lost continents (au merlin; m/a) part nine
lost continents
part nine
"It is a curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it. Those who, like you, have leadership thrust upon them, and take up the mantle because they must, and find to their own surprise that they wear it well."
-JK Rowling (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows)
He’s been hoping that once they set foot in the kingdom of Camelot that they would be welcomed. But then he supposes it’s a naïve little fantasy. The Knights of Camelot cover every entrance with their still stance and unmoving faces like they’re always going to be wrought with the same mourning for the King for ages.
They’re not welcomed, not at the least, but at least they are let passed through the kingdom without so much as a warning. He wonders if they see the crest of Camelot wrapped around his arm and silently think to themselves that this guy will be okay.
They pass the metal gates and into the housing compounds of people who can afford it. Knights and names of recognition and figureheads of things that should have a proper leader. It’s probably an illusion set by the heads of Camelot to fool people to thinking that the entire kingdom is like this, with houses with tall roofs and wide yards but Arthur sees right through it.
The Darkling Woods are away from the citadel, away from general civilization, if the word ‘woods’ have anything to do with it. Soon enough, the concrete beneath their feet transforms to dirty cobbled streets and then to fallen leaves and puddles of mud.
By the time they reach some part of the woods, it’s nightfall and Will and Gwaine are grumbling and Gwen’s falling asleep on Lance’s shoulder. The walk to the castle, according to his map, would take another few hours so he guesses he should do the right thing and set camp in one of the caves.
Surely the castle won’t be destroyed in a few hours and surely Emrys can spend some more time living his peaceful life without it being destroyed by a few young men and women.
The cave is dark and dingy but they’ve all spent nights in worse places. There’s no room to put up tents at all, not with the ground dipping here and there and not a flat surface anywhere so the eight of them just settle with their sleeping bags around them, along with the arms of their significant others to keep them warm. Gwaine and Will are no exception now; the good friends practically cuddle up to each other without another word.
Merlin and Arthur’s feet tangle together under the sleeping bag, Arthur’s breath resting on Merlin’s neck and smelling the scent of him, like it’s already familiar.
“You’re nervous,” Merlin says matter-of-factly. It’s not a question or an inquiry; it’s a statement because he knows him so well already.
“Of course I’m nervous,” he nods. “We’re meeting the greatest warlock to have ever lived, apart from you, of course. What if he doesn’t want to help us? My father’s letter said Albion is doomed without him.” There’s a shuffle as Merlin faces him.
“Emrys isn’t going to turn you down, Arthur,” he says. “If he’s so great then he’ll know that your destiny is going to save us all and he will help us. This is an old subject, Arthur; I don’t want to remind you time and time again that you’ll be a great king. Not just because some old prophetic fool said so but because you were willing to lay down your life for the sake of a small town. No one else would’ve done that.”
“Thank you,” Arthur blushes.
“And why is it that you always want to talk at night?” Merlin asks. “Isn’t nighttime supposed to be used for sleeping? Honestly.”
“Go to sleep then, you hapless idiot.” Arthur kisses his nose and then falls asleep.
When he wakes, Merlin’s gone but what replaces him is a string of laughter and some kind of upbeat music. He looks around to see his group of friends together with Gwen’s new radio at hand. She made it from scraps of metal and wires from Daira and the girl has been in love with that thing. If he was Lance, he’d be worried.
“Morning, handsome!” Merlin cat-calls.
Morgana has her head perched on his shoulder, laughing at a joke Gwaine made and Arthur has a sort of warm feeling in his heart. Arthur sits between Gwaine and Lance, across from Merlin, as another song comes up on the radio.
“Guess what, Arthur?” Will asks.
“What?”
“We have discovered the monstrosity of Justin Bieber. Honestly, the guy’s voice sounds like some girl’s orgasm.”
“Like you’d know anything about that,” Gwaine laughs.
“I probably know more than you!”
“Yeah, well, maybe,” he takes another swig of his drink.
“Really?” Gwen asks, astonished. “But, look at you! You’re handsome!”
“Oi!” Lance elbows her.
“No offense, sweetie,” Gwen smiles.
“Plus,” Morgana adds to Gwaine, “You’ve got such luscious hair.”
“It should be in dozens of commercials,” Merlin supplies. “You’d be rich and we could be, like, your entourage.”
