Dark Merlin: The Man Called Emrys

XIV

GASPING, HE SPRANG UPRIGHT frantically glancing from left to right as he panted heavily. Someone plopped down in front of him and his first instinct was to shout and do everything he could to get away from them. "Get off me!" He shoved their hand away, but after a long minute of panic, the voice finally began to register.

"Merlin! Merlin, it's me! It's your mother!"

Merlin looked up and found his mother's worried gaze. She gripped his wrists tightly and forcefully kept him from flailing. Feeling his heart pound against his chest, he smiled. "Mother?" Taking in another quick glance, he scanned his surroundings slower. He wasn't in the dark torture chamber that often plagued his dreams, but found himself lying on his old bed, a well lit fire lighting up the darkened chamber. He let out a quick chuckle. "I'm still me!"

Mother furrowed her brow. "What? Of course your—" 

"How long was I asleep?" He peered around noticing how dark it had suddenly become.

She looked towards the fire before back at Merlin. "Night has just fallen."

"So, the whole day," Merlin sighed, running a hand down his face.

"Merlin." Mother placed a hand on his knees. "What's going on? You said you needed my help." She knew him too well. Knowing he had magic, Merlin often had stranger things happen to him then most of the village children growing up.

Pushing the covers off his legs, he shifted to the side placing his feet on the ground. Now sitting beside his mother, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and rubbed his forehead—the pounding was still there, but not as strong as earlier. He let out a sigh and slowly turned his head, making eye contact with Mother. "I do need help," he said softly. "But there's nothing you can do." He rubbed his hands together and gazed into the fire. "I don't think there's anything anyone can do." He rubbed his eyes. "It was a mistake coming here." He lowered his hands.

Mother ran her fingers through his hair and he closed his eyes. In the darkness, he could almost see Emrys clawing away at what remained of the barrier keeping him back. "Merlin, please tell me what's wrong," she said tenderly.

Merlin felt tears fill his eyes and he shook his head. "I failed," he choked. "There's no possible way for me to ever be free of him."

"Who?" Mother pressed.

Merlin looked back up at his mother, his bottom lip quivering. "Emrys," he whispered. "The darker part of me." He watched Mother's face as her expression went blank. "You had to have known," he continued. "Surely when I was young there were times where I seemed different."

Mother averted her gaze as if to be thinking. "There were ... occasions." She returned her concerned look and shook her head. "I just hoped ..." She trailed off.

Her words peaked Merlin's interest and he twisted his body to face her more directly. "You hoped what?"

Mother shook her head and chuckled. "Oh, nothing. It can't be." She stood up and walked away, headed for the window above the two seat table. She crossed one arm over her chest, grabbing the bicep of her other arm as she fingered with her free hand the necklace hanging around her neck.

Merlin stood up, a wave of dizziness washing over him as he did so. The thumping in his head suddenly grew louder and more intense as he took a few stumbling steps her way. "You know something. Don't you?" She didn't answer him. "Mother?"

Mother finally turned around, still fingering her necklace nervously. He immediately knew something was wrong. She always messed with that necklace when something was wrong—or to be more precise—whenever the situation had to do with his father. A silver ring. It wasn't fancy, and you would barely make any money off selling the thing, but it did have some value. It was Father's. He had left it with her the day he had to leave her and Merlin to keep them safe. Only, Merlin hadn't know that at the time. He had hated the man growing up for abandoning them. It wasn't until years later that Mother had finally opened up about his father Balinor and the true purpose behind him leaving.