Fic: The Coming of Arthur: An Interlude (3/6), for lolryne ♥
Title: The Coming of Arthur: An Interlude (3/6)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur, established relationship, but Arthur knows nothing of Merlin's magic
Summary: What happens after the last scene of 3.12.
Warnings: violence, angst, spoilers for Merlin 3.12
Disclaimer: I disclaim.
Author's Notes: This gift for lolryne is supposed to ease her waiting for episode 3.13! It is my take on what could possibly happen between 3.12 and 3.13, and will be posted in six parts, one part on each day that we spent waiting. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Also, apologies for the lame title. It was late (hey, lame excuses go with lame titles, right? ;))
No one sees it coming, neither friend nor foe.
They are all thrown off their feet, an unbelievable force driving them to the ground, light, brighter than the strongest sunlight, blinding, burning them. Arthur feels something touch him, then filling him, exploring, testing. He could swear that he can feel long fingers caressing his cheek, and lips touching his for the mere blink of an eye. “Destiny”, a familiar voice whispers.
It is gone as fast as it came. Arthur is back on the ground of the forest, his whole body aching, his leg screaming with pain as he pushes himself up, frantically raising his sword to meet the next of Morgause's immortal soldiers.
(He still refuses to call them Morgana's. He even refuses to think her name. There is a grief that can't be spoken.)
But they are all gone, vanished. Next to him are only Gwaine and Elyan, both of them sitting up with bewildered looks on their faces. Gaius is already on his knees, shaking a lifeless body - no. No no no no!
For a moment, Arthur is frozen. His insides are turning to ice, so cold have they become, so hollow. Loss renders him speechless, helpless, painless. There is nothing. Nothing at all.
Until he sees Merlin's chest moving.
Arthur scrambles to Gaius's side, grabbing his servant's shoulders. They are trembling under his grip, and bruises are forming on his friend's face. “Gaius! What happened?!”
“I don't know, Sire”, the old man says, batting Arthur's hands away as he is running his own all over Merlin's body. “He … He must have gotten injured in the battle.”
There's no blood, Arthur thinks, so that's a good sign, right? He'll make it, right? But he dare not speak his thoughts aloud, because Gaius looks too worried, too pale - despair is on his face, in his hasty movements, his sharp breaths, as if Merlin were already dead.
Gwaine has joined them now. He puts a hand on Merlin's forehead and immediately recoils. “He is burning!”, he exlaims. “Burning hotter than I've ever seen a man do.”
A fever? Why a fever?
Arthur's brain wants him to make a connection, forcefully pushes him towards it, but he ignores it, instead focuses on the pain in his body and on the tremors running through Merlin's body. They soon turn into spasms, thrashing the servant's body around so hard that it takes Gwaine's and Arthur's combined force to hold him still.
“Gaius, what's going on?”, Arthur demands, hearing his own voice break. Gwaine looks at the physican expectantly, but the old man merely shakes his head, bites his lip. It takes Arthur a moment to realise that Gaius is holding back tears.
No. No no no no no no not Merlin!
“Sire. We have to move”, Elyan says, quietly but urgently, so much like his sister. Gwen. She is still back there. They have to save her! “I know of a place not far from here where I once hid from a group of knights. It will be safe for now.”
“Elyan is right, Sire”, says Gaius. “We cannot afford to linger. Your leg needs treatment, and so does Merlin's … wound.”
Arthur looks back, through the woods, towards Camelot. “I cannot go. What about Guinevere? What about my father?”
“Sire”, Gaius urges, “we are lucky to have made it out alive. If you go back now … all will have been for nothing.”
Still, Arthur hesitates, but it is Gwen's brother himself who convinces him: “Sire, my sister would never forgive us if we left a friend of her in such peril only to come to her rescue.”
He is right, of course. If they turned back now, they would leave Merlin to die. Arthur cannot bear the mere notion of that, even as every fibre of his being is protesting at the thought of leaving Guinevere behind.
So he leans down and scoops the trembling form of Merlin into his arms. His servant is so thin, so light. Why did Arthur never realise? Why did he never force his friend to eat more, train more, be prepared for a fight like this one?
The answer, of course, is obvious: Because he was never worthy of Merlin, of his entire people, to begin with. He swore to protect them, and he failed. How many of them lay dead because the cup had been taken from him? How many were now gone who had trusted their Prince to defend them? How many were dying, like Merlin, because they had been unwaveringly loyal to him?
Gods, how he failed them all.
Gwaine wants to take Merlin from him, arguing that Arthur is too weak, but the other man refuses. However useless he has proven to be, it is still his duty to care for his subjects. And the pain that overwhelms him on every step is a welcome punishment.
So they advance slowly: Elyan, supporting Gaius, leading the way through the dark. Then Arthur, carrying Merlin, limping like an old man. Last comes Gwaine, sword drawn, keeping watch.
They walk and walk. It seems an endless journey to Arthur, a sheer unbearable effort that appears to last forever. Every new step he believes to be the last one he can take, but years of training and iron discipline push him on. After a while - maybe half an hour, maybe seven, he cannot tell - Merlin starts mumbling to himself. He is still trembling madly, which does not make his weight any easier to carry. Arthur wants to lean down, wants to kiss these lips, wants to see these eyes open and hear that voice directed at him, mocking him, sneering at him, teasing him, laughing at him.
