MBB: The Promise Within 6/6
The Promise Within
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
~*~*~
Uther wasn’t sure what awakened him. He lay still for long minutes, feeling the softness of his bed underneath him. Somewhere nearby, he could hear the familiar sound of Gaius muttering about reckless idiots and herbs.
There was a lightness to his limbs that belied the heaviness of his eyelids.
The world felt strange, though he couldn’t have specified why, exactly.
He forced his eyes open and stared at the canopy of his bed. The room was bright with sunlight and he wondered how ill he’d been to be brought all the way to his room in the middle of the day and not remember how or why.
“Sire?” Gaius’ face appeared above him and Uther blinked slightly at the cautious concern in his friend’s expression.
“Was it really that bad, old friend?” The words came out slurred, only barely coherent at all, and he frowned.
The physician didn’t seem to share his concern about it, though. Gaius relaxed and sighed, dipping his head. “It was very bad, your highness.”
Uther nodded only to pause when the world faded out for a moment. A cool hand pressed against his forehead and Gaius made a tsk’ing sound. “Best to stay still for a while longer, Sire.”
“Indeed,” Uther murmured when he was sure he wasn’t going to disgrace himself by fainting or vomiting. “What happened?”
“Between what Arthur described and what I’ve observed myself, I believe you had a rather severe apoplectic seizure, Sire. Triggered, no doubt, by all the recent stress and your anger.”
Frowning, Uther tried to piece together the fragmented pieces of his memory. “Arthur performed magic.”
Gaius hesitated, then dipped his head again in acknowledgement. The frown on his face was reproving. “He saved your life, Uther. And it almost cost him his own.”
There was something, niggling at the back of Uther’s mind and he worried at it for a moment. He remembered being furious Arthur but it was all a bit hazy and soft around the edges. He couldn’t even summon up the smallest pretense of anger and it was difficult to remember where the rage had come from.
He thought he should be more worried about that than he was, but even that thought was hard to hold onto.
“What did he do?” His voice was still slurred and that bothered Uther more than anything else for the moment. He rolled and clicked his tongue in his mouth, wondering at why it felt so heavy and difficult to use.
“The damage was too severe for usual aura healing. He attempted to use his own life force to spur yours on, but as best as I can guess, instead he got them tangled together. You almost pulled him into death with you.”
Uther thought he remembered that, a moment when the pain had lessened, as if the burden had been shared and then staring into the abyss and knowing that he was at his end. The idea that he might have taken Arthur with him…
He shuddered. “Is he-”
“He’s fine, Uther,” Gaius replied with a smile, gesturing towards the other side of the room.
Carefully, frowning at the way his body didn’t want to cooperate, Uther edged himself up higher on his pillows so that he could see properly. The door that usually divided his bed chamber from the small, separate room that should have housed his own manservant stood open and he could see Arthur sitting in a chair beside the bed, his head pillowed on his arms as he slept. The boy Merlin lay in the small servant’s bed, paler than the sheets beneath his cheek.
“Dare I ask?” If he spoke slowly, carefully, the words weren’t as badly slurred.
Gaius shrugged. “When it was obvious what was happening, Merlin quite recklessly tossed his own life into the fray, giving Arthur access to his own energy to save you both.” He made a face and rubbed his eyes, looking every day of his long years. “For a moment, I was afraid all three of you were lost. As for why he is in your suites, well… The prince and I were quite running ourselves ragged going between my tower and your chamber. Arthur decided that it was stupid when you had a perfectly serviceable servants alcove right here.” A faint smile settled on his lips as he gave the pair a rueful look. “Your manservant was quite torn between gratitude for your life and annoyance at being ousted from his bed.”
Trying to sit up on his own was an utter failure. Half his body refused to obey his commands at all and the other half was sluggish and slow to react. It was like swimming through quicksand. Luckily, Gaius seemed to notice his predicament and helped him up before carefully shifting around the pillows and urging him back against them.
“Why do I feel like this? When will I be able to resume my duties?” The end of the sentence got a bit mashed up, but he was reasonably confident that his friend understood the sentiment if not the exact words.
One eyebrow went up as Gaius gave him a severe expression. “Uther, you don’t seem to understand. Right now, you should be dead. That you aren’t, is only a testament to how very stubborn those two young men can be. He gave it a valiant effort, but Arthur lacks adequate training and the damage was too severe even with Merlin’s aid. Your brain isn’t sending commands out right anymore. The most extensive rehabilitation isn’t going to change that. Lessen it, hopefully, but the damage is done. You will not be resuming any more duties. Even if you can get back to your previous mobility, the danger of another seizure, one that Arthur can’t heal at all is going to linger indefinitely.”
Part of Uther knew he should be devastated at that. Or very, very angry.
He found he was neither. All he could seem to feel was a vague sense of disconnection and relief that Arthur was all right. Even the knowledge that Arthur had willfully used cursed magic on him couldn’t seem to stir anything stronger.
“How many people saw Arthur do magic?”
“Only his knights. The guards were very good about getting everyone else out of the room before you even collapsed and someone had called for Leon.” Gaius’s lips twitched slightly. “I think they wanted someone who could reasonably restrain Arthur without losing their heads if the argument between the two of you turned violent. Which, frankly, is probably the only reason they’d allowed Merlin through in the first place. Though there’s been speculation, no one else is sure what happened after they were forced out.”
The niggling feeling returned and Uther turned it over in his mind, trying to sort it out. There’d been something else at play in his council room. A flash of something so bright as to almost be blinding. Magic, he thought, and not Arthur’s.
His eyes went again to the pair in the other room. They’d been dying, he and Arthur, until Merlin had arrived. He remembered another day in the council room when the boy had burst in, proclaiming himself a sorcerer with a sort of desperation to be believed that Uther had dismissed it as soon as Arthur had given him reason for it.
A fragment memory floated through his mind, a memory of terror, of staring up at the king - at himself - and knowing he’d find no mercy even though he’d done nothing wrong. But he couldn’t let his friend die, not for something he’d done. He expected to burn and the thought nearly made him sick to his stomach, but the thought of watching Gwen burn was far, far worse.
“Sire?”
He blinked the vision away, dismissing it as unimportant. Odd, but not something to worry over. He glanced over at Gaius and his cautious expression.
A man who had believed he might put his own son to death would have reason to be concerned.
It was hard to muster any righteous indignation with the muted feel of the world and he sighed before sinking back into the pillows and closing his eyes. He had seen the loyalty and devotion that Merlin held for his son and he knew that it would never wane.
Which was a relief, because he had a feeling Arthur was going to need a strong ally at his side in the coming years as enemies and allies alike tested his ability to stand on his own without his father. “What do retired kings do, exactly?”
He didn’t have to see it to know Gaius’s smile was relieved.
~*~*~
The darkness was suffocating. It held him tight in it’s embrace and refused to let him go.
At first, he couldn’t seem to form coherent thought. He was nothing and the nothingness stretched out both in front of and behind him.
Slowly, memory trickled back in and his past reshaped itself and he remembered.
I’m Merlin.
A painful emptiness throbbed through his body and he curled around it. Why? What was missing?
Feeling returned shortly after that, but still… The darkness did not abate.
On and on it seemed to go, until a voice, amused and exasperated crept into his mind. The darkness only holds you because you allow it. Open your eyes, young warlock.
He knew that voice. It hadn’t always steered him correctly and for a time he’d hated it, but now… It was the voice of kin and he trusted it enough to try, at least.
Merlin opened his eyes to chaos and destruction.
A dragon’s roar filled Merlin’s ears, echoing through his mind. It shook with rage and pain and vengeance. People burned under the dragon’s fury. Camelot shuddered to her very foundations, the living heartbeat of the castle stuttering under the onslaught. He learned of his father and he led a gravely injured Arthur to a man who died before Merlin could truly know him.
The scene changed, the edges mercurial like the mirage sand could give off on a hot day.
A blonde woman, beautiful, but hard and lost to her own darkness challenged Arthur and defeated the prince far more easily than Merlin had ever seen it done before. He knew, though he could not have said how he knew, that this was Morgana’s sister and in the same instant, he also knew that Morgana was Arthur’s.
He saw Arthur challenge his father, horrible truths of his birth pushing them to this moment before Merlin stepped in and lied. He felt Arthur’s own hatred towards magic grow with those lies and he ached for it, but knew he could do nothing else.
The world seemed to shift again and Merlin wondered if he was dreaming.
