Ever Mine by BlackMamba 

This is the type of thing your father says can never hurt you. The darkness is heavy on her chest, and thick, so thick it’s like breathing in mud and Gwen has the urge to push against it, which is ridiculous really because you can’t touch the dark. And it’s not supposed to scare you either.

It’s a whisper, a distinct but audible breath of words against her ear and she sits upright, covers pulled to her chin and stares at the empty room with her heart lodged firmly inside her throat. Her breath is visible, icy puffs of fog on what’s supposed to be a warm summer night. It’s this last bit that makes Gwen crawl from the bed and fumble for her robes. She’s pulling it over her shoulders when she hears the voice again.

"Who are you?" She reaches for candles but her hands are trembling so they slip from her fingers. Now’s not to the time to be clumsy. Now’s the time for courage and light, light which she craves so desperately she’s nearly weeping as she sinks to her knees to retrieve them.

"Please don’t kill me." She’s mumbling as she reaches beneath her bed. "Please, I don’t want to die." She exhales another icy breath when her fingers make contact. This time her grip is firm and she lights it quickly, bathing the room in flickering gold.

There’s nothing there. She knew there was nothing there but the room’s suddenly warmer, the muddy air replaced with something thinner. And there are no more whispers. Just the memory of someone’s breath against her cheek.

~

"Merlin, are you saying the castle is haunted?"

"I’m saying something woke me up last night, something—evil. Or not, I just know it wasn’t there. Something whispered in my ear that wasn’t there."

~

The smell of flowers is so strong that Arthur’s choking, roses mixed with dandelions and lavender. Like he’s drowning in them, watery petals clogging his nose and throat until he sits up in bed, waving his arms in air as though he’s clawing his way to the surface.

"Who’s there!" His voice echoes in the empty chamber. He throws the blanket from his legs and is stunned by the sudden chill against his bare feet. The fire must have gone out. He likely has Merlin to thank for that.

It hits as soon as his feet touch the ground, a tightening in his chest as though something’s reaching inside to squeeze his heart. Arthur stumbles and falls to his knees, breathing flowers again as the hand squeezes tighter and tighter.

There’s no one there. There’s no one there but him.

~

"What exactly did this ghost say to you?"

"I’m not sure I remember."

"Merlin—"

"Gaius I don’t know. They were just whispers, I could barely understand them."

"Are you sure there were only whispers?"

~

The memory’s unraveled like a dream and Gwen’s convinced herself that it was one. Nightmares tend to linger after you’re awake and she’s so sure that she’s through the worst of it that she doesn’t leave the candles burning. This is a new night, a different darkness. She’s opened the window to let in the summer breeze.

And then she’s crying, sobbing actually, fat tears that drip down her chin and stain her linens. She wants to wipe them away (Gwen never cries, not unless she means it) but her arms are too heavy. She’s too sad to even move.

It doesn’t frighten her this time. The whisper is close enough to feel it’s lips against her skin but she’s still not frightened. There’s just longing, a want that’s so sharp and visceral she’d like to pull whatever it is out of the air and grip it tight, as tight as she can so it won’t leave her.

She’s so very tired of being alone.

~

"They’re called Mac-Talla."

"Echoes then?"

"Yes, echoes. Not spirits, or not what you and I think of spirits anyway."

"I don’t understand, echoes of what?"

"Not what Merlin. Who?"

~

Two nights have passed before Arthur realizes it’s a woman. This calms him somewhat, in spite of his fear (yes, he is very much afraid) and when he hears her this time he doesn’t yell as he’s done before. The cloying smell of flowers fills the air and he struggles to breathe, waits for the scent to die down again. It must be magic but he can’t fathom any nefarious motives behind whispering in the dark.

It doesn’t frighten him this time, does the opposite in fact. His skin warms in spite of the chill and the air trembles around him, vibrating with some sort of energy and a more pungent smell than flowers. It seeps into his skin, under his skin is more like it, stroking, it’s stroking him from the inside until he’s hard and ready, reaching out to grasp at air.

