteen hundred years of indifference, music was the most beautiful thing to him.
And not a moment too soon; there was a concert in America he was attending. Time to finally meet her face to face.
He enjoyed the concert immensely (miracles do happen) but it was there that he 'accidentally' bumped into her. She was barely 14 at the time, a sweet-faced, blonde-haired girl; he may have looked too old for her, but after he struck up a conversation, she seemed to find him intriguing.
"Have I ever met you before?" she asked. "You seem familiar."
Merlin made a crack about lame pickup-lines (some things never change) and conveniently forgot to mention that he had met her before - after she had died the first time, when the sorceress Morgause had opened the gates of Avalon and pulled her through to converse with her son. Of course, then her name had been Ygraine. But she didn't need to know that.
As they left the concert hall together, chatting like old friends, he tensed imperceptibly. This was the part he dreaded.
A dark shape moved in the shadows. "Hey you!" the shadow said in harsh American tones. "Give me your wallet!"
Yasmin squeaked and instinctively grasped Merlin's arm. She was trembling.
Merlin raised an eyebrow (shades of Gaius . . . really, he needed to stop channeling his old guardian). "Um, I'm going to have to go with no."
The shadow moved and materialized into a man, medium-sized but strong. He glared at the two, taking in the skinny dark-haired man and young blond girl. Although what he was thinking at that moment will never be fully known, he gestured and other shadows came forward, five in all.
"I'm sorry," said the man, and he sounded like it too. "But we're desperate." He nodded. "Take it."
Merlin simply smiled frostily. "Sure you will." He knew these men would never find out about the fact he knew almost every fighting style there was (he had lived in almost every civilization established after the 6th century, after all). No, it wouldn't come to that.
The fight only lasted a couple of seconds; a hand grabbed Yasmin's arm and she struggled. It's funny really, how moments of desperation can bring out talents you never show to anyone.
Yasmin's eyes flashed gold. The man went flying.
Merlin's eyes followed suit. The leader collapsed like a pole-axed cow; the rest of the men, obviously frightened and now leaderless, made a hasty retreat.
There is a moment of silence. Merlin dared not turn, waiting for his companion to speak first.
First she emitted a rather strangled choking noise, rather like she had a hair caught in her throat, and the next second she said, "You can do it too?"
He relaxed and looked at her. Those big blue eyes, so much like her son's, glittered with terrified tears. He could almost feel the hope radiating out of her every pore. Growing up in a small village where he had been the only magic user, living next to a kingdom where even the suspicion of sorcery could get you killed, he knew exactly how she felt.
Very, extremely, absolutely alone.
"Yes," he said softly, "Yes, I can."
It took two hours to convince her parents he should be the one to teach her the fine art of magic. Two hours of begging, cajoling, crying, and arguing. Finally, they sighed, rolled their eyes fondly, and relented.
"Three days a week, maximum," Mrs. Debufort said.
"And Taylor"—that was Yasmin's older brother—"must go with you," said Mr. Debufort.
Taylor, being fifteen and a boy, rolled his eyes and groaned loudly.
Mrs. Debufort pulled Merlin aside after dinner and smiled gratefully. "Thank you for doing this, Mr. Eggleston. If you only knew—but you probably do, don't you?"
Merlin cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow in question.
The woman smiled. "Yasmin's had a hard time with this magic business. Ever since we found out, we've tried to help, but how do you help something like this? We were all out of our depths. I was about to give up hope, thinking there was no one like her out there." A curious sideways glance at him. "Do you know, er, if there are any others? Magic users, I mean?"
Merlin simply smiled.
And so began Yasmin Debufort's instruction. Merlin knew magic had become weak and diluted through the years, so he was pleasantly surprised to find this young girl was extremely powerful by modern standards. Nothing compared to Merlin, of course, and a novice when set alongside the memories of Nimueh and Morgause, but still, he was impressed.
Also, the more time he spent with her, the more he compared Yasmin with Arthur. They didn't just look alike (except she was, of course, shorter and much more feminine), in some ways she acted like him. The old insults would never have stuck—she was too ladylike and gentle for that—but in terms of heart, in terms of generosity, in terms of love and the friendship she and he shared, they were exactly the same.
