FIC: AND NOBODY WILL EVER REMEMBER
Title: And Nobody Will Ever Remember
Rating: PG-13
Length: 2,385 words
Spoilers: Somewhat character death, not much fluff/humour. Or at all, really.
Authors' Note: For icequeenrex, who had her birthday recently. Also, because I was tired of writing fluff.
Summary: When Merlin’s magic falters while he’s floating a pail into his room, he thinks nothing of it.
When Merlin’s magic falters while he’s floating a pail into his room, he thinks nothing of it. He’s tired, overworked, thirsty and in desperate need of sleep.
‘Maybe if Arthur stopped assigning task after task,’ he thinks, angrily mopping up the water splashed everywhere (even the ceiling, he swears to god), ‘I’d be able to take a minute to breathe and give my magic the rest it needs.’
He’d be fine. Every sorcerer he’d read about (or well, Gaius lectured him about) had gone through this.
All of them had said it was a one-off thing.
*
When it starts happening two to three times a day, he begins to think that something is terribly wrong.
*
Arthur stops breathing.
His father turns from the window to look at him, eyebrow raised in a question and mouth twisted in what could almost be called a smile.
“I am not a fool, Arthur. Did you think I wouldn’t notice a sorcerer living under my roof, when it foolishly parades around in front of me every day?”
Arthur has trained every day since his 4th birthday. He’s been trained to respond automatically and succinctly under diplomatic pressure. To fight the enemy even when he is a hostage of his own fear. He knows how to ensnare women, without promising anything in return. How to impress other nobles with his knowledge. The right way to address people of various ranks. His tutors have presented countless after countless scenarios and he is sometimes forced to work through the night until he has found an acceptable solution and learned it by heart. He knows no uncertainty, because a good king cannot afford it.
His fright immobilises him when his father tells him he knows about his manservant, because he is unsure now.
“Tell me, Arthur. Do you know why I had instated the ban on magic?”
Arthur supposes that Uther takes his silence as the reply he wants.
When his father tells him, Arthur feels his legs give way under him.
*
Merlin tries not to panic or burst into tears at the expression on Gaius’ face when the latter realises that no, Merlin wasn’t lying. He’s barely able to lift a feather. The book is lying on the table in front of him and he can’t stand looking at it. There’s not one spell in it that he can do anymore.
He feels Gaius sit down next to him, and a hand lands gently on his shoulder.
“What’s happening to me?” Merlin whispers.
*
He’s in Arthur’s chamber straightening the royal pillows that cradle His Pratness’ head (and even that takes energy he doesn’t have), when the horns sound. He rushes to the window, but can’t see who has arrived. It must have been someone terribly important if the Uther had the horns playing, and why hadn’t Arthur told him?
He barely has time to finish the thought before the door bangs open and Arthur is suddenly pressed up against him, hand firmly clamping down on Merlin’s and red-rimmed eyes blocking his view of the fanfare outside.
Arthur is looking down at him with an expression Merlin never wants to see on his face again. It looks like Arthur has seen death.
As Arthur wordlessly pulls Merlin through the corridors, Merlin can’t help but notice through his haze of tiredness that their fingers are still intertwined.
It’s been days since Arthur has last looked at him, much less touched him.
*
They both slip in through the side door and as Merlin makes to duck behind the pillar where he usually stands, Arthur follows him. As he trips in surprise, an arm snakes round his waist and steadies him. Arthur doesn’t remove it.
Uther, who seems to have been waiting for Arthur to arrive, nods at his son and begins speaking to the crowded hall. If he notices their position, he says nothing.
“Many years ago, Camelot had once been a place where sorcerers roamed free. If one had a bad day, they could purchase a charm that ensured the rest of their days were not. If your cart had been damaged, a sorcerer would have fixed it. If you had a fever, you could ask someone to cure it. Indeed, anything could be done using magic. I, myself, had appointed a court magician who would take care of all our needs. It was all Camelot required. And then a day after summer had begun, an elderly man appeared at our gates.”
Merlin’s eyes look past Uther, to the old man who has been sitting quietly in Arthur’s throne. There’s something about him that is utterly spellbinding. It takes Merlin a while to notice that the man is staring back at him intently. He blinks, and tries to refocus on Uther.