He’s sure that if he lifts his hips she’ll be there, whomever she is, he’ll be sheathed inside her body, warm, even warmer than the lips that have fastened onto his neck. Which is absurd because he’s alone. There’s no one there but him.

The tightening in his chest is back but this time it’s not so much squeezing as a dull ache, rhythmic pangs there in the center. Arthur’s never been sentimental but if he were it’d feel like heartbreak.

~

"So these are echoes of words that haven’t been said yet?"

"It’s much more complicated than that but in essence, yes. That’s why they sound like whispers, they’ve traveled a great deal of time to get back to us."

"But if they’re just sounds how could I feel it? My room turned to ice and it touched me, I felt it touch me right here—"

"A Mac-Talla is much more than just sound. It’s living emotion, energy and time fused into one being. Only a very powerful sorcerer could accomplish such a thing, one who could bend time itself."

"Bend time. Like maybe someone who sees the future in her dreams."

"Merlin—"

"Gaius, you know what she can do."

"Yes…yes, I do."

~

She’s choking on vomit and ashes.

The heat’s unbearable and she rips the covers from her body but it just keeps getting worse, like flames licking at her skin. It’s spreading over her legs, the tips of her fingers and now her stomach. She opens her eyes but she’s blinded by light and smoke.

It’s creeping higher, the smell of singed flesh fills her nostrils and she can hear them cheering, calling her name, Morgana, because they’re happy she’s dying. She can feel that too, they’re so very glad she’s burning alive.

She sits up in bed and stares into her own eyes. Her wall is a mirror and her image is whispering.

Morgana whispers back.

"Don’t scream."

~

"So how do I get rid of it?"

"You give it what it wants. A Mac-Talla’s just a fragment, one piece of a whole. If it’s speaking to you it must want you to say something back."

"Say something back?"

"Yes."

"That’s it?"

"Well I wish I could make it more exciting for you Merlin, but there you have it. Now, what exactly did it say to you?"

"I told you, I’m not sure—"

"Wretched liar, out with it."

"It called me a spark. There, are you happy? It said ‘you are the spark.’ I have no idea what that means."

"Well, just think a bit Merlin, what does a spark normally do?"

"Well. I guess it…starts a fire."

~

The tears threaten again but she blinks them back, even though the depression is weighing her down like rocks. She wants to crawl into the bed and wait until it passes, until the man’s voice (has it always been this familiar?) slides away again, but she doesn’t. She’s stronger than this, she always has been. And Gwen is filled with the sudden conviction that she is the one who will end this, not be saved but be the savior.

Her breath is icy fog again and she closes her eyes when it touches her arm with cold fingers. They grow warmer the longer they linger and again the fear is gone, but so is the sadness. It touches her cheek and she actually smiles, because it’s tender, so very, very soft.

She whispers back.

"Just you."

~

Arthur hasn’t slept in a week and the sight of Morgana and Gwen giggling in front of him causes more irritation than it should. They’re rested, cheeks rosy and eyes alert as they poke fun at his dark circles and ashen pallor.

He can’t remember what’s kept him awake. He’d say it was a nightmare but such things have never bothered him.

"You should visit Gaius. Perhaps he could prepare a sleep draught."

Morgana raises an eyebrow and nudges Gwen’s arm with her elbow. Gwen does that annoying thing where she looks at him without looking at him and predictably agrees with her mistress. "I’m sure it could help."

"I’ll take it under advisement."

They turn around when his father enters and lower their chattering to soft whispers. He tries to focus but bits of their conversation drift towards him, broken pieces of words and phrases. Morgana laughs and Gwen quickly whispers a warning to be quiet.

She smells like the flowers she fetches each morning, roses, lavender and whatever else she happens to find. Gwen reaches up to brush back a curl that’s fallen from its clasp but he beats her to it, takes the strand between his fingers and smoothes it behind one ear. She’s too startled not to meet his eyes this time.

He whispers back.

"And you are mine."

The End