Heartgrove Part 3 -ii
“Are you sure about this?” Merlin shuffled slightly in his light grey suit. “I mean, this is like, a ridiculously important religious event or something, isn't it?”
Arthur kissed him lightly on the nose before straightening his tie. “Well, it's not like I'm personally particularly devout, but this is the one event of the year the whole royal family has to go to. And as my official partner, you're properly royalty now! Besides, we just have to stand there for a couple of hours and then say ‘So mote it be’ at the end.”
Merlin sighed. “I know, I know.”
Arthur grinned. “Come on, it's moral support for me. Besides, it's always funny to watch the priestess spill wine everywhere while trying not to get it on her posh white dress. And of course, it means we get to head back to the place we first got together.”
His partner snorted. “Yes, because only you would proposition another boy at the centre of the state religion, a sacred place meant to be dedicated to purity. For the future head of said religion, you're a little ridiculous, you know that?”
The prince's grin was entirely unrepentant. “Hey, it worked, didn't it?”
*-*-*
It was meant to be a balmy summer night. It very much was not. A thunderstorm could clearly be heard in the distance, and the rain poured down around them as they stood in concentric circles in the Heartgrove. Merlin shivered as he hunched between Arthur and Morgana in the front row of the Midsummer ceremony. Hurry up and start! he thought impatiently, longing to be back in his nice warm bed with his boyfriend. He tried to look stoic, for the sake of the cameraman panning around the grove, broadcasting live to the whole of Albion.
Finally, just when Merlin was starting to think that he was going to freeze to death before anything happened, the priestess appeared, walking gracefully up to the altar cut in to the huge tree in the centre of the clearing. She shielded the chalice she carried with one hand and was apparently undaunted by the ridiculous amount of rain dripping down her face. She wore a long white dress, which might have been designed to be floating around her but instead was clinging, making her look like a drowned bride on Halloween, particularly as her long brown hair fell in sodden curtains around her face.
Merlin drew in a sudden breath, and elbowed Arthur. “Why the hell is the high priestess Ms. Nimueh?”
Uther glared at them, so it was Morgana who answered in a low undertone: “It's tradition; any ordained priestess can conduct the ritual - they draw lots each year, right before the ceremony. Bet Father's not happy it's her, though! She went off and became all religious after Mother left her.”
The king turned to glare once more, so they subsided. The silence in the grove was broken only by the steady drip of the rain and the occasional crack of lightning or rumble of thunder.
Nimueh raised her voice to speak above the noise.
“Fellow Druids, we are gathered here today to celebrate the longest day of the year, and to commemorate the changing of the year from Light to Dark. We ask the blessing of the Old Gods on this night, and beg them to return their magic to the land so that it may be used to do Their bidding.”
She raised the chalice high above her.
“Bless this, the wine which is the blood of the people of Albion, people of magic!”
Arthur nudged Merlin lightly. Merlin grinned - watching Nimueh cover herself in wine when she spilled it on the altar would surely be some small payback for the years being tortured in her classes. He quickly straightened his face though - it would be terrible to have the Prince's boyfriend and official partner grinning broadly at a serious ceremony on national television.
But then, the priestess went very much off script. Rather than spill the wine, she lowered the chalice to the table. There were murmurs from all around the clearing, but no one interrupted: it was very bad luck to disturb a ritual once it had begun.
Nimueh raised her head and looked straight at the royal family.
“There is a prophecy,” she said. “The prophecy that magic shall return to the land when Bright and Dark are matched, and the One shall sacrifice himself for the kingdom to bring the magic home. We now have a bright prince and a dark princess, born twins and matched through life.” Arthur and Morgana exchanged glances, somewhat confused.
Nimueh's eyes almost seemed to glow red, as she pointed at them. “I have seen, and I know that tonight the magic shall return to Albion! The sacrifice must be made!”
A knife suddenly appeared in Nimueh’s hand. Without leaving time for anyone to react, she threw it straight at Arthur.
Merlin felt the world seem to slow. He saw the knife curve upwards in a terrible, precise arc, before arching downwards, closer and closer to Arthur. Blurrily, he saw the prince frozen in place, wide eyed. Knights were racing towards them, but they were all so far away, too far…
The only thing that Merlin could think was “NO.” Without even being conscious of his movement, Merlin felt himself turn towards Arthur and step in front of him. He raised a hand as if to catch the knife - the world flashed white -
*-*-*
Arthur stared in horror as Nimueh seemed to go mad and produced a knife, seemingly from nowhere. It flew straight at him, but suddenly Merlin was there in front of him. Merlin raised a hand. A bolt of lightning spilt open the sky. Somehow, it missed the Hearttree entirely and hit Nimueh, who fell to the ground. She was deathly pale as she lay sprawled against the dark earth of the Heartgrove.
Arthur blinked, shellshocked. He returned to Earth with a jolt a moment later when he realised that Merlin had collapsed in a pile in front of him. He sank to his knees, desperately pulling his boyfriend’s head into his lap.
“No, no, Merlin, love, no,” he said, pushing away the Knights who were trying to move him. “Fuck off and get me an ambulance!”
He only registered his surroundings very vaguely, entirely focused on trying to use his hands to stem the dark stain that was spreading along Merlin’s shoulder.