He knows that the only reason that no tears are spilling is because he has used them all up.
And they walk on and on, on and on. Arthur refuses to rest, despite Gaius's insistence that his leg requires it, despite Gwaine's countless offers to take over. No, he marches on, as if walking alone could cleanse him off all his failures, until finally his knees buckle. Gwaine is there to catch him, steady him, put him gently back onto his feet. “Mylord”, he says sincerely, “allow me to share your burden.”
It is the title that finally forces Arthur to cave in. Gwaine had never called him by any title. It is certainly ironic that he would begin to do so when Arthur is no longer Prince.
“Don't call me that”, he replies gruffly, then hands Merlin's fragile body to his knight, because Gwaine certainly is just that. Arthur would put a blade to his shoulder if he did not know so well that it would mean nothing to the other man. If he did not know so well that it was no longer his place to do so.
Now that Arthur is not focusing on Merlin anymore, his mind starts reeling. How did they escape? What was that bright light?
Sorcery. Of course, there is no other explanation. Only, who could have worked such a powerful spell? Who could have wiped thirty immortal man off the face of the earth? Who could succeed at what no sword, no spear, no axe could ever have achieved?
Arthur stumbles. Once more, his brain is screaming at him to think, to see something he is not seeing, something vital, essential, something his life may depend upon! That light, the magic, and Merlin, lying on the ground, Merlin, good as dead, Mer-!
It is all too much. Exhaustion takes over, his mind shutting him out, protecting him. Arthur loses consciousness in mid-step, collapsing like a child's puppet, thrown away, no longer needed, no longer of use. His last thought is that he may be dying.
He cannot even say that he cares much.
Arthur does not hear Gaius's and Gwaine's shouts. Does not feel Elyan catching him, carrying him. He sees neither how they finally reach the hideout, which turns out to be an abandoned hunting cabin of sorts, nor how the others place him and Merlin on the cabin's ground. Master and servant, both pale and unmoving, are close enough to touch, yet farther away from each other than they have ever been before.
Gwaine takes over first watch while Elyan lights a fire and helps Gaius.
Gaius, who kneels between Arthur and Merlin, his hopeless face showing all too clearly that he is attempting to bring back two men from the dead.
A/N: I will reply to your guys' awesome comments on the previous part tomorrow -- now I'm just too knackered (I'm in Australia, it's well past midnight here). Let me just say that they made my day! ♥
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur, established relationship, but Arthur knows nothing of Merlin's magic
Summary: What happens after the last scene of 3.12.
Warnings: violence, angst, spoilers for Merlin 3.12
Disclaimer: I disclaim.
Author's Notes: This gift for lolryne is supposed to ease her waiting for episode 3.13! It is my take on what could possibly happen between 3.12 and 3.13, and will be posted in six parts, one part on each day that we spent waiting. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Also, apologies for the lame title. It was late (hey, lame excuses go with lame titles, right? ;))
No one sees it coming, neither friend nor foe.
They are all thrown off their feet, an unbelievable force driving them to the ground, light, brighter than the strongest sunlight, blinding, burning them. Arthur feels something touch him, then filling him, exploring, testing. He could swear that he can feel long fingers caressing his cheek, and lips touching his for the mere blink of an eye. “Destiny”, a familiar voice whispers.
It is gone as fast as it came. Arthur is back on the ground of the forest, his whole body aching, his leg screaming with pain as he pushes himself up, frantically raising his sword to meet the next of Morgause's immortal soldiers.
(He still refuses to call them Morgana's. He even refuses to think her name. There is a grief that can't be spoken.)
But they are all gone, vanished. Next to him are only Gwaine and Elyan, both of them sitting up with bewildered looks on their faces. Gaius is already on his knees, shaking a lifeless body - no. No no no no!
For a moment, Arthur is frozen. His insides are turning to ice, so cold have they become, so hollow. Loss renders him speechless, helpless, painless. There is nothing. Nothing at all.
Until he sees Merlin's chest moving.
Arthur scrambles to Gaius's side, grabbing his servant's shoulders. They are trembling under his grip, and bruises are forming on his friend's face. “Gaius! What happened?!”
“I don't know, Sire”, the old man says, batting Arthur's hands away as he is running his own all over Merlin's body. “He … He must have gotten injured in the battle.”
There's no blood, Arthur thinks, so that's a good sign, right? He'll make it, right? But he dare not speak his thoughts aloud, because Gaius looks too worried, too pale - despair is on his face, in his hasty movements, his sharp breaths, as if Merlin were already dead.
Gwaine has joined them now. He puts a hand on Merlin's forehead and immediately recoils. “He is burning!”, he exlaims. “Burning hotter than I've ever seen a man do.”
A fever? Why a fever?