The two bonded over their love of music, listening to Elvis' greatest hits, slamming out tunes on guitars and pianos and violins, going to concerts and sometimes even singing themselves. Merlin taught her about the music of magic, the hum of life and how to get in touch with it. He showed her defensive spells and offensive spells, magical theory and magic in the real world. He pulled her to sites of great magic (Stonehenge, among other places. He had wanted to take her to the Isle of the Blessed, but that was in Avalon), pushed her to learn dates of sorcerous significance, and even informed her of his immortality. Not his real name, though. Hopefully he would always be Mervin Eggleston to her.
The one time he caught her looking at a book that contained information about the whole 'life-for-a-life' spell, he very calmly took it from her and said she would never need to know that sort of thing.
Merlin wished it was the truth.
In this manner several years passed. They became close, she developed a crush on him, he told her he wasn't interested, she went to school and graduated and learned magic like a fiend and became very good at healing spells, and thus, she became a nurse, always, always, always thinking of others—Just like Ygraine, isn't it?—and then, when she was 20, the invitation came.
The invitation was from a former apprentice of Merlin's, one David McCarthy. David had gone into politics, and was now a very wealthy, well-known man. He was planning a gala, and wanted his mentor, now 'younger' than he was, to attend.
"I'm assuming you have a new apprentice," the postscript said. "Go ahead and bring him, too."
Yasmin squealed with delight at the thought. She had always loved parties. For the occasion, she picked out a lovely blue dress that matched her eyes perfectly, and her teacher commented that he had never seen her so vain.
She smacked him for that one.
Merlin was rather dreading the gala. Blessed as he was with the gift of foresight, he knew what would happen there.
David's house was ostentatious, but then again, so was David, an intelligent gentleman with a loud, laughing voice and tall figure. He and his wife stood to receive the guests, chatting amicably and greeting old friends. On entering the house, you would find yourself in a splendid hall where temporary servants took your coat and ushered you into the main gathering room. Chandeliers and candles, drapes and tables loaded with foods of all shapes, sizes and textures. Yasmin was in heaven.
Mrs. McCarthy had been watching her. Though the good woman knew little of Merlin, other than he had taught her husband magic and been like a second father to him, she knew David thought the world of him. And so, she decided to befriend this young lady, so innocent and sweet.
Mrs. McCarthy smiled. She had just the thing.
Yasmin felt a hand on her arm and turned. "My dear," Mrs. McCarthy said. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."
Yasmin followed. She was led over to a young man that sat by the side, momentarily alone, a young man with dark hair and dreamy eyes.
Merlin, from where he was talking to a French politician's wife, saw it all. He saw as the man stood and took Yasmin's hand and kissed it, saw her slight blush and his soft smile. He knew Mrs. McCarthy was introducing him as Ulric Peterson.
And so it begins, he thought. Then, When did I become so cliche?
For the next several months, Merlin spent more time alone as Yasmin and Ulric went gallivanting all over the country. He wasn't resentful, it gave him some much needed peace. But dread filled him every time he saw them together.
In less than a year, he was wishing them joy. The date was set for late spring, and he watched fondly as Yasmin walked about on a cloud of happiness. The Debufort family was ecstatic over this piece of good news, calling florists and caterers by the dozen, setting up pavilions and tables in their spacious backyard. Ulric's oldest friend, Dan Caswell, was to be the best man, and Merlin felt a bit of curiosity at seeing him and his wife, Laura. Most of the reincarnations at least shared the first letter of their names with their previous counterparts, but not these two, otherwise their names would have been something like Greg and Valerie.
He shook that line of thinking away. No time, now. He had sealed everyone's destinies by going to that Elvis concert. There would be no turning back.
Merlin sat quietly during the whole ceremony, sandwiched between Taylor, now a fine RAF pilot, and a sobbing Mrs. Debufort. He didn't think he had seen any two happier people than Yasmin and Ulric, unless it was their son and his wife on their wedding day. The previous king and queen had eyes only for each other, and barely looked away until they had sealed their love with a long kiss.
Everyone clapped as the new Mr. and Mrs. Peterson walked away to take pictures.