“Oh oh! With sunglasses and black trenchcoats!” Gwen says excitedly.
“And limos,” Lance says.
“And all for the sake of Gwaine’s luscious hair,” Will raises his glass. “To Gwaine’s hair!”
The echo of, “Gwaine’s hair!” goes through the cave.
“How smashed are you guys?” Arthur manages between howls of laughter.
“Darling, why do we have to be smashed to have fun?” Merlin winks at him.
This goes on for gods know how long but at least the time is spent making fun of Will and Gwen and Lance and drinking things that are clearly not mead, as Merlin said, but thinking it is does not make it easier at all.
At some point, Morgana and Gwen start dancing and the boys clap their hands wildly. At some point, when all the song says is I was made for sunny days and I was made for you, Arthur begins kissing Merlin with abandon until Lance coughs to separate them. At some point, when a slow song comes on, all eight of them find their partners and slow dances, at which point, Arthur is ridiculously happy. Because, at some point, he forgets about everything that isn’t Merlin’s body and his friends’ company.
Suddenly, the radio goes silent and so do all of them.
“We interrupt your regular radio programming for a special announcement,” the man on the radio says. “Lord Godwyn has been assassinated. Camelot has no King. King Cenred is waiting to take over the throne.”
The ruined old castle that Taliesin mentioned is not that ruined, not that old and certainly so much more beautiful than a castle. Though he can’t really say, the only castles he’s seen are in picture. They walk up to the cliff and Arthur pulls down his hood from his jacket to look at it more properly.
It’s white and tall, the paint is wearing out, but it’s beautiful and, somehow, familiar. His chest tightens and pulls in the fabric of his t-shirt, as well, as he realizes why it’s familiar.
Arthur’s only seen pictures of castles, yes, and one such picture was given to him by his mother and that picture depicted this castle, the one they’re in front of.
“I can’t believe it’s here,” Arthur says aloud.
“What?” Lance asks.
He doesn’t answer straight away, he opens the large, old-fashioned wooden doors, with the brass knockers and lining and it opens up to a large space. It’s filled with mismatched things from the past, all decorated in dust and webs, forgotten by the ages. There are candles lining the walls and Merlin and Morgana light them with their magic and he sees, yes, this is real and it’s here.
The stone underneath his feet is imprinted with things from the past, footprints of those who built this place and a few marks here and there. The eight of them are scattered around, looking for signs of life, calling out but Arthur’s looking for something else. His heart almost jumps out when he sees it. The outline of something round under old fabric.
He puts down his bags on the floor and strips away the cloth, dust mingling in the air along with something else, something magical and indescribable. The round table is what it is, an old round table with no head, ancient things engraved into it, things no one knew the meaning of but the symbolism hits him hard in the head.
“Here,” Arthur calls out. “Come join me.”
His friends do not object or question him, they just merely sit down on the chairs, there are eight, perfectly, like destiny’s been waiting for them in this abandoned castle, for all of them to sit down and be a part of something monumental.
Merlin’s to his right, reading the carvings on the table, Morgana to his left, locking hands with Leon who looks up to him. Lance nods like he knows something’s going to happen, as does Gwen, but her warm smile makes his heart beat slower but, as always, Will and Gwaine are messing around. Arthur touches the edge of the table and stands straight.
“This table belonged to the ancient Kings of Camelot,” he explains.
“A round table afforded no one man more importance than any other. They believed in equality of all things. It seems only fitting to revive this tradition now. Without each of you,” Arthur emphasizes each word by looking at them, all of them, with as much feeling and gratitude as he could in one look, “we would not be here.” At this point, even Will and Gwaine are silent.
“I’m going to take back my rightful throne as King of Camelot, even if that means waging a war against Cenred. Is there any around this table who wish to join me?”
There’s a silence at first, in which Arthur almost loses his cool and feels like he’s losing his friends but there’s a creak of a chair when Lance stands up.
“I would be honored to fight alongside you, Arthur,” he smiles and nods. “I believe in the world you would build.”
“There isn’t any other King I would rather be with,” Gwen stands up and Lance raises his eyebrows. “Oh, not like that! I mean… gods, you understand!”
Laughter breaks out as Leon stands up, as well. “I didn’t protect you for nothing,” he says with a wide smile.