“- the prophecy I had ignored. Everything the old sorcerer had said had come to pass. Unable to ignore what was in front of my eyes, I conceded. And thus the ban against magic was established, to ensure the success of my son’s reign.”
The court murmurs amongst itself, and Merlin is sure he’d be interested, too. If he could keep his eyes open, that is. He’s almost willing to risk Uther’s wrath by asking to be excused, when Arthur speaks up.
“And the conditions, father? That the sorcerer set? I noticed you hadn’t mentioned them.”
Merlin raises his head off of Arthur’s shoulder to check to see if Uther was signaling death with his eyes. Instead, Uther looks somewhat remorseful.
“That the Dragon remain near the castle, or Arthur’s death would be inevitable.”
Arthur doesn’t seem to be breathing, his fingers trying to permanently meld themselves with Merlin’s hip. Merlin doesn’t mind, really. The rest of the court hums with excitement. Sir Leon and Sir Gawain look as though they would rush off and guard the Dragon themselves, right this very moment, if they were allowed.
“And that the sorcerer be allowed to send a human golem until he himself had finished his travels. The golem would be unobtrusive - a companion to Arthur. Gifted with the sorcerer’s own magic, used to protect Arthur from harm. And on the golem’s coming of age, as such, the sorcerer will integrate the magic back into himself and proceed with Arthur’s training.”
Merlin barely hears Morgana’s question over the rush of his own understanding clamouring in his ears and Arthur’s hitched breathing.
“Who?” she demands. “Who is this golem?”
Merlin knows the answer long before the sorcerer points at him.
*
“You knew.”
The Dragon says nothing. It says nothing as Merlin screams, as he tries to access his magic to hurt the Dragon, as he realises he never again can use what wasn’t even his.
*
He doesn’t look in the mirror anymore. He knows what he’ll see there.
*
Arthur can’t look at him without trembling, and goes out of his way to avoid him.
But the one time a squire spits at Merlin and taunts him about the fortnight he has left, Arthur breaks the man’s jaw and banishes him from Camelot.
No one bothers Merlin again.
*
Morgana and Gwen spend all their waking hours with Merlin, until he cannot bear to look at their tear-stained faces any longer.
Gaius leaves food and water at Merlin’s door regularly, and is reduced to pleading when it remains untouched.
There’s no point, anyway. It’s not as though he’s alive.
*
Arthur rides as though his life depends on it. Or something just as important.
He brushes past the women, the children and the blatant magic around him, straight into the tent.
Mordred barely has time to react before Arthur has seized him by his ridiculous cape.
“Save him,” he hisses. “You owe him that.”
If his hand is shaking where it’s twisted into the cloth at Mordred’s neck, no one mentions it.
“You know I would, Pendragon. But there is nothing to save.”
Arthur is gone before anyone realises.
*
Merlin stops before them. Uther must have felt some pity at the sight of him, because he nods at the sorcerer and moves away.
He pauses next to Merlin, and there is a faint “thank you”, and he is gone.
The sorcerer just looks. And then he speaks.
“When I first made you, I didn’t realise that you would develop a character of your own. You were to be just a nameless, faceless bodyguard to the Prince.”
The sorcerer reaches out to touch Merlin, but thinks better of it.
“It was so easy, to convince the young girl passing by, that the newly created golem was her baby, sired by an unknown man. I never dreamt that the magic would manifest itself into…”
He trails off as though he expects Merlin to interrupt.
Merlin feels the magic in him struggle to escape to the sorcerer. He closes his eyes and tries not to think about it. “What will become of my body, once you reclaim the magic?”
“Nothing. At the break of dawn, the magic leaves its vessel and returns to me. It will be as if you have just peacefully passed away.”
They both say nothing. When the sorcerer makes as if to move, Merlin hurriedly speaks.
“What is your name?”
“I have none. There is not one that has suited me before.”
“Merlin.”
A pause.
“You need a name, don’t you? This way history remembers that Merlin saved Arthur.”
That people (that Arthur and Gaius and Gwen and Morgana and-) might still remember him.
He barely waits for the sorcerer’s nod before he walks away. He doesn’t need to see his pity.