Arthur's brain wants him to make a connection, forcefully pushes him towards it, but he ignores it, instead focuses on the pain in his body and on the tremors running through Merlin's body. They soon turn into spasms, thrashing the servant's body around so hard that it takes Gwaine's and Arthur's combined force to hold him still.
“Gaius, what's going on?”, Arthur demands, hearing his own voice break. Gwaine looks at the physican expectantly, but the old man merely shakes his head, bites his lip. It takes Arthur a moment to realise that Gaius is holding back tears.
No. No no no no no no not Merlin!
“Sire. We have to move”, Elyan says, quietly but urgently, so much like his sister. Gwen. She is still back there. They have to save her! “I know of a place not far from here where I once hid from a group of knights. It will be safe for now.”
“Elyan is right, Sire”, says Gaius. “We cannot afford to linger. Your leg needs treatment, and so does Merlin's … wound.”
Arthur looks back, through the woods, towards Camelot. “I cannot go. What about Guinevere? What about my father?”
“Sire”, Gaius urges, “we are lucky to have made it out alive. If you go back now … all will have been for nothing.”
Still, Arthur hesitates, but it is Gwen's brother himself who convinces him: “Sire, my sister would never forgive us if we left a friend of her in such peril only to come to her rescue.”
He is right, of course. If they turned back now, they would leave Merlin to die. Arthur cannot bear the mere notion of that, even as every fibre of his being is protesting at the thought of leaving Guinevere behind.
So he leans down and scoops the trembling form of Merlin into his arms. His servant is so thin, so light. Why did Arthur never realise? Why did he never force his friend to eat more, train more, be prepared for a fight like this one?
The answer, of course, is obvious: Because he was never worthy of Merlin, of his entire people, to begin with. He swore to protect them, and he failed. How many of them lay dead because the cup had been taken from him? How many were now gone who had trusted their Prince to defend them? How many were dying, like Merlin, because they had been unwaveringly loyal to him?
Gods, how he failed them all.
Gwaine wants to take Merlin from him, arguing that Arthur is too weak, but the other man refuses. However useless he has proven to be, it is still his duty to care for his subjects. And the pain that overwhelms him on every step is a welcome punishment.
So they advance slowly: Elyan, supporting Gaius, leading the way through the dark. Then Arthur, carrying Merlin, limping like an old man. Last comes Gwaine, sword drawn, keeping watch.
They walk and walk. It seems an endless journey to Arthur, a sheer unbearable effort that appears to last forever. Every new step he believes to be the last one he can take, but years of training and iron discipline push him on. After a while - maybe half an hour, maybe seven, he cannot tell - Merlin starts mumbling to himself. He is still trembling madly, which does not make his weight any easier to carry. Arthur wants to lean down, wants to kiss these lips, wants to see these eyes open and hear that voice directed at him, mocking him, sneering at him, teasing him, laughing at him.
He knows that the only reason that no tears are spilling is because he has used them all up.
And they walk on and on, on and on. Arthur refuses to rest, despite Gaius's insistence that his leg requires it, despite Gwaine's countless offers to take over. No, he marches on, as if walking alone could cleanse him off all his failures, until finally his knees buckle. Gwaine is there to catch him, steady him, put him gently back onto his feet. “Mylord”, he says sincerely, “allow me to share your burden.”
It is the title that finally forces Arthur to cave in. Gwaine had never called him by any title. It is certainly ironic that he would begin to do so when Arthur is no longer Prince.
“Don't call me that”, he replies gruffly, then hands Merlin's fragile body to his knight, because Gwaine certainly is just that. Arthur would put a blade to his shoulder if he did not know so well that it would mean nothing to the other man. If he did not know so well that it was no longer his place to do so.
Now that Arthur is not focusing on Merlin anymore, his mind starts reeling. How did they escape? What was that bright light?
Sorcery. Of course, there is no other explanation. Only, who could have worked such a powerful spell? Who could have wiped thirty immortal man off the face of the earth? Who could succeed at what no sword, no spear, no axe could ever have achieved?
Arthur stumbles. Once more, his brain is screaming at him to think, to see something he is not seeing, something vital, essential, something his life may depend upon! That light, the magic, and Merlin, lying on the ground, Merlin, good as dead, Mer-!
It is all too much. Exhaustion takes over, his mind shutting him out, protecting him. Arthur loses consciousness in mid-step, collapsing like a child's puppet, thrown away, no longer needed, no longer of use. His last thought is that he may be dying.
He cannot even say that he cares much.
Arthur does not hear Gaius's and Gwaine's shouts. Does not feel Elyan catching him, carrying him. He sees neither how they finally reach the hideout, which turns out to be an abandoned hunting cabin of sorts, nor how the others place him and Merlin on the cabin's ground. Master and servant, both pale and unmoving, are close enough to touch, yet farther away from each other than they have ever been before.
Gwaine takes over first watch while Elyan lights a fire and helps Gaius.
Gaius, who kneels between Arthur and Merlin, his hopeless face showing all too clearly that he is attempting to bring back two men from the dead.
A/N: I will reply to your guys' awesome comments on the previous part tomorrow -- now I'm just too knackered (I'm in Australia, it's well past midnight here). Let me just say that they made my day! ♥