The castle was silent this time, no dragon or running screaming people, no swords, no battle, but Morgana looked up at him with betrayal and fury in her eyes. He’d had to, he knew he’d had to, though he wasn’t certain what exactly he’d had to do. In a choice between Arthur’s life and someone else’s, there was no choice at all. And Morgana had come back from her captivity wrong, broken in ways he couldn’t quite understand. It was the right choice. That didn’t stop the pain or the guilt. He’d had few true friends in his life and Morgana had been one of those that he’d loved the best.
Before he could make sense of anything, before he understand what he’d done and what it all meant, the scene changed again.
Arthur, kissing Gwen, holding her, swearing the sorts of things that hurt Merlin’s heart to even imagine. And in the background, Lancelot, dressed in the red cloak of Camelot’s finest knights, wistful and resigned.
He saw Morgana and an army of undead, defeated, and himself bitterly watching others receive the praise for what he’d done. Again.
After that, things got muddled, moving almost too rapidly for him to taken in.
Pain, betrayal, anger and bitterness.
So many lies.
As the lies grew, so did the walls between himself and the ones he cared for.
He watched as Arthur grew apart from him, moving further and further away from any closeness that they’d ever shared. He watched as Uther finally succumbed to a madness and illness that had held him for far too long and the son take his father’s place. When Arthur accepted the crown, the bonds between them were so damaged and frayed that they barely existed at all. When Merlin stood before his King as the warlock he was, he did so knowing he was only a weapon to be wielded in defense of the kingdom, no different than Excaliber at the end of the day.
Bitterness and resentment festered and the King’s warlock could never find contentment or joy in the Golden Age that was forged.
Then came the day when he finally turned his back on Camelot. On Albion.
On Arthur.
He left his king and Albion to fend for themselves and there was Moragana again, darker than anyone Merlin had ever seen, consumed by hatred and sparking with an evil that seemed to suck the life and happiness out of everything. And with her was a man that he knew was Mordred despite little resemblance between the grown man and the druid boy he’d once known so briefly.
Merlin wanted to scream. He knew what came next. Arthur wasn’t helpless and never had been, but Merlin knew that Mordred would kill Arthur as Kilgarrah had once warned and he knew, knew, that it was his fault.
Horrible, hateful laughter rang out as Morgana urged Mordred on, her magic helping his as they faced off against an Arthur who stood alone.
‘It’s horrible.’
The voice was whispered next to Merlin’s ears and he turned, startled to see Morgana, his Morgana, the real one somehow caught inside his own nightmare vision, watching the same scenes play out. Disbelief and horror was etched into every line of her body and her fists were clenched at her side.
She turned to him, her eyes begging him to do something, to change something.
He wanted to reassure her that everything was okay. The horrible images were just a dream. But he knew as well as she did that they didn’t feel like dreams.
They were too real for mere dreams.
Before he could say anything at all, another voice joined and he felt the hot breath of the dragon against his back.
‘This is no dream or vision, Merlin.’ Kilgarrah’s eyes were kind as they turned to meet his gaze. ‘This is what was to have passed.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Destiny, if you will.’ Sighing the dragon gestured widely with one claw and wing, encompassing the still moving visions. ‘This is not what is or what was. This is nothing more or less than what would have been.’
Merlin’s gut tightened with the confirmation of his worst fear. ‘This is the great destiny you’ve been prattling on about all this time?’
The idea that he would leave Arthur to confront his enemies and face his death alone wrenched at his heart. Surely there was nothing that could make him do that.
Kilgarrah dipped his head. ‘The future has never been wholly set in stone, young warlock. I have guided you as best I can to make what changes I could see. I did advise you to allow the druid boy to die, did I not?’
‘This can be changed?’ It was Morgana who asked, accepting the dragon’s presence as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. ‘It does not have to be this way?’
The vision had shifted again and Merlin could see himself drop to his knees, one hand over his heart and his eyes glowing brightly as the pain of Arthur’s death ricocheted through him. He could see himself scream and rage, magic lashing out at a world that was suddenly so empty and meaningless without that one bright soul inhabiting it. Death and devastation was unleashed in the wake of his furious grief. He’d left, he’d never intended to go back, but to know that he couldn’t, that amends could never be made, was more than could be borne. A thousand lifetimes, one for every life that had been sacrificed so that he could live, stretched out in front of him, dark and Arthur-less, and Merlin knew that all he wanted was to destroy the world and everything in it so that he wouldn’t have to face that empty future.
Peering down at Morgana, Kilgarrah snorted. ‘This has already been changed, witch. Too many lies and too much betrayal led to this. This new magic has rather nipped that in the bud, hasn’t it? The Pendragon penchant for obliviousness has been bypassed. I cannot see what will be any longer. Perhaps some parts of this. Perhaps something else entirely.’
Merlin shut his eyes tightly. He didn’t want to see any more. He was fiercely glad that this destiny had been broken. They would forge a new destiny, a new path, and he would never leave Arthur’s side again.
It was his vow.
‘Merlin.’
He pressed his hands against his ears and shook his head. A slow trickle of something warm and soft began to coil around him and settle into his bones. The emptiness faded away slowly, the pain lessening as it went.
It wasn’t until his magic was strong and full again, bringing with it the heady sense of Arthur, that he realized what it was and where it had gone.
A different aching need came with it and he wished for nothing more than to see Arthur with his own eyes.
With a chuckle, Kilgarrah’s mind seemed to nudge his own.
That’s easy enough, young warlock. Just wake up.
~*~*~
Stepping up and filling his father’s shoes while deflecting nosy busybodies from the severity of the situation was enough to drive a man to drink. With the added worry of whether or not he’d accidentally managed to turn both his father and his manservant into vegetables and the need to fill in the gaps of Camelot’s forces before some industrious baron or king decided to try and take advantage of things, Arthur thought it was a miracle that he hadn’t denounced his name and run screaming for the hills.
Arthur rubbed a hand through his hair and sighed as he strode through the hallway, heading for his father’s chambers.
He’d been relieved when the old man had finally woken up; it was one less worry weighing on his mind.
Uther Pendragon was different, now, though. His body was fighting him, his entire left side sluggish and unresponsive to his commands. He had to concentrate and speak carefully lest his words slur in an almost drunken fashion.
More than that, though, most of the time he was too calm, too apathetic to the world around him. Uther was always genuinely pleased to see Arthur whenever the prince could tear himself away from keeping the jackals away from Camelot and a visit from Morgana made him smile as softly as someone holding a newborn babe, a matching softness seeping into the colors around him, but there was a distance in all of it.
Almost as if his father wasn’t quite inside his own mind any longer.
As disturbing as it could be, it was almost preferable to the other strangeness that had settled into the old king.
At times, a manic light would appear in Uther’s eyes and he’d go stark raving nutters. Not in the old Uther fashion, either, which was something to be thankful for at least. It was more that he’d tell bawdy jokes that made no real sense or talk to his wife as if she were sitting beside him.
Swallowing, Arthur bounded up the stairs, his mind full of things he’d never known before. It had been heartbreaking to see the sheer joy and pleasure on Uther’s face as he’d called Arthur over to introduce their son to a figment of his imagination.
Arthur had gone dutifully and listened to the slurred, one-sided conversation as his father relayed stories of days gone by when Camelot had been home to a beloved queen and a besotted king.
Those times were hard, but selfishly, Arthur couldn’t help but be a little bit glad for them. For the first time in his life, he could say that he felt like he knew his mother and the man his father should have been.
Gaius blamed the seizure both for the physical ailments and the apparent mental affliction, but Arthur suspected he was partly to blame as well. He’d only been trying to help, but his inexperience had broken something inside Uther instead.
He’d saved his father’s life, but the cost had been high and he knew that Uther as he had been before would have found this state of being abhorrent. Arthur knew that, but knew just as well that even if he could turn back time and change his actions, he wouldn’t. Selfish or not, he knew he wasn’t ready to say goodbye to his father.
Turning the last corner, Arthur paused outside the room, hand settling on the dark would of the door.
There was also Merlin.
His heart ached as he thought of how selflessly Merlin had given, how faithfully he’d trusted Arthur with his very soul. His memories were a little sketchy and his view of what had happened was slanted since he’d been delved deep in his own magic, but he could still remember how Merlin had settled against him, magic and aura holding them all back from the nothingness.
Arthur had woken up only a few hours after, magical energy, Merlin’s energy, buzzing around his system like an army of industrious bees. He’d gone non-stop after that, for days, rushing about to and fro.
But Merlin had lain silent, the golden pool that steadied and soothed Arthur grimly absent.