*
When there are but four days left, Merlin gets up from his bed and walks outside. He is tired of waiting for death to come to him.
He spends the day gathering herbs for Gaius, plucking flowers for Gwen and Morgana, writes a letter to his mother that he will never send (and it is doubtful she will remember a son after the sorcerer wipes the memories) and watches the birds fly overhead as he lies on the hillside.
Later, when he’s finished whittling wooden swords for the stable boys, and he watches them roar with laughter as they chase each other around, he feels someone sit down next to him.
A shoulder knocks into his, and he allows a smile to steal onto his face.
Arthur counts it as a victory.
*
“Come on, you git!”
Merlin pulls a face at Will, struggling to climb up the steep staircase.
“Where,” he pants, “exactly are we going?”
Will points to the door, cheeky grin and tousled hair. He reaches for Merlin, and Merlin almost reaches back, before he remembers.
Arthur.
And then he awakes.
*
Merlin pulls Arthur through the forest, and Arthur follows without question. The earlier rain has vanished and everything smells like a new beginning. Arthur hates it.
After what seems like an eternity, they arrive at a lake. Merlin turns back to Arthur abruptly, and catches his hands and brings them up to his chest.
“I know,” he whispers, nose inches away from Arthur’s. Arthur’s going to remember this moment forever. “I know that I will be forgotten by everyone as the years go past. And history is going to speak only of Merlin the sorcerer, and not the manservant.”
Merlin shushes him when violent protest bubbles up his throat. He knows it’s true.
“But I want you to remember that it is I who did this for you.”
And Merlin takes a running leap into the water. If suicidal drowning is what Merlin wants Arthur to remember him by, he’s doing a fine job.
Arthur has nearly shed all his weapons and is ready to dive in and rescue the idiot, when Merlin reemerges, water plastering his hair to his ridiculous ears and looking very much like a drowned cat illuminated by the sun. Arthur forgets to breathe.
Merlin drops to his knees and brings up the most magnificent sword Arthur has ever seen.
“Its name is Excalibur. And I gave it to you. Arthur, please. I gave it to you.”
There is nothing left to do but accept.
*
They’re back by the lake in two nights. Arthur wonders if Merlin’s thinking about how Gwen’s hands shook as she smoothed down his hair, and how much Morgana cried. How long Gaius hugged him, shoulders trembling while everyone politely averted their eyes.
Merlin catches Arthur’s eye and smiles, motioning towards the lake.
Neither of them says a thing as they strip and plunge in. When they resurface, Arthur looks away from Merlin’s enquiring expression, and tries to pretend that there aren’t tears streaming down his own face.
*
“I did.”
“Hmmm?”
“When you asked me whether I had had any luck, finding a place where I belonged. I did.”
“I’m glad.”
*
Arthur looks over to where Merlin is stringing daisies together, faint smile on his face. A familiar feeling surges in him. He just thought that they had more time to explore it. Explore them.
There is no more time.
Arthur reaches for Merlin, who looks up, then looks at Arthur’s mouth. Arthur sees his own feelings reflected in Merlin’s eyes.
“Arthur,” Merlin stutters, as an arm strokes his back. “I’m - I’m not even human, I-”
I don’t care, Arthur explains with his mouth pressed against Merlin’s, hips on hips. I love you.
It feels a bit like home, when Merlin smiles against his lips and locks his fingers behind Arthur’s neck.
*
It’s daybreak. Arthur sits and watches the sun come up, everything bathed in a golden light that reminds him of Merlin’s eyes.
Herds of deer nuzzle for grass nearby, and Arthur almost smiles at the antics of a fawn. Almost.
The lake shines as brightly as Merlin’s eyes did last night.
Promise me. Promise me you’ll wake me up at dawn.
“I promise,” murmurs Arthur. The deer scatter.
You’re going to be a great king, Arthur.
Don’t ever kill a unicorn again, who’s going to save you?
If you’re planning to do this with the other Merlin, tell me now, so I can cut off your bollocks.
I love you, Arthur.
“Merlin,” he whispers, tracing the smile on Merlin’s face. His hands start to tremble. “It’s dawn, time to get up. Merlin?”