“Always and forever, pretty boy,” Morgana smirks, her stature confident and still as she stands.
“I’m just in it for the booze and pretty ladies and the kickass fighting,” Will stands then his expression combines a smirk and a proud nod. “But, yeah, count me in.”
“I think we’re all gonna be fucked over,” Gwaine looks up and everyone looks to him. “But I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Hell yeah!” Will goes in for a fist-bump.
When the laughter drowns out, Arthur realizes that Merlin’s still sitting.
“Merlin?” he asks.
“Nah, I don’t really fancy it,” he shrugs.
“I’m your King,” he says jokingly.
“Well, I didn’t vote for you,” Merlin smiles.
“Merlin!”
“Yeah, yeah, alright, you prick.”
Arthur turns to Merlin and it’s as if he doesn’t even need to read his mind to know what he’s really saying. You don’t even have to ask because I’ll always be there, that’s what he saying. And it’s all Arthur can do to grab his hand in his own.
“I would like to thank you all for being there for me, for Camelot, even if you didn’t have to be. I’m going to do something my father would approve of.”
“What?” Lance asks.
“Knight you,” Arthur answers.
“But-the Knight’s code! Only nobles…” he retaliates.
“I trust you all with my life. Where you came from does not matter,” he says and Lance’s expression is like a child’s when he gets the one thing he’s dreamt of for all his life. “Men, if you would.”
He moves them away from the table and the men assemble in front of him.
“Ladies, if you would like me to Knight you…” Arthur ruffles his hair awkwardly.
“Nah, we’ll just stick with being badass ladies of the Court,” Morgana shares a high-five with Gwen.
Lance, Leon, Gwaine, Will and Merlin kneel before him and Arthur raises his sword. “Arise Sir Lance, Knight of Camelot,” he says first, after putting his sword on each side of his shoulder.
“Actually it’s Sir Lancelot,” Gwen supplies.
“You’re kidding,” Arthur says and gives a chuckle.
The gesture of knighting his friends continue with Leon, who smiles with utter gratitude, Gwaine, who playfully slaps him on the face, and Will, who is happy being a ‘sir’ even when he hates royals. Soon, Merlin’s the only one left kneeling.
“Arise, Merlin,” he says. The warlock looks at him quizzically but stands either way. Arthur gives him a kiss and, in a sudden turn of events, he’s the one to kneel in front of Merlin.
“Arthur!”
“What?” he looks up. “I’m on one knee, I’m clothed. What more do you want from a man who’s proposing?”
“Proposing?” Merlin stutters.
“If you’ll take me,” Arthur bows his head.
“Arthur…”
But before he can hear the end of that sentence, he gasps instead. He pulls Arthur to his feet and turns him, seeing half a dozen hooded figures in the castle. He draws his sword and so do his friends with their respective weapons.
“Put down your weapons,” the man in the front says. “We mean you no harm.”
“Who are you?” Arthur asks. The man lowers his hood, revealing a dark-skinned man and a warm smile.
“My name is Aglain,” he says. “And these are my fellow Druids.”
“Druids?” Morgana asks. “What are Druids doing here?”
“We have come to acknowledge Arthur Pendragon,” Aglain says. “Please, sit.” Arthur and his friends take their seats once again at the round table.
“How do the Druids know about me?” Arthur asks.
“The Druids know things that you cannot fathom, young King,” Aglain says mysteriously. “We have been asked for help from your father, the late King Uther, rest his soul, to protect you and it seems now is the time for us to finally meet.”
“Help? What kind of help?” Arthur asks.
“Your life has been led to prepare you, Arthur. The Druids have been keeping a watchful eye on you your entire life and we have not been the only ones. When your mother fled the kingdom for a better life for you, a ghost of a powerful sorceress helped her. When your mother wanted to find a good town to live in for you, she found the town of Mirare. It’s quite ingenious, actually.”
“What is?”
“The name Mirare means ‘illusion’, young King. Everyone in that town helped you prepare for your life as King. The stories your neighbor told you, of monsters and knights, your mother’s bedtime stories, of Camelot and other kingdoms even your friend, who trained you. His father was once a Knight, one of the finest Camelot has ever seen.”
“My life was a lie?”