Though he had a hundred hundred things to do, Arthur found himself making the trek up to his father’s chambers a dozen times a day. He checked on his father, listened to stories or random gibberish or helped Uther work through the exercises Gaius insisted that he do. And no matter how long he was in the room, no matter what distraction his father provided, Arthur’s attention always wandered through the adjoining door and the silent figure that lay in the bed on the other side.
It was the hardest thing to accept, far worse than his father’s strangeness.
Bad enough that he’d broken his father, but Arthur was deathly afraid that he’d broken Merlin, as well. He was afraid that he’d stolen away that radiant golden light and that Merlin would never open his eyes again, that he’d simply fade away into the nothingness he’d saved them from.
Taking a deep breath, Arthur pushed the door open warily, unsure what he would find.
“Bloody hell.”
“Father, what-” Arthur cut himself off and shook his head with a sigh. The urge to rush over and tuck a shoulder under Uther’s arm, to help him back to bed and insist he stay there, was strong but Arthur restrained it. Even altered, his father didn’t react well to such obvious blows to his pride. “Do you need help?”
Uther just made a face as he righted himself awkwardly from where he’d fallen against the wall across the room. “I am perfectly capable of taking a simple stroll around my room.”
For a moment, he sounded exactly like his old self. If his old self had had to measure his speech so carefully.
“Still, Gaius said to be careful.” Arthur couldn’t help but hover. The uncoordinated movements of the two sides of Uther’s body was painful to watch. Once, Uther had been a graceful warrior, but that was all gone now and guilt gnawed at Arthur.
“Yes, yes, yes.” Uther rolled his eyes, but reached out and beckoned Arthur closer. Mischief sparkled in his eyes and Arthur wondered if today was a madman day. “Gaius is a bit of a worry wart, isn’t he?”
Lips twitching, Arthur shrugged. “I suppose. But it’s just because he cares.”
He kept the rest to himself, that they had plenty of reason to be worried. Even Uther’s aura had been altered. The dark blockages of before were gone, but what remained was unsteady, pulsing oddly.
“True.” Uther’s grin was nostalgic and Arthur wondered what he was remembering.
“You’re not supposed to be up without someone around to make sure it doesn’t go badly.” Gaius hadn’t explained exactly what they were watching for, but Arthur could guess. He knew that Gaius was concerned about Uther having another seizure.
With a sigh, Uther nodded and let Arthur help him straighten up as much as was possible.
“I was bored,” he complained, his carefully modulated voice somewhat stilted. Arthur almost preferred the slur. At least then, he could pretend his father was just drunk and not face the reality that he was broken. “And he was making noises. Thought he was talking to me for a bit so I thought I’d go check. It’s only polite, you know.”
Arthur arched a brow. He wondered what new shade his father had stumbled upon in his madness. “Who was talking to you?”
“Oh, he wasn’t, actually.” Uther waved towards the open door of the other room. “I think he was just dreaming. He did call out for you once, though.”
Swallowing, Arthur moved away to linger in the doorway, watching Merlin’s silent form. “Are you sure?”
His father seemed to think for a moment before shrugging with the shoulder that still obeyed his commands. “Well, I suppose he could have been saying ‘Uther’.”
Merlin had not made a sound since Arthur had used his magic and aura to save Uther. He hadn’t stirred at all as far as Arthur had been able to tell. He’d been silent and still, breath barely there, no other signs of life at all.
Even death had more color to Arthur’s eyes than Merlin had had for far too long.
Not so, any longer. The golden aura wasn’t overwhelming as it had once been, but it pulsed with the life and love that he had come to know. For the first time, he could see beneath it and his father was all but forgotten and Arthur rushed forward to settle on the edge of the bed, Merlin’s hand clasped tightly in his own.
Merlin wasn’t dreaming, from the thrashing colors of pain and grief and fear that Arthur could see. He was having a nightmare.
“It’s all right, Merlin. I’m here.”
The response was almost instantaneous. The tension that had seeped into Merlin’s body relaxed and he took a deep breath. The negative colors faded away at Arthur’s touch and the sound of his voice.
Arthur wondered if Merlin had been caught in the sort of nightmare that had been plaguing his own too-infrequent sleep. He’d been thankful for the buzzing energy that had kept him from too many dreams of Merlin slipping away from him no matter how tightly he held on.
“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice was a mere rasp of sound, weak with disuse. “Wha’?”
The relief was almost enough to bring Arthur to tears. “Yes, Merlin. Who else were you expecting? Geoffrey?”
Merlin snorted a little and cracked one eye open to peer at him blearily. Then, slowly, both eyes were on him. They were a beautiful blue that Arthur could see properly finally, startling in the vividness he’d almost forgotten. “Wha’ happened?”
It sounded worse than before and his expression slipped into a grimace as he tried to clear his throat. Arthur couldn’t help but smile and brushed Merlin’s hair back. “Hold on. I’ll get you some water, all right?”
The younger man made a sound of gratitude.
Gwen had been faithfully keeping a pitcher of fresh water on the small table nearby along with a vase of bright blue flowers she claimed were Merlin’s favorite. Arthur knew that both she and Morgana visited Merlin whenever they found the opportunity.
Sometimes, Arthur came in to find his father fast asleep and Gwen talking softly to an unresponsive Merlin. Some of her words reminded him of the things he’d heard her say when he’d been the one desperately ill, but others he knew were for Merlin alone.
She’d thanked him over and over again for the months he’d given her with her father. She told him about how she understood why he’d lied, why he’d felt like he had to hide what he was from everyone.
Though he usually left her alone, occasionally he’d slipped in and taken his own place on the other side of the bed. He’d claimed the spot as his own and no one ever took it, even if that meant standing or perching on the edge of the bed.
On those occasions, her smile and comfort were for Arthur as well and she’d told him stories of things that had happened, things Merlin had said or done that he hadn’t seen or noticed.
Morgana had come and gone, but she’d always been quiet when she watched Merlin.
Arthur had wanted to take her and shake her and ask her if she’d seen the end somehow.
As he poured the small cup full of water and returned to Merlin’s side, he thought that maybe she’d only seen the absence the same as he had and that it had disturbed her far more than than any nightmare vision.
The younger man looked better after he’d taken his fill of water. Arthur adjusted the pillows and helped him sit up, smiling slightly when Merlin leaned into him unconsciously, soaking up the contact. The tension and worry that had been plaguing him from the moment his father had collapsed finally released and he could breath easy once more.
“What do you remember?” Arthur asked softly, one arm slipping around Merlin’s back.
Merlin’s head tipped down to rest against Arthur’s shoulder and sighed softly. “There was shouting. Guards ordering people out of the council chambers and then… I could feel you slipping away. It’s all a bit hazy after that.”
“Gaius said my father had an apoplectic seizure. He was dying and I was trying to heal him. It didn’t work out quite like I intended.”
Peering up at him with slight incredulity, Merlin sighed again before shutting his eyes. “Balance. To give a life with magic, a life must be taken.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. We’d have both died if you hadn’t stepped in.”
Arthur was quite sure of that.
Merlin shrugged and opened his eyes again. “Apparently I have quite a few lives to spare.” At Arthur’s questioning look, he just made a dismissive noise and flopped his hand against Arthur’s chest. “Later.”
“It was only a few hours before I woke up, which is good, really, because rumors had spread almost immediately. If I’d lazed about unconscious as long as you, Camelot would have fallen down around our ears. Lazy sod.” He didn’t bother to keep his affection or relief out of his voice as his arm tightened around Merlin.
The only response was a huff of amusement and a softly muttered prat that was still more of an endearment than an insult.
“Things were a bit hectic after that. The people were restless, worried and within two days an emissary arrived from both Baynard’s and Cendred’s kingdoms.” They’d claimed they were merely there on diplomatic missions, but Arthur knew spies when he saw them. They’d arrived too soon to have come on the rumors of Uther’s collapse, though, so he and Morgana both believed they’d been brought by earlier rumors about Uther’s search for a mysterious cure for something.
It was just unlucky circumstance that had allowed them to arrive while the king was still unconscious.
Arthur had acted quickly, knowing that he had to take control of the situation or find his kingdom at war.
“I took over by proxy, really. Sent out a call for all able bodied men, noble and common alike, to come to Camelot. Those who choose to stay and can make it through training will be rewarded with knighthood.”
It had all been a bit more complicated than that and he’d effectively overturned the first of Uther’s laws before he’d even been crowned king. It hadn’t been long afterward that Uther had awoken and Gaius had informed him that he may as well get used to being the one in charge.