Later, after dinner and toasts and cake-cutting, Yasmin pulled Merlin into a tight hug. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for everything."
He closed his eyes to hold his tears in. Don't thank me! he thought desperately. I've ruined your life. You just don't know it yet.
In his deepest heart, he acknowledged that this was not quite true. Ulric and Yasmin would have met anyway, sometime. She would have learned magic anyway, in her time; all he had done was speed up the process. But Merlin was nothing if not a martyr.
So he simply hugged her back and said, "You're welcome."
After the wedding, Merlin saw very little of his apprentice. Ulric didn't exactly approve of magic (no surprises there), and she knew about as much as she could anyway, so more education would have been useless. They went their separate ways, one to her work at the hospital, the other to his study of what he called 'magical science' (Gaius would have been proud). Two or three letters a year were exchanged, they would ring each other up at holidays, a visit maybe twice a year.
But no matter how infrequent their visits were, Merlin was not surprised when Yasmin showed up on his doorstep a couple weeks before her 27th birthday.
For a few moments, they simply stood staring silently, the pale immortal warlock and the golden-haired queen. Then Yasmin spoke.
"I suppose you know why I've come."
Merlin nodded slowly. She looked away, down the street.
"May I come in? To talk about it?"
There was a second where Merlin considered shutting the door in her face, but it would do lots of harm and absolutely no good, so he stepped aside and the young woman entered. He led the way to his workroom and there he saw her steel herself. Oh yes, she was ready.
Or was she? Did she really know what she was asking?
"I know what you're going to say," she intoned rapidly, before he could so much as open his mouth. "You think I shouldn't do this, that it will do more harm than good. Aren't you?"
He shrugged. "Not really. What I was going to say was I'm not going to do it."
She deflated. "Wha — you haven't heard me out yet!"
"Never said I would. Don't need to anyway, I know what you'll say."
"Mervin, please!" she begged. "Please, listen." For a second neither said anything, and then he nodded. "Thank you."
Yasmin turned around to look at the various magical objects on the clean white walls surrounding her. Several deeps breaths later, she was ready again. "I love Ulric. He loves me. He does everything he can to make me happy. He respects me, brings me little gifts, cooks me dinner sometimes (though usually we have to throw it out), hugs me and kisses me and just. Loves. Me." This came through tightly gritted teeth. "I do what I can, but right here I have failed. He wants a son. I know this, he told me when we talked of children. 'Yasmin,' he said, 'you may have as many daughters as you want, but please, just give me one son.'" Yasmin shuddered. "Just one. The only major thing he's ever asked of me and I've failed!" She whipped around. "Ever since I was a child I've wanted to be a mother. A mother of my own children, that I've carried and labored for." Her face squinted in something very like agony, and her eyes sought Merlin's, beseeching. "Am I to be defeated by my own body?"
He said nothing.
Here her hope began to fade. The look on his face was rather stony. But she knew of his soft heart. Maybe, just maybe . . .
"I'm begging you. I saw that book, I know what you could do. I know you can help me."
"Then you also know of the consequences?" he interrupted. "You know what will happen to you."
"It's my choice."
"Your husband might think differently."
Her eyes shot closed. "I know, I know, but Mervin, I can see him."
A strange feeling shot through Merlin's aching heart, for more than one reason.
"See . . . who?" he whispered. The silence in the workroom was absolute as Yasmin trembled with the intensity of her longing.
"Him. My son," was the barely audibly answer. "I can see him when I close my eyes, in my dreams at night. I just know he'll be a son Ulric could be proud of. Someone who would replace me better than anyone."
Not likely, was Merlin's skeptical thought. His thoughts wandered to his childhood, spent hiding his gifts and shrinking away from strangers, just because Uther had been willing to mess with the balance of life so he could get a son.
But really, even remembering this, he might have said yes. Except there was the small fact that he was a Seer. And being a Seer, he knew that no matter which answer he gave, the result would be basically the same.
Yasmin would die. Arthur would live.
"No," he said.
This answer broke his heart, and stomped on it, and as soon as it passed his lips he wished he could take it back. But Merlin had spent almost his whole life picking between two awful choices, and saying no would maybe-possibly-probably-certainly turn out just a little bit better than saying yes.