“Not a lie. They cared for you, they did not lie about that and they helped you because they wanted to, because they believed in your future, your world. Your friend died for the noblest cause, Arthur, protecting the once and future King.”
His head’s reeling, everything is spinning, round and round again. “Arthur,” Merlin’s hand finds him.
“It is not just you, Arthur, but everyone at this table. You are all bound to a great destiny,” Aglain said. “Sir Lancelot and Lady Guinevere, the Lady Morgana, Sir Leon, Sir Gwaine, Sir William and you, Emrys.”
“What?!” the word reverberates through the room.
“What did you say?” Arthur asks.
“Surely you are aware that you are in the presence of the greatest warlock to have ever lived and probably will ever live?” another Druid asks, completely mortified.
Aglain nods to Merlin, who has grown short somehow, and stands up. “Are you saying that I, Merlin, plain boy from Ealdor, am the greatest warlock ever? You’re saying that I’m…Emrys?”
“Yes,” Aglain nods, apparently tired of their idiocy.
“Fuck,” Merlin holds his head. The Druid to Aglain’s left laughs as Aglain produces a paper while Merlin is slowly going insane in his own mind.
“You must go here,” he says. “It will give you some answers before you take Camelot.”
“Okay,” Arthur nods, still a bit overwhelmed.
“Good luck, young King Arthur,” Aglain says. “And make sure your warlock is coherent by the time you get there.”
“Yeah, uh, we’ll work on that,” Arthur gives a weak smile and, in a blink, the Druids are gone.
Merlin’s still pacing with his hand over his mouth and Morgana and Gwen are looking at him worriedly, somehow afraid to touch him but Arthur’s not. He stands and takes Merlin’s face in his hands.
“Hey,” he says. “Hey, look at me. Look. At. Me.”
Merlin’s eyes stare up at him and there’s a glaze over his eyes, like an innocence that he doesn’t want to break, and he’s almost to point of crying.
“I’m Emrys,” he says.
“You’re Emrys,” Arthur nods and kisses his forehead in a moment of tenderness because he needs it. “But you’ve always been great. I’m not surprised, honestly.”
“Really?” he asks, his eyes are different now, not crying anymore, but still innocent.
“But, more importantly, you’re Emrys and I’m King Arthur, or going to be, anyway,” Arthur says. “I’m supposed to find you and here I found you. So…can I have you?”
“Arthur,” Merlin says, the innocence in his eyes melts away to be replaced with a look of adoration and pride. “You’ve always had me.”
Then they kiss, in the presence of all their friends, who clap and whoop loudly and Arthur thinks that this is the way it’s supposed to play out.
The address the Druids gave them is not far from the castle and they can make the journey in the few more hours the day has left. Merlin has practically refused to be away from Arthur and holds his hand the entire journey, like he’s scared a rock might fall out of the sky and hit him in the head. He’s not complaining or anything, though.
They leave the woods and they reach the housing compounds, different from the one at the entrance to Camelot, this space is less looked after, the houses are in a state of disrepair, like the owners could care less about how they look, as long as the bed is soft and the wine is strong.
The journey ends with the houses end and they’re faced with a big, white building. It’s like a children’s painting, with the building far too straight, looking like a box, the windows black, giving away the impression that no one’s supposed to see anything at all.
“Arthur,” Gwen says gravely. “This is a prison.”
“It can’t be. Why would the Druids send us to a godforsaken prison?” Arthur looks at her.
“Beats me,” she shrugs.
“Unless they want us to break in,” Arthur looks back at the building.
“Arthur!”
“There has to be a reason. The reason could be inside.”
“Craziest King ever,” Gwaine shakes his head.
“You didn’t pledge your allegiance to me because I was conservative.”
“So we’re doing this, then?” Will asks. “We’re breaking into a high-security prison?”
“Why the hell not?”
She’s wedged between Elyan and Balinor in the cell. Surely, dying in a prison isn’t as bad as they say. Dying is horrible, no matter what, she thinks. At least she’s dying now with two people she cares for and for a cause she believes in: magic and freedom. The things she hopes her son will bring in his reign.
She really does hope he’s okay. She closes her eyes to sleep, so, at least she can be brought sweet dreams before her execution but she doesn’t have the chance. Because the warning alarm’s ringing.