His father would be king in name for a bit longer, until everything could be sorted out, but it would be in name only. Even Uther had conceded that he wasn’t fit to rule in his condition.
Arthur had been amazed how many had come in answer to his call and even more amazed at just how good some of them were. No one had bested him, yet, but several of his noble knights had found themselves having to concede to the new commoners.
“Lancelot has returned, much to Guinevere’s delight. He brought this completely undisciplined reprobate with him who drinks too much and flirts with pretty much everything that moves.” He paused, thinking about the man who’d accompanied Lancelot through the gates several days ago. “In fact, I think I saw him flirting with Gaius a few times.”
Merlin snorted at that. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not, actually. His name is Gwaine. I think you’d like him. He’s a good swordsmen. I expect he’ll make a fine knight.” Despite the giant chip that seemed to rest on Gwaine’s shoulders - and his very odd tastes in who was flirtable and who was not - he seemed like the good sort. “Gwen’s brother arrived only two days ago.”
“I didn’t know Gwen had a brother.”
Arthur chuckled. “Neither did I. Apparently he’s something of a black sheep instead of a blacksmith. Gwen was relieved to see him, though. I think she was was afraid he’d gone and gotten himself killed somewhere.”
“Any others?”
“Dozens. Some are better, some are worse. They could all use a fair bit of training to smooth out their rough edges and get them coordinated with the rest of us, but they’re all a far cry above some of the men who’ve tried to call themselves a knight of Camelot. I’m pleased with them.”
The hand Merlin still had against Arthur’s chest shifted around and settled against Arthur’s heart. “High praise indeed coming from you.”
“Well…” Arthur laughed softly and shook his head. He had exacting standards for his knights and too many hopefuls had fallen woefully short. He’d spent more time over the last year complaining about the sad state of affairs than he had praising the ones that deserved it. Some of the noblemen who’d disgraced his training field had been bad enough that even Merlin could have beaten them with a sword. “They’ve earned it.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “Morgana is even pushing for me to let women try for the knights. My protests would be a bit more effective if she didn’t have Leon backing her up.” He shook his head with a faint smile as he thought of his first knight and the woman who was his sister for all intents and purposes. “She beat him up to prove her point and he’s been like a smitten puppy ever since. Which she encourages, the brazen hussy.”
It was a strange match, but Arthur thought that it worked, somehow.
“How long was I out?”
Arthur’s arm tightened around Merlin and he pressed his face against the shaggy black hair. “It’s been almost three weeks, Merlin. I was beginning to believe-” He cut himself off, forcing himself to take a deep breath and force a more casual tone. “Gaius was starting to think you’d never wake up.”
“Arthur…” Merlin pulled back and looked at him then. Long fingers brushed against his cheek and Arthur closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”
“Wasn’t your fault, Merlin.” Arthur sighed and opened his eyes again. He knew well enough where the blame lay. A wise man knew his limitations, but Arthur had never been very good at accepting that. “I’m just glad that you’re okay. Don’t really know what I’d have done otherwise.”
Before Merlin could answer, movement caught both their attentions and they looked up to see Uther still hovering just on the other side of the doorway. He had company now, though.
Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen were all watching them with varying degrees of affection and relief. He could see the need to come closer and reassure themselves that Merlin was all right, so he waved them in with exasperation.
He supposed he should be glad that they’d made the effort to let him have his moment, though he knew it was only a matter of time before Morgana began teasing him about it.
“Umm.. Arthur,” Merlin whispered just before they were descended upon. “Did your father just… wiggle his fingers at me?”
Arthur couldn’t help it. He laughed.
~*~*~
Merlin watched the morning activity in the courtyard below. Servants rushed to and fro, occupied with their lives.
The people of Camelot had bigger concerns to occupy their minds than the turmoil that had filled the castle of late. The changes in Merlin’s life meant nothing to them. The strain in their royal family was only important if it trickled down onto them.
They’d pay attention soon, though.
When Uther abdicated and Arthur became their king, they’d pay attention. For a while, at least. Long enough to celebrate the changing of the guard, to honor both kings, new and old.
It wasn’t until Arthur’s changes swept through the land that they’d really take notice, though, when the pyres stayed unlit and the executioner’s axe went unused. When magic retook its place in the land.
When Merlin stood by Arthur’s side as an equal for all to see and enemies of the crown realized that the new king was not as unprotected as the last.
“What are you doing out here, looking so serious?”
Merlin smiled as Arthur settled against the wall next to him. “Nothing, Arthur. Just admiring the view.”
“Merlin.” The prince sounded aggrieved. “I believe you lie simply to see if I’ll allow you to get away with it.”
“Perhaps.” Merlin knew Arthur didn’t need auramancy to see the fondness on his face or hear the affection in his voice. “Will you, my lord?”
Arthur sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “For now.”
“Thank you, Sire. Your leniency sets my heart aflutter.”
There was a moment of silence, then Arthur dared lean in close despite the fact that anyone curious could look up and see them. “Merlin, everything sets your heart aflutter. You’re ridiculously easy that way.”
Merlin laughed and allowed himself a gentle touch to Arthur’s cheek. “Only for you, my king.”
~*~*~
epilogue
“This is intolerable.” The words were ground out, seething fury easily detected without any help of magic.
Gilius ignored it, though. He was familiar enough with such fits and he could protect himself against random bouts of general temper. “I don’t know about that. I think it’s the best result we could have hoped for.”
Reaching out, he took his letter from the woman’s clenched fingers before she could mangle it into something unsalvageable. He’d likely need it if he ever intended to return to Camelot, regardless of whether Arthur had taken over the kingship or not. Guards who’d been ordered to keep you out of the kingdom would be cautious and Gilius didn’t fancy spending unnecessary time in dungeons if he could avoid it.
He smoothed out the parchment and carefully rerolled it before tucking it away.
Then he refocused on his companion.
She was beautiful to the naked eye, even with the perpetual expression of discontent. Perfect in feature with long blondee curls and almost unnaturally even teeth, she’d captured the eyes of peasants and kings alike.
Gilius pitied the man who couldn’t see beneath that to the stark darkness of hatred and anger that consumed her soul. “Come now, Morgause. We always knew this was a possible outcome.”
“Uther should be dead,” she hissed, tossing her hair back and glowering at him.
Gilius sighed. “He’s incapacitated, physically and mentally unable to maintain kingship. He’s been forced to abdicate. I’d think that’d be a more fitting form of vengeance than simple death.”
For his own part, the auramancer had very little use for vengeance. His kin had given their lives and their magic knowingly, willingly. Vengeance against Uther Pendragon would not bring them back and he wouldn’t dishonor their sacrifice in such a way.
No, he was content with how well things had come together in the end.
The last son of the de Bois line would be everything prophecy had promised and the warlock at his side even more so. With a little luck, their manipulations would strengthen that and the legend of the Once and Future king and his warlock would go further than any Seer could have imagined. Albion would be reunited, magic would be restored, and eventually, Arthur would bring peace and prosperity to the lands without murdering thousands of innocents to accomplish it.
Morgause’s mouth pulled up in a tight grimace before she took a deep breath and her expression smoothed out again. “I suppose you are correct. Either way, it will have to suffice. For now.”
She whirled around and left him to his own thoughts.
He watched her go, knowing she would continue with her plotting.
With another sigh, he shook his head. Hopefully, she would content herself with simply trying to engineer Uther’s death and not turn her attention on Arthur’s.
She would stand no chance against Merlin, though she’d never seemed to grasp that. Gilius had seen the depth of Merlin’s magic, had felt the power of it. Unafraid to use what was instinctive to him, without the lies and fear festering within him, Merlin was a force of nature, unbendable to the whims of man or witch.
Morgause had more knowledge, more fine-tuned skill, but that would change when Arthur officially lifted the ban on magic and the warlock could learn openly from others. Any advantage Morgause had would be lost.
No, Gilius did not need a Seer’s gift to know the outcome of a fight between Morgause and Merlin.
He pulled the letter out again and unrolled it, reading over the formal words of the official invitation written in Arthur’s hand once more. Then he let his sight go beyond that, to the play of magic and life that clung to it like a scent of perfume left behind. The faint hint of gold was well and truly meshed with the familiar reddish orange of Arthur’s honor and courage.
They were bound together too thoroughly for any to ever tear asunder and Albion would be better for it.
Likely, they’d have gotten there on their own, but if he’d helped in any way, it was an honor.
Gilius smiled as he moved to a nearby window and looked out into the brilliant sunrise and rainbow hues of the world.
Life was about to get interesting.