Merlin doesn’t stir.
Rating: PG-13
Length: 2,385 words
Spoilers: Somewhat character death, not much fluff/humour. Or at all, really.
Authors' Note: For icequeenrex, who had her birthday recently. Also, because I was tired of writing fluff.
Summary: When Merlin’s magic falters while he’s floating a pail into his room, he thinks nothing of it.
When Merlin’s magic falters while he’s floating a pail into his room, he thinks nothing of it. He’s tired, overworked, thirsty and in desperate need of sleep.
‘Maybe if Arthur stopped assigning task after task,’ he thinks, angrily mopping up the water splashed everywhere (even the ceiling, he swears to god), ‘I’d be able to take a minute to breathe and give my magic the rest it needs.’
He’d be fine. Every sorcerer he’d read about (or well, Gaius lectured him about) had gone through this.
All of them had said it was a one-off thing.
*
When it starts happening two to three times a day, he begins to think that something is terribly wrong.
*
Arthur stops breathing.
His father turns from the window to look at him, eyebrow raised in a question and mouth twisted in what could almost be called a smile.
“I am not a fool, Arthur. Did you think I wouldn’t notice a sorcerer living under my roof, when it foolishly parades around in front of me every day?”
Arthur has trained every day since his 4th birthday. He’s been trained to respond automatically and succinctly under diplomatic pressure. To fight the enemy even when he is a hostage of his own fear. He knows how to ensnare women, without promising anything in return. How to impress other nobles with his knowledge. The right way to address people of various ranks. His tutors have presented countless after countless scenarios and he is sometimes forced to work through the night until he has found an acceptable solution and learned it by heart. He knows no uncertainty, because a good king cannot afford it.
His fright immobilises him when his father tells him he knows about his manservant, because he is unsure now.
“Tell me, Arthur. Do you know why I had instated the ban on magic?”
Arthur supposes that Uther takes his silence as the reply he wants.
When his father tells him, Arthur feels his legs give way under him.
*
Merlin tries not to panic or burst into tears at the expression on Gaius’ face when the latter realises that no, Merlin wasn’t lying. He’s barely able to lift a feather. The book is lying on the table in front of him and he can’t stand looking at it. There’s not one spell in it that he can do anymore.
He feels Gaius sit down next to him, and a hand lands gently on his shoulder.
“What’s happening to me?” Merlin whispers.
*
He’s in Arthur’s chamber straightening the royal pillows that cradle His Pratness’ head (and even that takes energy he doesn’t have), when the horns sound. He rushes to the window, but can’t see who has arrived. It must have been someone terribly important if the Uther had the horns playing, and why hadn’t Arthur told him?
He barely has time to finish the thought before the door bangs open and Arthur is suddenly pressed up against him, hand firmly clamping down on Merlin’s and red-rimmed eyes blocking his view of the fanfare outside.
Arthur is looking down at him with an expression Merlin never wants to see on his face again. It looks like Arthur has seen death.
As Arthur wordlessly pulls Merlin through the corridors, Merlin can’t help but notice through his haze of tiredness that their fingers are still intertwined.
It’s been days since Arthur has last looked at him, much less touched him.
*
They both slip in through the side door and as Merlin makes to duck behind the pillar where he usually stands, Arthur follows him. As he trips in surprise, an arm snakes round his waist and steadies him. Arthur doesn’t remove it.
Uther, who seems to have been waiting for Arthur to arrive, nods at his son and begins speaking to the crowded hall. If he notices their position, he says nothing.
“Many years ago, Camelot had once been a place where sorcerers roamed free. If one had a bad day, they could purchase a charm that ensured the rest of their days were not. If your cart had been damaged, a sorcerer would have fixed it. If you had a fever, you could ask someone to cure it. Indeed, anything could be done using magic. I, myself, had appointed a court magician who would take care of all our needs. It was all Camelot required. And then a day after summer had begun, an elderly man appeared at our gates.”
Merlin’s eyes look past Uther, to the old man who has been sitting quietly in Arthur’s throne. There’s something about him that is utterly spellbinding. It takes Merlin a while to notice that the man is staring back at him intently. He blinks, and tries to refocus on Uther.
