[FIC] Spared (Gaius; PG-13)
Author: oldwickedsongs
Title: Spared
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Gaius (although heavy with mentions of Uther, and lighter tones of Nimueh, Igraine and Gorlois)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: During 3x01, 3x02 Gaius tends to the King and thinks of how once there was servant and prince and a destiny only one of them saw.
Warnings (if any): References child murder.
Total word count: 1,301
Original prompt number: 342 - Submitted by jungle_ride
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by the BBC and Shine TV. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's/artist's notes (if any): Angst abounds.
Beta(s): juxtaposie
“Leave us.”
The words sound queer, even to my own ears, and lacking all authority. I’ve never been the sort of man to command respect. Oh there are those who obey me; either in deference to my age or my position but I was never possessed authority out of hand. That power was reserved for the sort of brash and loud fellow you see with sword at side, heavy with status and title. Even on the Isle, I was a lowly physician apprentice: a Druid’s bastard son and as easily overlooked as oak branch or raven on the parapet.
I do not say this in regret or mourning; of all my sins- a quiet nature has never been counted against me. Merely to prove a point; to show a truth. Those words should not touch my lips but there they are and here I am- dismissing Leon from the King’s chambers as if I am in some higher standing then this noble born son of Camelot; this tried soldier. All the more queer is the look of complete trust Leon gives at my appearance- the tiny nod of acknowledge, and the silent stealing away.
If he knew the truth, knew what I had sanction; would he trust me with something, someone, so dear to him? What of his own life?
Some of the Isle once trusted me like he did I think as I step closer to the King’s bedside, and I repaid their trust with betrayal. But then again, and this thought comes as quick as night follows dusk, and in time, dawn follows twilight- they trusted him once too.
But who alive remembers Uther as prince and new King? And who alive but we, he and I, remember the Blood Guardsman that once swore life and honor to the Isle, and her Lady…
And does Uther even remember after all this time; can he? Would he want to?
I know Merlin wonders sometimes although his affection for me will stay his tongue at least for now about what keeps me by my King’s side, what ransoms my life for his whims? Why did I stay and linger when all others of my kind- our kind- fled? And once more, why did I bide and do nothing as Uther cut his pain across all of Albion…
And I wonder if it ever crosses his mind to ask the other question- the one he should ask.
Why did Uther spare me and not Nimueh? In this bloody conspiracy that brought him a son, and Albion her new hope, we were all mutually culpable. So why was I spared, and not others?
And not himself…
There are no easy answers. Perhaps if there had been, I could explain why two decades past Igraine’s lost is still so raw, the Isle so empty and the unmarked graves spread through the Kingdom still moan for justice. Perhaps if I told him why, Merlin would understand…perhaps not. Either way, it would make little difference now, wouldn’t it?
What do you see, Uther King; I wonder as I flicker the candle across your face and pray to the Goddess of us all your eye will follow, that frightens you so?
Is it Nimueh? Igraine? The hundreds dead, thousands by your hands… is it Gorlois? Do your hands ache from the sin of your crimes, as your eyes burn with tears? Do you remember how you held the boy’s chest down as Eden ran over your fingertips? He was so small…his chest barely measured the length of your hand- from thumb to pinky…and against you he could not struggle, could he?
Those father hands. I’ve watched you carry Arthur as a babe in one hand- you trudged through the castle like a newborn foal with him, too eager and too happy to care for grace. I’ve watched you nurse Morgana through fever and nightmares with those hands.
And I have seen those eyes that light and darken with Morgana’s mood do the same as you order the fires to be lit, and axmen to commit their bloody business. What do they see now, those eyes that have always betrayed you, old friend, so easily; what scares you so?
Why did you spare me and not Nimueh? And not yourself?
I was there from the start; wasn’t I? It was my hand that showed a young Knight the Great Lady. It was my friendship you sought first, my heart you won when you were young and proud; and so much like Arthur even if I was never Merlin. I hadn’t his wisdom. I hadn’t his strength. And when you left the Isle and Guard to follow Igraine, wasn’t I at your side still? Could I have left you then? You had no thought but Igraine, and the Kingdom you inherited needed you.