~*~*~
fin
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
~*~*~
Uther wasn’t sure what awakened him. He lay still for long minutes, feeling the softness of his bed underneath him. Somewhere nearby, he could hear the familiar sound of Gaius muttering about reckless idiots and herbs.
There was a lightness to his limbs that belied the heaviness of his eyelids.
The world felt strange, though he couldn’t have specified why, exactly.
He forced his eyes open and stared at the canopy of his bed. The room was bright with sunlight and he wondered how ill he’d been to be brought all the way to his room in the middle of the day and not remember how or why.
“Sire?” Gaius’ face appeared above him and Uther blinked slightly at the cautious concern in his friend’s expression.
“Was it really that bad, old friend?” The words came out slurred, only barely coherent at all, and he frowned.
The physician didn’t seem to share his concern about it, though. Gaius relaxed and sighed, dipping his head. “It was very bad, your highness.”
Uther nodded only to pause when the world faded out for a moment. A cool hand pressed against his forehead and Gaius made a tsk’ing sound. “Best to stay still for a while longer, Sire.”
“Indeed,” Uther murmured when he was sure he wasn’t going to disgrace himself by fainting or vomiting. “What happened?”
“Between what Arthur described and what I’ve observed myself, I believe you had a rather severe apoplectic seizure, Sire. Triggered, no doubt, by all the recent stress and your anger.”
Frowning, Uther tried to piece together the fragmented pieces of his memory. “Arthur performed magic.”
Gaius hesitated, then dipped his head again in acknowledgement. The frown on his face was reproving. “He saved your life, Uther. And it almost cost him his own.”
There was something, niggling at the back of Uther’s mind and he worried at it for a moment. He remembered being furious Arthur but it was all a bit hazy and soft around the edges. He couldn’t even summon up the smallest pretense of anger and it was difficult to remember where the rage had come from.
He thought he should be more worried about that than he was, but even that thought was hard to hold onto.
“What did he do?” His voice was still slurred and that bothered Uther more than anything else for the moment. He rolled and clicked his tongue in his mouth, wondering at why it felt so heavy and difficult to use.
“The damage was too severe for usual aura healing. He attempted to use his own life force to spur yours on, but as best as I can guess, instead he got them tangled together. You almost pulled him into death with you.”
Uther thought he remembered that, a moment when the pain had lessened, as if the burden had been shared and then staring into the abyss and knowing that he was at his end. The idea that he might have taken Arthur with him…
He shuddered. “Is he-”
“He’s fine, Uther,” Gaius replied with a smile, gesturing towards the other side of the room.
Carefully, frowning at the way his body didn’t want to cooperate, Uther edged himself up higher on his pillows so that he could see properly. The door that usually divided his bed chamber from the small, separate room that should have housed his own manservant stood open and he could see Arthur sitting in a chair beside the bed, his head pillowed on his arms as he slept. The boy Merlin lay in the small servant’s bed, paler than the sheets beneath his cheek.
“Dare I ask?” If he spoke slowly, carefully, the words weren’t as badly slurred.
Gaius shrugged. “When it was obvious what was happening, Merlin quite recklessly tossed his own life into the fray, giving Arthur access to his own energy to save you both.” He made a face and rubbed his eyes, looking every day of his long years. “For a moment, I was afraid all three of you were lost. As for why he is in your suites, well… The prince and I were quite running ourselves ragged going between my tower and your chamber. Arthur decided that it was stupid when you had a perfectly serviceable servants alcove right here.” A faint smile settled on his lips as he gave the pair a rueful look. “Your manservant was quite torn between gratitude for your life and annoyance at being ousted from his bed.”
Trying to sit up on his own was an utter failure. Half his body refused to obey his commands at all and the other half was sluggish and slow to react. It was like swimming through quicksand. Luckily, Gaius seemed to notice his predicament and helped him up before carefully shifting around the pillows and urging him back against them.
“Why do I feel like this? When will I be able to resume my duties?” The end of the sentence got a bit mashed up, but he was reasonably confident that his friend understood the sentiment if not the exact words.
One eyebrow went up as Gaius gave him a severe expression. “Uther, you don’t seem to understand. Right now, you should be dead. That you aren’t, is only a testament to how very stubborn those two young men can be. He gave it a valiant effort, but Arthur lacks adequate training and the damage was too severe even with Merlin’s aid. Your brain isn’t sending commands out right anymore. The most extensive rehabilitation isn’t going to change that. Lessen it, hopefully, but the damage is done. You will not be resuming any more duties. Even if you can get back to your previous mobility, the danger of another seizure, one that Arthur can’t heal at all is going to linger indefinitely.”
Part of Uther knew he should be devastated at that. Or very, very angry.
He found he was neither. All he could seem to feel was a vague sense of disconnection and relief that Arthur was all right. Even the knowledge that Arthur had willfully used cursed magic on him couldn’t seem to stir anything stronger.
“How many people saw Arthur do magic?”
“Only his knights. The guards were very good about getting everyone else out of the room before you even collapsed and someone had called for Leon.” Gaius’s lips twitched slightly. “I think they wanted someone who could reasonably restrain Arthur without losing their heads if the argument between the two of you turned violent. Which, frankly, is probably the only reason they’d allowed Merlin through in the first place. Though there’s been speculation, no one else is sure what happened after they were forced out.”
The niggling feeling returned and Uther turned it over in his mind, trying to sort it out. There’d been something else at play in his council room. A flash of something so bright as to almost be blinding. Magic, he thought, and not Arthur’s.
His eyes went again to the pair in the other room. They’d been dying, he and Arthur, until Merlin had arrived. He remembered another day in the council room when the boy had burst in, proclaiming himself a sorcerer with a sort of desperation to be believed that Uther had dismissed it as soon as Arthur had given him reason for it.
A fragment memory floated through his mind, a memory of terror, of staring up at the king - at himself - and knowing he’d find no mercy even though he’d done nothing wrong. But he couldn’t let his friend die, not for something he’d done. He expected to burn and the thought nearly made him sick to his stomach, but the thought of watching Gwen burn was far, far worse.
“Sire?”
He blinked the vision away, dismissing it as unimportant. Odd, but not something to worry over. He glanced over at Gaius and his cautious expression.
A man who had believed he might put his own son to death would have reason to be concerned.
It was hard to muster any righteous indignation with the muted feel of the world and he sighed before sinking back into the pillows and closing his eyes. He had seen the loyalty and devotion that Merlin held for his son and he knew that it would never wane.
Which was a relief, because he had a feeling Arthur was going to need a strong ally at his side in the coming years as enemies and allies alike tested his ability to stand on his own without his father. “What do retired kings do, exactly?”
He didn’t have to see it to know Gaius’s smile was relieved.
~*~*~
The darkness was suffocating. It held him tight in it’s embrace and refused to let him go.
At first, he couldn’t seem to form coherent thought. He was nothing and the nothingness stretched out both in front of and behind him.
Slowly, memory trickled back in and his past reshaped itself and he remembered.
I’m Merlin.
A painful emptiness throbbed through his body and he curled around it. Why? What was missing?
Feeling returned shortly after that, but still… The darkness did not abate.
On and on it seemed to go, until a voice, amused and exasperated crept into his mind. The darkness only holds you because you allow it. Open your eyes, young warlock.
He knew that voice. It hadn’t always steered him correctly and for a time he’d hated it, but now… It was the voice of kin and he trusted it enough to try, at least.
Merlin opened his eyes to chaos and destruction.
A dragon’s roar filled Merlin’s ears, echoing through his mind. It shook with rage and pain and vengeance. People burned under the dragon’s fury. Camelot shuddered to her very foundations, the living heartbeat of the castle stuttering under the onslaught. He learned of his father and he led a gravely injured Arthur to a man who died before Merlin could truly know him.
The scene changed, the edges mercurial like the mirage sand could give off on a hot day.
A blonde woman, beautiful, but hard and lost to her own darkness challenged Arthur and defeated the prince far more easily than Merlin had ever seen it done before. He knew, though he could not have said how he knew, that this was Morgana’s sister and in the same instant, he also knew that Morgana was Arthur’s.
He saw Arthur challenge his father, horrible truths of his birth pushing them to this moment before Merlin stepped in and lied. He felt Arthur’s own hatred towards magic grow with those lies and he ached for it, but knew he could do nothing else.
The world seemed to shift again and Merlin wondered if he was dreaming.