"I can't. I simply can't do it, Yasmin. I can't be responsible for your death."
Yasmin was silent for several seconds, her eyes finding the edge of the table, her cheeks flushing (with anger? Or sadness?), and then she swallowed.
"I'm sorry, Merlin. I shouldn't have done that. It was unfair of me to ask this of you. You've always been very kind to me, how can I expect you to take my life?" She turned away. "I'll call you later."
Will you?
"Let me get you some cake first," said he. "Please. You must be hungry."
A second of hesitation on her part. She didn't want to leave on bad terms anymore than he did. "Alright. But I can't stay long."
The cake took on a few minutes to prepare, even moving as slowly and deliberately as he was.
How much longer? Ah yes. Let's go.
"Here."
She took the plate, but their eyes didn't meet.
He could catch a vibe of her hidden feelings.
The uppermost one was guilt.
The next was confusion.
She's not even sure why she's doing this. His face remained expressionless, but inside he was seething. Why must destiny fool around with everything. And don't tell me it's for the best!
But it was for the best. He knew that. He had seen it. It was not really destiny that was pushing Yasmin towards her own demise, but her inner feelings, and a sense that something would not be right if she didn't do this.
And Merlin had had enough experience with trying to trick destiny to know that even he, a hardened fighter, could do little to destroy it. Yasmin stood no chance.
And if she left with her bag a little fuller, what was he to do? If she both hated and justified herself for stealing that book with information on giving life and taking it away and exchanges, well, I couldn't really say, could I?
"Hello?"
"Hey, Mervin? It's Taylor, you know, Yasmin's brother?"
"Ah, yes, how are you Taylor?"
"I'm fine, Yasmin just asked me to call you."
"Oh? Why?"
"She's gone into labor, and Ulric's on a business trip. She wants you to be here."
". . ."
"Mervin?"
"I'll be there in ten minutes."
As soon as he got through the front doors, he was running. Even then, he feared he would be too late. He wanted to see her, just one last time.
The fact was, Yasmin was not powerful enough to make the spell work properly. Oh sure, she did everything correctly, she got pregnant, but to her utmost horror, her child, her precious son, was stillborn.
Notwithstanding, Merlin had learned long ago to not underestimate the power of a mother's love and longing.
The doctor, for some unfathomable reason that would probably turn out to be the influence of fate, had gently placed the now-clean baby into Yasmin's arms and left them alone. This meant that no one was there to witness the event.
Merlin felt it, though. And the technician on the fourth floor, he felt it. A small gathering of men and women about two miles away felt it, not to mention the mathematics teacher in the nearby primary school, the old woman in a nursing home, and five others.
An enormous force surged from Yasmin's hospital room two seconds before Merlin skidded through the door.
Yasmin slumped forward, the baby slipping. Merlin lunged, one hand grabbing her shoulder, the other steadying the infant.
Carefully, he lifted Yasmin's head. She blinked blearily at him.
Then, she smiled. Just slightly. The baby started to squirm and whimper.
"It worked . . ." she murmured. "Arthur . . . my Arthur . . ."
The doctors and nurses streamed into the room, and Merlin was shunted out. He stood, looking through the open doorway, as the medical professionals struggled to save her life.
It wasn't until they all stepped back and the doctor called the time of death (8:14 AM, November 16th, 1990), that Merlin realized he somehow held Arthur in his arms.
Yasmin had, in her desperation, literally forced her life out of herself and pushed it into Arthur. If Merlin hadn't known it was going to happen, he would have been amazed.
Now, looking down at the Once and Future King and his old friend, then through the window at the lifeless body of his apprentice, he felt nothing but sorrow.
It was two days later. Merlin was sitting in his kitchen. Anyone watching him might think he had turned to stone, he sat so still, his hands clenched tightly on top of the table and eyes staring straight ahead.
The phonograph was playing:
'Love me tender,
Love me sweet,
Never let me go . . .'
Actually, there was one movement: the tears that slid silently down Merlin's face.
"One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain."
— Bob Marley
Despite having gone through about a thousand readthroughs by me and two betas, it is still very possible that there are mistakes, so feel free to point anything out – good or bad.
Please tell me what you thought about it. I welcome any feedback.