There are no easy answers for what we did then, was there?
But who now remembers then? The hunger, and fear; the marauders and their new King uncertain and scared…half praying to Gods, and half in Magic’s debt to keep his people warm and fed. Who now remembers the winters? And who remembers we needed (or was it just that you wanted? New King. New father. Twenty years have passed and perhaps even I have forgotten…) an heir, a reason to hope. What ghosts haunt you? Are they Camelot’s dead; from the famine and lost battles…despite your best efforts and all that you had…
Or are they your people, the ones you abandoned long ago?
I have seen them too, sire, and more.
But do you owe the dead more than the living? Do corpses in the fields, and lost as ash into the wind or the sea hold more ransom over you then those who seek you now; those who trust you now. What will you tell them if you leave them now?
You cannot answer me. Perhaps you will not. Instead, all that you fear, that you hate and what haunts you traps you behind that terror on your face? Don’t you know these people trust you? Don’t you know they need you?
Oh Uther, King and father both. Could you abandon them now so easily? As I have done so easily? I never had your strength; never your foolishness. Father and King. Power. You waged wars for this, as I bided and watched.
Of us, who has the bloodier hands? Who of us should lose themselves?
Still, I am an old man now- neither father nor leader- and never the sort to command authority or shoulder the blame as you have. Silence has always been my nature, quietness my excuse. You may have held crown and whatever scares you locked behind silence and time…
I have only my place at your side, as ever. I bide and you allow it. You may have once been Arthur- with your dreams of Camelot and love for people but I was never Merlin, there was never a grand destiny I chased and what little magic I had may have faded with time. All that is left is that little knowledge that once I loved you, as Merlin loves Arthur, as Leon loves his King and Camelot trust their physician.
I was pardoned from our past; my clean hands, and quiet nature. My uneasy answers to questions you do not ask any longer, and I cannot recall. Or is it the other way around? Do you even know?
What do you see, Uther King, or who?
And why don’t I?
My voice sounds queer, even to my own ears, and as soon as the words are spoken- they are swallowed up by blackness, by the Gods and time. I never had the strength to ask it, but you have never denied it either. “Do not leave us.”
Title: Spared
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Gaius (although heavy with mentions of Uther, and lighter tones of Nimueh, Igraine and Gorlois)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: During 3x01, 3x02 Gaius tends to the King and thinks of how once there was servant and prince and a destiny only one of them saw.
Warnings (if any): References child murder.
Total word count: 1,301
Original prompt number: 342 - Submitted by jungle_ride
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by the BBC and Shine TV. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's/artist's notes (if any): Angst abounds.
Beta(s): juxtaposie
“Leave us.”
The words sound queer, even to my own ears, and lacking all authority. I’ve never been the sort of man to command respect. Oh there are those who obey me; either in deference to my age or my position but I was never possessed authority out of hand. That power was reserved for the sort of brash and loud fellow you see with sword at side, heavy with status and title. Even on the Isle, I was a lowly physician apprentice: a Druid’s bastard son and as easily overlooked as oak branch or raven on the parapet.
I do not say this in regret or mourning; of all my sins- a quiet nature has never been counted against me. Merely to prove a point; to show a truth. Those words should not touch my lips but there they are and here I am- dismissing Leon from the King’s chambers as if I am in some higher standing then this noble born son of Camelot; this tried soldier. All the more queer is the look of complete trust Leon gives at my appearance- the tiny nod of acknowledge, and the silent stealing away.
If he knew the truth, knew what I had sanction; would he trust me with something, someone, so dear to him? What of his own life?
Some of the Isle once trusted me like he did I think as I step closer to the King’s bedside, and I repaid their trust with betrayal. But then again, and this thought comes as quick as night follows dusk, and in time, dawn follows twilight- they trusted him once too.
But who alive remembers Uther as prince and new King? And who alive but we, he and I, remember the Blood Guardsman that once swore life and honor to the Isle, and her Lady…
And does Uther even remember after all this time; can he? Would he want to?
I know Merlin wonders sometimes although his affection for me will stay his tongue at least for now about what keeps me by my King’s side, what ransoms my life for his whims? Why did I stay and linger when all others of my kind- our kind- fled? And once more, why did I bide and do nothing as Uther cut his pain across all of Albion…
And I wonder if it ever crosses his mind to ask the other question- the one he should ask.