The castle was silent this time, no dragon or running screaming people, no swords, no battle, but Morgana looked up at him with betrayal and fury in her eyes. He’d had to, he knew he’d had to, though he wasn’t certain what exactly he’d had to do. In a choice between Arthur’s life and someone else’s, there was no choice at all. And Morgana had come back from her captivity wrong, broken in ways he couldn’t quite understand. It was the right choice. That didn’t stop the pain or the guilt. He’d had few true friends in his life and Morgana had been one of those that he’d loved the best.
Before he could make sense of anything, before he understand what he’d done and what it all meant, the scene changed again.
Arthur, kissing Gwen, holding her, swearing the sorts of things that hurt Merlin’s heart to even imagine. And in the background, Lancelot, dressed in the red cloak of Camelot’s finest knights, wistful and resigned.
He saw Morgana and an army of undead, defeated, and himself bitterly watching others receive the praise for what he’d done. Again.
After that, things got muddled, moving almost too rapidly for him to taken in.
Pain, betrayal, anger and bitterness.
So many lies.
As the lies grew, so did the walls between himself and the ones he cared for.
He watched as Arthur grew apart from him, moving further and further away from any closeness that they’d ever shared. He watched as Uther finally succumbed to a madness and illness that had held him for far too long and the son take his father’s place. When Arthur accepted the crown, the bonds between them were so damaged and frayed that they barely existed at all. When Merlin stood before his King as the warlock he was, he did so knowing he was only a weapon to be wielded in defense of the kingdom, no different than Excaliber at the end of the day.
Bitterness and resentment festered and the King’s warlock could never find contentment or joy in the Golden Age that was forged.
Then came the day when he finally turned his back on Camelot. On Albion.
On Arthur.
He left his king and Albion to fend for themselves and there was Moragana again, darker than anyone Merlin had ever seen, consumed by hatred and sparking with an evil that seemed to suck the life and happiness out of everything. And with her was a man that he knew was Mordred despite little resemblance between the grown man and the druid boy he’d once known so briefly.
Merlin wanted to scream. He knew what came next. Arthur wasn’t helpless and never had been, but Merlin knew that Mordred would kill Arthur as Kilgarrah had once warned and he knew, knew, that it was his fault.
Horrible, hateful laughter rang out as Morgana urged Mordred on, her magic helping his as they faced off against an Arthur who stood alone.
‘It’s horrible.’
The voice was whispered next to Merlin’s ears and he turned, startled to see Morgana, his Morgana, the real one somehow caught inside his own nightmare vision, watching the same scenes play out. Disbelief and horror was etched into every line of her body and her fists were clenched at her side.
She turned to him, her eyes begging him to do something, to change something.
He wanted to reassure her that everything was okay. The horrible images were just a dream. But he knew as well as she did that they didn’t feel like dreams.
They were too real for mere dreams.
Before he could say anything at all, another voice joined and he felt the hot breath of the dragon against his back.
‘This is no dream or vision, Merlin.’ Kilgarrah’s eyes were kind as they turned to meet his gaze. ‘This is what was to have passed.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Destiny, if you will.’ Sighing the dragon gestured widely with one claw and wing, encompassing the still moving visions. ‘This is not what is or what was. This is nothing more or less than what would have been.’
Merlin’s gut tightened with the confirmation of his worst fear. ‘This is the great destiny you’ve been prattling on about all this time?’
The idea that he would leave Arthur to confront his enemies and face his death alone wrenched at his heart. Surely there was nothing that could make him do that.
Kilgarrah dipped his head. ‘The future has never been wholly set in stone, young warlock. I have guided you as best I can to make what changes I could see. I did advise you to allow the druid boy to die, did I not?’
‘This can be changed?’ It was Morgana who asked, accepting the dragon’s presence as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. ‘It does not have to be this way?’
The vision had shifted again and Merlin could see himself drop to his knees, one hand over his heart and his eyes glowing brightly as the pain of Arthur’s death ricocheted through him. He could see himself scream and rage, magic lashing out at a world that was suddenly so empty and meaningless without that one bright soul inhabiting it. Death and devastation was unleashed in the wake of his furious grief. He’d left, he’d never intended to go back, but to know that he couldn’t, that amends could never be made, was more than could be borne. A thousand lifetimes, one for every life that had been sacrificed so that he could live, stretched out in front of him, dark and Arthur-less, and Merlin knew that all he wanted was to destroy the world and everything in it so that he wouldn’t have to face that empty future.
Peering down at Morgana, Kilgarrah snorted. ‘This has already been changed, witch. Too many lies and too much betrayal led to this. This new magic has rather nipped that in the bud, hasn’t it? The Pendragon penchant for obliviousness has been bypassed. I cannot see what will be any longer. Perhaps some parts of this. Perhaps something else entirely.’
Merlin shut his eyes tightly. He didn’t want to see any more. He was fiercely glad that this destiny had been broken. They would forge a new destiny, a new path, and he would never leave Arthur’s side again.
It was his vow.
‘Merlin.’
He pressed his hands against his ears and shook his head. A slow trickle of something warm and soft began to coil around him and settle into his bones. The emptiness faded away slowly, the pain lessening as it went.
It wasn’t until his magic was strong and full again, bringing with it the heady sense of Arthur, that he realized what it was and where it had gone.
A different aching need came with it and he wished for nothing more than to see Arthur with his own eyes.
With a chuckle, Kilgarrah’s mind seemed to nudge his own.
That’s easy enough, young warlock. Just wake up.
~*~*~
Stepping up and filling his father’s shoes while deflecting nosy busybodies from the severity of the situation was enough to drive a man to drink. With the added worry of whether or not he’d accidentally managed to turn both his father and his manservant into vegetables and the need to fill in the gaps of Camelot’s forces before some industrious baron or king decided to try and take advantage of things, Arthur thought it was a miracle that he hadn’t denounced his name and run screaming for the hills.
Arthur rubbed a hand through his hair and sighed as he strode through the hallway, heading for his father’s chambers.
He’d been relieved when the old man had finally woken up; it was one less worry weighing on his mind.
Uther Pendragon was different, now, though. His body was fighting him, his entire left side sluggish and unresponsive to his commands. He had to concentrate and speak carefully lest his words slur in an almost drunken fashion.
More than that, though, most of the time he was too calm, too apathetic to the world around him. Uther was always genuinely pleased to see Arthur whenever the prince could tear himself away from keeping the jackals away from Camelot and a visit from Morgana made him smile as softly as someone holding a newborn babe, a matching softness seeping into the colors around him, but there was a distance in all of it.
Almost as if his father wasn’t quite inside his own mind any longer.
As disturbing as it could be, it was almost preferable to the other strangeness that had settled into the old king.
At times, a manic light would appear in Uther’s eyes and he’d go stark raving nutters. Not in the old Uther fashion, either, which was something to be thankful for at least. It was more that he’d tell bawdy jokes that made no real sense or talk to his wife as if she were sitting beside him.
Swallowing, Arthur bounded up the stairs, his mind full of things he’d never known before. It had been heartbreaking to see the sheer joy and pleasure on Uther’s face as he’d called Arthur over to introduce their son to a figment of his imagination.
Arthur had gone dutifully and listened to the slurred, one-sided conversation as his father relayed stories of days gone by when Camelot had been home to a beloved queen and a besotted king.
Those times were hard, but selfishly, Arthur couldn’t help but be a little bit glad for them. For the first time in his life, he could say that he felt like he knew his mother and the man his father should have been.
Gaius blamed the seizure both for the physical ailments and the apparent mental affliction, but Arthur suspected he was partly to blame as well. He’d only been trying to help, but his inexperience had broken something inside Uther instead.
He’d saved his father’s life, but the cost had been high and he knew that Uther as he had been before would have found this state of being abhorrent. Arthur knew that, but knew just as well that even if he could turn back time and change his actions, he wouldn’t. Selfish or not, he knew he wasn’t ready to say goodbye to his father.
Turning the last corner, Arthur paused outside the room, hand settling on the dark would of the door.
There was also Merlin.
His heart ached as he thought of how selflessly Merlin had given, how faithfully he’d trusted Arthur with his very soul. His memories were a little sketchy and his view of what had happened was slanted since he’d been delved deep in his own magic, but he could still remember how Merlin had settled against him, magic and aura holding them all back from the nothingness.
Arthur had woken up only a few hours after, magical energy, Merlin’s energy, buzzing around his system like an army of industrious bees. He’d gone non-stop after that, for days, rushing about to and fro.
But Merlin had lain silent, the golden pool that steadied and soothed Arthur grimly absent.