“- the prophecy I had ignored. Everything the old sorcerer had said had come to pass. Unable to ignore what was in front of my eyes, I conceded. And thus the ban against magic was established, to ensure the success of my son’s reign.”
The court murmurs amongst itself, and Merlin is sure he’d be interested, too. If he could keep his eyes open, that is. He’s almost willing to risk Uther’s wrath by asking to be excused, when Arthur speaks up.
“And the conditions, father? That the sorcerer set? I noticed you hadn’t mentioned them.”
Merlin raises his head off of Arthur’s shoulder to check to see if Uther was signaling death with his eyes. Instead, Uther looks somewhat remorseful.
“That the Dragon remain near the castle, or Arthur’s death would be inevitable.”
Arthur doesn’t seem to be breathing, his fingers trying to permanently meld themselves with Merlin’s hip. Merlin doesn’t mind, really. The rest of the court hums with excitement. Sir Leon and Sir Gawain look as though they would rush off and guard the Dragon themselves, right this very moment, if they were allowed.
“And that the sorcerer be allowed to send a human golem until he himself had finished his travels. The golem would be unobtrusive - a companion to Arthur. Gifted with the sorcerer’s own magic, used to protect Arthur from harm. And on the golem’s coming of age, as such, the sorcerer will integrate the magic back into himself and proceed with Arthur’s training.”
Merlin barely hears Morgana’s question over the rush of his own understanding clamouring in his ears and Arthur’s hitched breathing.
“Who?” she demands. “Who is this golem?”
Merlin knows the answer long before the sorcerer points at him.
*
“You knew.”
The Dragon says nothing. It says nothing as Merlin screams, as he tries to access his magic to hurt the Dragon, as he realises he never again can use what wasn’t even his.
*
He doesn’t look in the mirror anymore. He knows what he’ll see there.
*
Arthur can’t look at him without trembling, and goes out of his way to avoid him.
But the one time a squire spits at Merlin and taunts him about the fortnight he has left, Arthur breaks the man’s jaw and banishes him from Camelot.
No one bothers Merlin again.
*
Morgana and Gwen spend all their waking hours with Merlin, until he cannot bear to look at their tear-stained faces any longer.
Gaius leaves food and water at Merlin’s door regularly, and is reduced to pleading when it remains untouched.
There’s no point, anyway. It’s not as though he’s alive.
*
Arthur rides as though his life depends on it. Or something just as important.
He brushes past the women, the children and the blatant magic around him, straight into the tent.
Mordred barely has time to react before Arthur has seized him by his ridiculous cape.
“Save him,” he hisses. “You owe him that.”
If his hand is shaking where it’s twisted into the cloth at Mordred’s neck, no one mentions it.
“You know I would, Pendragon. But there is nothing to save.”
Arthur is gone before anyone realises.
*
Merlin stops before them. Uther must have felt some pity at the sight of him, because he nods at the sorcerer and moves away.
He pauses next to Merlin, and there is a faint “thank you”, and he is gone.
The sorcerer just looks. And then he speaks.
“When I first made you, I didn’t realise that you would develop a character of your own. You were to be just a nameless, faceless bodyguard to the Prince.”
The sorcerer reaches out to touch Merlin, but thinks better of it.
“It was so easy, to convince the young girl passing by, that the newly created golem was her baby, sired by an unknown man. I never dreamt that the magic would manifest itself into…”
He trails off as though he expects Merlin to interrupt.
Merlin feels the magic in him struggle to escape to the sorcerer. He closes his eyes and tries not to think about it. “What will become of my body, once you reclaim the magic?”
“Nothing. At the break of dawn, the magic leaves its vessel and returns to me. It will be as if you have just peacefully passed away.”
They both say nothing. When the sorcerer makes as if to move, Merlin hurriedly speaks.
“What is your name?”
“I have none. There is not one that has suited me before.”
“Merlin.”
A pause.
“You need a name, don’t you? This way history remembers that Merlin saved Arthur.”
That people (that Arthur and Gaius and Gwen and Morgana and-) might still remember him.
He barely waits for the sorcerer’s nod before he walks away. He doesn’t need to see his pity.