Why did Uther spare me and not Nimueh? In this bloody conspiracy that brought him a son, and Albion her new hope, we were all mutually culpable. So why was I spared, and not others?
And not himself…
There are no easy answers. Perhaps if there had been, I could explain why two decades past Igraine’s lost is still so raw, the Isle so empty and the unmarked graves spread through the Kingdom still moan for justice. Perhaps if I told him why, Merlin would understand…perhaps not. Either way, it would make little difference now, wouldn’t it?
What do you see, Uther King; I wonder as I flicker the candle across your face and pray to the Goddess of us all your eye will follow, that frightens you so?
Is it Nimueh? Igraine? The hundreds dead, thousands by your hands… is it Gorlois? Do your hands ache from the sin of your crimes, as your eyes burn with tears? Do you remember how you held the boy’s chest down as Eden ran over your fingertips? He was so small…his chest barely measured the length of your hand- from thumb to pinky…and against you he could not struggle, could he?
Those father hands. I’ve watched you carry Arthur as a babe in one hand- you trudged through the castle like a newborn foal with him, too eager and too happy to care for grace. I’ve watched you nurse Morgana through fever and nightmares with those hands.
And I have seen those eyes that light and darken with Morgana’s mood do the same as you order the fires to be lit, and axmen to commit their bloody business. What do they see now, those eyes that have always betrayed you, old friend, so easily; what scares you so?
Why did you spare me and not Nimueh? And not yourself?
I was there from the start; wasn’t I? It was my hand that showed a young Knight the Great Lady. It was my friendship you sought first, my heart you won when you were young and proud; and so much like Arthur even if I was never Merlin. I hadn’t his wisdom. I hadn’t his strength. And when you left the Isle and Guard to follow Igraine, wasn’t I at your side still? Could I have left you then? You had no thought but Igraine, and the Kingdom you inherited needed you.
There are no easy answers for what we did then, was there?
But who now remembers then? The hunger, and fear; the marauders and their new King uncertain and scared…half praying to Gods, and half in Magic’s debt to keep his people warm and fed. Who now remembers the winters? And who remembers we needed (or was it just that you wanted? New King. New father. Twenty years have passed and perhaps even I have forgotten…) an heir, a reason to hope. What ghosts haunt you? Are they Camelot’s dead; from the famine and lost battles…despite your best efforts and all that you had…
Or are they your people, the ones you abandoned long ago?
I have seen them too, sire, and more.
But do you owe the dead more than the living? Do corpses in the fields, and lost as ash into the wind or the sea hold more ransom over you then those who seek you now; those who trust you now. What will you tell them if you leave them now?
You cannot answer me. Perhaps you will not. Instead, all that you fear, that you hate and what haunts you traps you behind that terror on your face? Don’t you know these people trust you? Don’t you know they need you?
Oh Uther, King and father both. Could you abandon them now so easily? As I have done so easily? I never had your strength; never your foolishness. Father and King. Power. You waged wars for this, as I bided and watched.
Of us, who has the bloodier hands? Who of us should lose themselves?
Still, I am an old man now- neither father nor leader- and never the sort to command authority or shoulder the blame as you have. Silence has always been my nature, quietness my excuse. You may have held crown and whatever scares you locked behind silence and time…
I have only my place at your side, as ever. I bide and you allow it. You may have once been Arthur- with your dreams of Camelot and love for people but I was never Merlin, there was never a grand destiny I chased and what little magic I had may have faded with time. All that is left is that little knowledge that once I loved you, as Merlin loves Arthur, as Leon loves his King and Camelot trust their physician.
I was pardoned from our past; my clean hands, and quiet nature. My uneasy answers to questions you do not ask any longer, and I cannot recall. Or is it the other way around? Do you even know?
What do you see, Uther King, or who?
And why don’t I?
My voice sounds queer, even to my own ears, and as soon as the words are spoken- they are swallowed up by blackness, by the Gods and time. I never had the strength to ask it, but you have never denied it either. “Do not leave us.”