Though he had a hundred hundred things to do, Arthur found himself making the trek up to his father’s chambers a dozen times a day. He checked on his father, listened to stories or random gibberish or helped Uther work through the exercises Gaius insisted that he do. And no matter how long he was in the room, no matter what distraction his father provided, Arthur’s attention always wandered through the adjoining door and the silent figure that lay in the bed on the other side.
It was the hardest thing to accept, far worse than his father’s strangeness.
Bad enough that he’d broken his father, but Arthur was deathly afraid that he’d broken Merlin, as well. He was afraid that he’d stolen away that radiant golden light and that Merlin would never open his eyes again, that he’d simply fade away into the nothingness he’d saved them from.
Taking a deep breath, Arthur pushed the door open warily, unsure what he would find.
“Bloody hell.”
“Father, what-” Arthur cut himself off and shook his head with a sigh. The urge to rush over and tuck a shoulder under Uther’s arm, to help him back to bed and insist he stay there, was strong but Arthur restrained it. Even altered, his father didn’t react well to such obvious blows to his pride. “Do you need help?”
Uther just made a face as he righted himself awkwardly from where he’d fallen against the wall across the room. “I am perfectly capable of taking a simple stroll around my room.”
For a moment, he sounded exactly like his old self. If his old self had had to measure his speech so carefully.
“Still, Gaius said to be careful.” Arthur couldn’t help but hover. The uncoordinated movements of the two sides of Uther’s body was painful to watch. Once, Uther had been a graceful warrior, but that was all gone now and guilt gnawed at Arthur.
“Yes, yes, yes.” Uther rolled his eyes, but reached out and beckoned Arthur closer. Mischief sparkled in his eyes and Arthur wondered if today was a madman day. “Gaius is a bit of a worry wart, isn’t he?”
Lips twitching, Arthur shrugged. “I suppose. But it’s just because he cares.”
He kept the rest to himself, that they had plenty of reason to be worried. Even Uther’s aura had been altered. The dark blockages of before were gone, but what remained was unsteady, pulsing oddly.
“True.” Uther’s grin was nostalgic and Arthur wondered what he was remembering.
“You’re not supposed to be up without someone around to make sure it doesn’t go badly.” Gaius hadn’t explained exactly what they were watching for, but Arthur could guess. He knew that Gaius was concerned about Uther having another seizure.
With a sigh, Uther nodded and let Arthur help him straighten up as much as was possible.
“I was bored,” he complained, his carefully modulated voice somewhat stilted. Arthur almost preferred the slur. At least then, he could pretend his father was just drunk and not face the reality that he was broken. “And he was making noises. Thought he was talking to me for a bit so I thought I’d go check. It’s only polite, you know.”
Arthur arched a brow. He wondered what new shade his father had stumbled upon in his madness. “Who was talking to you?”
“Oh, he wasn’t, actually.” Uther waved towards the open door of the other room. “I think he was just dreaming. He did call out for you once, though.”
Swallowing, Arthur moved away to linger in the doorway, watching Merlin’s silent form. “Are you sure?”
His father seemed to think for a moment before shrugging with the shoulder that still obeyed his commands. “Well, I suppose he could have been saying ‘Uther’.”
Merlin had not made a sound since Arthur had used his magic and aura to save Uther. He hadn’t stirred at all as far as Arthur had been able to tell. He’d been silent and still, breath barely there, no other signs of life at all.
Even death had more color to Arthur’s eyes than Merlin had had for far too long.
Not so, any longer. The golden aura wasn’t overwhelming as it had once been, but it pulsed with the life and love that he had come to know. For the first time, he could see beneath it and his father was all but forgotten and Arthur rushed forward to settle on the edge of the bed, Merlin’s hand clasped tightly in his own.
Merlin wasn’t dreaming, from the thrashing colors of pain and grief and fear that Arthur could see. He was having a nightmare.
“It’s all right, Merlin. I’m here.”
The response was almost instantaneous. The tension that had seeped into Merlin’s body relaxed and he took a deep breath. The negative colors faded away at Arthur’s touch and the sound of his voice.
Arthur wondered if Merlin had been caught in the sort of nightmare that had been plaguing his own too-infrequent sleep. He’d been thankful for the buzzing energy that had kept him from too many dreams of Merlin slipping away from him no matter how tightly he held on.
“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice was a mere rasp of sound, weak with disuse. “Wha’?”
The relief was almost enough to bring Arthur to tears. “Yes, Merlin. Who else were you expecting? Geoffrey?”
Merlin snorted a little and cracked one eye open to peer at him blearily. Then, slowly, both eyes were on him. They were a beautiful blue that Arthur could see properly finally, startling in the vividness he’d almost forgotten. “Wha’ happened?”
It sounded worse than before and his expression slipped into a grimace as he tried to clear his throat. Arthur couldn’t help but smile and brushed Merlin’s hair back. “Hold on. I’ll get you some water, all right?”
The younger man made a sound of gratitude.
Gwen had been faithfully keeping a pitcher of fresh water on the small table nearby along with a vase of bright blue flowers she claimed were Merlin’s favorite. Arthur knew that both she and Morgana visited Merlin whenever they found the opportunity.
Sometimes, Arthur came in to find his father fast asleep and Gwen talking softly to an unresponsive Merlin. Some of her words reminded him of the things he’d heard her say when he’d been the one desperately ill, but others he knew were for Merlin alone.
She’d thanked him over and over again for the months he’d given her with her father. She told him about how she understood why he’d lied, why he’d felt like he had to hide what he was from everyone.
Though he usually left her alone, occasionally he’d slipped in and taken his own place on the other side of the bed. He’d claimed the spot as his own and no one ever took it, even if that meant standing or perching on the edge of the bed.
On those occasions, her smile and comfort were for Arthur as well and she’d told him stories of things that had happened, things Merlin had said or done that he hadn’t seen or noticed.
Morgana had come and gone, but she’d always been quiet when she watched Merlin.
Arthur had wanted to take her and shake her and ask her if she’d seen the end somehow.
As he poured the small cup full of water and returned to Merlin’s side, he thought that maybe she’d only seen the absence the same as he had and that it had disturbed her far more than than any nightmare vision.
The younger man looked better after he’d taken his fill of water. Arthur adjusted the pillows and helped him sit up, smiling slightly when Merlin leaned into him unconsciously, soaking up the contact. The tension and worry that had been plaguing him from the moment his father had collapsed finally released and he could breath easy once more.
“What do you remember?” Arthur asked softly, one arm slipping around Merlin’s back.
Merlin’s head tipped down to rest against Arthur’s shoulder and sighed softly. “There was shouting. Guards ordering people out of the council chambers and then… I could feel you slipping away. It’s all a bit hazy after that.”
“Gaius said my father had an apoplectic seizure. He was dying and I was trying to heal him. It didn’t work out quite like I intended.”
Peering up at him with slight incredulity, Merlin sighed again before shutting his eyes. “Balance. To give a life with magic, a life must be taken.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. We’d have both died if you hadn’t stepped in.”
Arthur was quite sure of that.
Merlin shrugged and opened his eyes again. “Apparently I have quite a few lives to spare.” At Arthur’s questioning look, he just made a dismissive noise and flopped his hand against Arthur’s chest. “Later.”
“It was only a few hours before I woke up, which is good, really, because rumors had spread almost immediately. If I’d lazed about unconscious as long as you, Camelot would have fallen down around our ears. Lazy sod.” He didn’t bother to keep his affection or relief out of his voice as his arm tightened around Merlin.
The only response was a huff of amusement and a softly muttered prat that was still more of an endearment than an insult.
“Things were a bit hectic after that. The people were restless, worried and within two days an emissary arrived from both Baynard’s and Cendred’s kingdoms.” They’d claimed they were merely there on diplomatic missions, but Arthur knew spies when he saw them. They’d arrived too soon to have come on the rumors of Uther’s collapse, though, so he and Morgana both believed they’d been brought by earlier rumors about Uther’s search for a mysterious cure for something.
It was just unlucky circumstance that had allowed them to arrive while the king was still unconscious.
Arthur had acted quickly, knowing that he had to take control of the situation or find his kingdom at war.
“I took over by proxy, really. Sent out a call for all able bodied men, noble and common alike, to come to Camelot. Those who choose to stay and can make it through training will be rewarded with knighthood.”
It had all been a bit more complicated than that and he’d effectively overturned the first of Uther’s laws before he’d even been crowned king. It hadn’t been long afterward that Uther had awoken and Gaius had informed him that he may as well get used to being the one in charge.