*
When there are but four days left, Merlin gets up from his bed and walks outside. He is tired of waiting for death to come to him.
He spends the day gathering herbs for Gaius, plucking flowers for Gwen and Morgana, writes a letter to his mother that he will never send (and it is doubtful she will remember a son after the sorcerer wipes the memories) and watches the birds fly overhead as he lies on the hillside.
Later, when he’s finished whittling wooden swords for the stable boys, and he watches them roar with laughter as they chase each other around, he feels someone sit down next to him.
A shoulder knocks into his, and he allows a smile to steal onto his face.
Arthur counts it as a victory.
*
“Come on, you git!”
Merlin pulls a face at Will, struggling to climb up the steep staircase.
“Where,” he pants, “exactly are we going?”
Will points to the door, cheeky grin and tousled hair. He reaches for Merlin, and Merlin almost reaches back, before he remembers.
Arthur.
And then he awakes.
*
Merlin pulls Arthur through the forest, and Arthur follows without question. The earlier rain has vanished and everything smells like a new beginning. Arthur hates it.
After what seems like an eternity, they arrive at a lake. Merlin turns back to Arthur abruptly, and catches his hands and brings them up to his chest.
“I know,” he whispers, nose inches away from Arthur’s. Arthur’s going to remember this moment forever. “I know that I will be forgotten by everyone as the years go past. And history is going to speak only of Merlin the sorcerer, and not the manservant.”
Merlin shushes him when violent protest bubbles up his throat. He knows it’s true.
“But I want you to remember that it is I who did this for you.”
And Merlin takes a running leap into the water. If suicidal drowning is what Merlin wants Arthur to remember him by, he’s doing a fine job.
Arthur has nearly shed all his weapons and is ready to dive in and rescue the idiot, when Merlin reemerges, water plastering his hair to his ridiculous ears and looking very much like a drowned cat illuminated by the sun. Arthur forgets to breathe.
Merlin drops to his knees and brings up the most magnificent sword Arthur has ever seen.
“Its name is Excalibur. And I gave it to you. Arthur, please. I gave it to you.”
There is nothing left to do but accept.
*
They’re back by the lake in two nights. Arthur wonders if Merlin’s thinking about how Gwen’s hands shook as she smoothed down his hair, and how much Morgana cried. How long Gaius hugged him, shoulders trembling while everyone politely averted their eyes.
Merlin catches Arthur’s eye and smiles, motioning towards the lake.
Neither of them says a thing as they strip and plunge in. When they resurface, Arthur looks away from Merlin’s enquiring expression, and tries to pretend that there aren’t tears streaming down his own face.
*
“I did.”
“Hmmm?”
“When you asked me whether I had had any luck, finding a place where I belonged. I did.”
“I’m glad.”
*
Arthur looks over to where Merlin is stringing daisies together, faint smile on his face. A familiar feeling surges in him. He just thought that they had more time to explore it. Explore them.
There is no more time.
Arthur reaches for Merlin, who looks up, then looks at Arthur’s mouth. Arthur sees his own feelings reflected in Merlin’s eyes.
“Arthur,” Merlin stutters, as an arm strokes his back. “I’m - I’m not even human, I-”
I don’t care, Arthur explains with his mouth pressed against Merlin’s, hips on hips. I love you.
It feels a bit like home, when Merlin smiles against his lips and locks his fingers behind Arthur’s neck.
*
It’s daybreak. Arthur sits and watches the sun come up, everything bathed in a golden light that reminds him of Merlin’s eyes.
Herds of deer nuzzle for grass nearby, and Arthur almost smiles at the antics of a fawn. Almost.
The lake shines as brightly as Merlin’s eyes did last night.
Promise me. Promise me you’ll wake me up at dawn.
“I promise,” murmurs Arthur. The deer scatter.
You’re going to be a great king, Arthur.
Don’t ever kill a unicorn again, who’s going to save you?
If you’re planning to do this with the other Merlin, tell me now, so I can cut off your bollocks.
I love you, Arthur.
“Merlin,” he whispers, tracing the smile on Merlin’s face. His hands start to tremble. “It’s dawn, time to get up. Merlin?”
Merlin doesn’t stir.