His father would be king in name for a bit longer, until everything could be sorted out, but it would be in name only. Even Uther had conceded that he wasn’t fit to rule in his condition.
Arthur had been amazed how many had come in answer to his call and even more amazed at just how good some of them were. No one had bested him, yet, but several of his noble knights had found themselves having to concede to the new commoners.
“Lancelot has returned, much to Guinevere’s delight. He brought this completely undisciplined reprobate with him who drinks too much and flirts with pretty much everything that moves.” He paused, thinking about the man who’d accompanied Lancelot through the gates several days ago. “In fact, I think I saw him flirting with Gaius a few times.”
Merlin snorted at that. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not, actually. His name is Gwaine. I think you’d like him. He’s a good swordsmen. I expect he’ll make a fine knight.” Despite the giant chip that seemed to rest on Gwaine’s shoulders - and his very odd tastes in who was flirtable and who was not - he seemed like the good sort. “Gwen’s brother arrived only two days ago.”
“I didn’t know Gwen had a brother.”
Arthur chuckled. “Neither did I. Apparently he’s something of a black sheep instead of a blacksmith. Gwen was relieved to see him, though. I think she was was afraid he’d gone and gotten himself killed somewhere.”
“Any others?”
“Dozens. Some are better, some are worse. They could all use a fair bit of training to smooth out their rough edges and get them coordinated with the rest of us, but they’re all a far cry above some of the men who’ve tried to call themselves a knight of Camelot. I’m pleased with them.”
The hand Merlin still had against Arthur’s chest shifted around and settled against Arthur’s heart. “High praise indeed coming from you.”
“Well…” Arthur laughed softly and shook his head. He had exacting standards for his knights and too many hopefuls had fallen woefully short. He’d spent more time over the last year complaining about the sad state of affairs than he had praising the ones that deserved it. Some of the noblemen who’d disgraced his training field had been bad enough that even Merlin could have beaten them with a sword. “They’ve earned it.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “Morgana is even pushing for me to let women try for the knights. My protests would be a bit more effective if she didn’t have Leon backing her up.” He shook his head with a faint smile as he thought of his first knight and the woman who was his sister for all intents and purposes. “She beat him up to prove her point and he’s been like a smitten puppy ever since. Which she encourages, the brazen hussy.”
It was a strange match, but Arthur thought that it worked, somehow.
“How long was I out?”
Arthur’s arm tightened around Merlin and he pressed his face against the shaggy black hair. “It’s been almost three weeks, Merlin. I was beginning to believe-” He cut himself off, forcing himself to take a deep breath and force a more casual tone. “Gaius was starting to think you’d never wake up.”
“Arthur…” Merlin pulled back and looked at him then. Long fingers brushed against his cheek and Arthur closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”
“Wasn’t your fault, Merlin.” Arthur sighed and opened his eyes again. He knew well enough where the blame lay. A wise man knew his limitations, but Arthur had never been very good at accepting that. “I’m just glad that you’re okay. Don’t really know what I’d have done otherwise.”
Before Merlin could answer, movement caught both their attentions and they looked up to see Uther still hovering just on the other side of the doorway. He had company now, though.
Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen were all watching them with varying degrees of affection and relief. He could see the need to come closer and reassure themselves that Merlin was all right, so he waved them in with exasperation.
He supposed he should be glad that they’d made the effort to let him have his moment, though he knew it was only a matter of time before Morgana began teasing him about it.
“Umm.. Arthur,” Merlin whispered just before they were descended upon. “Did your father just… wiggle his fingers at me?”
Arthur couldn’t help it. He laughed.
~*~*~
Merlin watched the morning activity in the courtyard below. Servants rushed to and fro, occupied with their lives.
The people of Camelot had bigger concerns to occupy their minds than the turmoil that had filled the castle of late. The changes in Merlin’s life meant nothing to them. The strain in their royal family was only important if it trickled down onto them.
They’d pay attention soon, though.
When Uther abdicated and Arthur became their king, they’d pay attention. For a while, at least. Long enough to celebrate the changing of the guard, to honor both kings, new and old.
It wasn’t until Arthur’s changes swept through the land that they’d really take notice, though, when the pyres stayed unlit and the executioner’s axe went unused. When magic retook its place in the land.
When Merlin stood by Arthur’s side as an equal for all to see and enemies of the crown realized that the new king was not as unprotected as the last.
“What are you doing out here, looking so serious?”
Merlin smiled as Arthur settled against the wall next to him. “Nothing, Arthur. Just admiring the view.”
“Merlin.” The prince sounded aggrieved. “I believe you lie simply to see if I’ll allow you to get away with it.”
“Perhaps.” Merlin knew Arthur didn’t need auramancy to see the fondness on his face or hear the affection in his voice. “Will you, my lord?”
Arthur sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “For now.”
“Thank you, Sire. Your leniency sets my heart aflutter.”
There was a moment of silence, then Arthur dared lean in close despite the fact that anyone curious could look up and see them. “Merlin, everything sets your heart aflutter. You’re ridiculously easy that way.”
Merlin laughed and allowed himself a gentle touch to Arthur’s cheek. “Only for you, my king.”
~*~*~
epilogue
“This is intolerable.” The words were ground out, seething fury easily detected without any help of magic.
Gilius ignored it, though. He was familiar enough with such fits and he could protect himself against random bouts of general temper. “I don’t know about that. I think it’s the best result we could have hoped for.”
Reaching out, he took his letter from the woman’s clenched fingers before she could mangle it into something unsalvageable. He’d likely need it if he ever intended to return to Camelot, regardless of whether Arthur had taken over the kingship or not. Guards who’d been ordered to keep you out of the kingdom would be cautious and Gilius didn’t fancy spending unnecessary time in dungeons if he could avoid it.
He smoothed out the parchment and carefully rerolled it before tucking it away.
Then he refocused on his companion.
She was beautiful to the naked eye, even with the perpetual expression of discontent. Perfect in feature with long blondee curls and almost unnaturally even teeth, she’d captured the eyes of peasants and kings alike.
Gilius pitied the man who couldn’t see beneath that to the stark darkness of hatred and anger that consumed her soul. “Come now, Morgause. We always knew this was a possible outcome.”
“Uther should be dead,” she hissed, tossing her hair back and glowering at him.
Gilius sighed. “He’s incapacitated, physically and mentally unable to maintain kingship. He’s been forced to abdicate. I’d think that’d be a more fitting form of vengeance than simple death.”
For his own part, the auramancer had very little use for vengeance. His kin had given their lives and their magic knowingly, willingly. Vengeance against Uther Pendragon would not bring them back and he wouldn’t dishonor their sacrifice in such a way.
No, he was content with how well things had come together in the end.
The last son of the de Bois line would be everything prophecy had promised and the warlock at his side even more so. With a little luck, their manipulations would strengthen that and the legend of the Once and Future king and his warlock would go further than any Seer could have imagined. Albion would be reunited, magic would be restored, and eventually, Arthur would bring peace and prosperity to the lands without murdering thousands of innocents to accomplish it.
Morgause’s mouth pulled up in a tight grimace before she took a deep breath and her expression smoothed out again. “I suppose you are correct. Either way, it will have to suffice. For now.”
She whirled around and left him to his own thoughts.
He watched her go, knowing she would continue with her plotting.
With another sigh, he shook his head. Hopefully, she would content herself with simply trying to engineer Uther’s death and not turn her attention on Arthur’s.
She would stand no chance against Merlin, though she’d never seemed to grasp that. Gilius had seen the depth of Merlin’s magic, had felt the power of it. Unafraid to use what was instinctive to him, without the lies and fear festering within him, Merlin was a force of nature, unbendable to the whims of man or witch.
Morgause had more knowledge, more fine-tuned skill, but that would change when Arthur officially lifted the ban on magic and the warlock could learn openly from others. Any advantage Morgause had would be lost.
No, Gilius did not need a Seer’s gift to know the outcome of a fight between Morgause and Merlin.
He pulled the letter out again and unrolled it, reading over the formal words of the official invitation written in Arthur’s hand once more. Then he let his sight go beyond that, to the play of magic and life that clung to it like a scent of perfume left behind. The faint hint of gold was well and truly meshed with the familiar reddish orange of Arthur’s honor and courage.
They were bound together too thoroughly for any to ever tear asunder and Albion would be better for it.
Likely, they’d have gotten there on their own, but if he’d helped in any way, it was an honor.
Gilius smiled as he moved to a nearby window and looked out into the brilliant sunrise and rainbow hues of the world.
Life was about to get interesting.
~*~*~
fin