He heard his father calling his name, but it seemed to be from a great distance. None of that mattered, only Merlin.
*-*-*
A few hours later, once Merlin had been declared out of danger, and Nimueh declared dead, the prince watched the video which had been recorded by the TV crews present. Arthur had been sent home from the hospital to change clothes and rest, but there was no way he could sleep until he saw Merlin, and he needed to know what had happened in Heartgrove. He couldn’t trust his own recollection, and the world seemed to have run mad in only a few hours.
Arthur winced as he saw Merlin collapse, saw the devastation in his own eyes as he fell to his knees. He had to fast forward a few minutes then, because some things he didn’t want to re-live. Ever.
When he pressed play again, he and Merlin were being hustled into the ambulance. Uther seemed to be saying something to Arthur as he helped him climb in, but the prince had no recollection now of what it might have been. He just remembered being focused on keeping hold of Merlin’s hand.
Abruptly, the camera swung away from the ambulance as the cameraman was distracted by something else. Arthur caught sight of the crowd of faces looking terrified and hysterical, some screaming, some fainting, some running around in circles, desperate to escape. The Knights weren’t letting anyone leave, however, trying to contain the situation until they could figure out what was going on.
Then the camera focused in on Morgana. She walked forwards like a person possessed, completely ignoring the bodyguards and fuss around her. Wherever she stepped, the crowd seemed to still a little, gazing at her in fear or awe, Arthur couldn’t tell. Uther was in view of the camera too, looking more bewildered than Arthur had ever seen. His skin was grey-tinged, and he seemed on the verge of collapse, but he waved away the paramedics desperately trying to approach him, instead gesturing something at the Knights who had huddled around him.
When Morgana reached the Hearttree, she looked down at Nimueh in a heap on the floor before her, and was absolutely expressionless as she stepped over the fallen priestess and climbed onto the altar, kicking over the chalice as she did so. The wine spilled on the sodden ground, the rain causing it to run in rivulets across the clearing.
“Silence!” rang her commanding voice, and even Uther obeyed, though his jaw was working as though if he'd had any choice he would be shouting. Arthur, watching the video, shivered. The silence, even second hand, was eerie.
She closed her eyes. “I have seen!” she called.
“What the hell is she doing?” muttered someone in the crowd. There was no response.
“I have seen,” repeated the princess. “Tonight, magic has returned to Albion!”
Morgana raised one trembling hand, and pointed at where the ambulance was driving away. “Emrys, reincarnation of Merlin the Great Sorcerer, has saved Prince Arthur using magic! How else could he have moved that fast?”
There were murmurs all around the clearing. Arthur watched the crowd moving slowly towards Morgana, as though actually considering what she was saying, though no one raised their voice loud enough above the soft murmur to agree.
Morgana looked around at the people in the clearing, most of whom were clearly still shell-shocked. “But really, the magic never went away, my fellow Druids. Magic has evolved even as our society has evolved! The gods have spoken to me in dreams. I have seen this.
“We know that the Bright magic of the past was golden as my brother's hair. We know the Dark magic of the past was black as mine. Albion is a land built on shining gold and night-black oil. Tonight, the Nimueh was sacrificed to the gods, as prophecy demanded! The lightning which struck her was a sign from them, a sign that we have not been using the magic to its fullest potential.”
Morgana's Pendragon-blue eyes seemed to be flashing brighter than a thousand suns. Arthur felt himself almost consider that she might be right.
“Nimueh's sacrifice was a sign from the Gods that the magic is here, and we need only to use it! The Gods have spoken to me, and I relay their words to you!”
She looked straight at the cameraman, who was now wholly focused on her. Then, Morgana's eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed backwards off the altar in a dead faint.
When the video finished, Arthur stared for a long time at the black, blank television screen.
*-*-*
Part II
“We're going,” said Merlin from his hospital bed. “It's been confirmed, Mum's been recalled to London. She doesn’t even want to let me finish the school year, even though there’s only a couple of weeks left. She worries.”
Arthur felt his heart break just a little at the completely expected news. He faked a scoff. “You were stabbed, Merlin! Of course she worries! Hell, I worry!”
Merlin smiled wanly. “I know you do.” He paused, looking as though the world was going to end. “But-”
Arthur tried to look strong and manly. He wasn't sure it was working. “You're breaking up with me, aren't you?”
“I'm sorry! But I'm going to be home for the next two years, we'll both be so busy, me with A Levels, you with Concs. Then there's uni, you'll stay here, I'll be somewhere in the UK, and you have a life here, you're bloody Prince Arthur. That means that you've got responsibilities. You won't have time or energy for a long distance relationship. We both know that probably won't work anyway. You'll be the head of the country one day, you need someone better than me to be helping you.”
Arthur glared, fighting back the tears which threatened to spill from his eyes. “I don't want anyone else.”
Merlin rubbed his face with his hands, looking so world-weary that Arthur’s heart broke all over again. “I'm sorry Arthur. But this isn't going to work.”
The prince closed his eyes and willed himself to accept the inevitable. It didn’t really work, but he forced out: “Maybe you’re safer without me anyway. I got you stabbed.”
Merlin shook his head mutely, a few tears trailing down his face.
They sat together by that hospital bed for hours, holding hands for the last time.
*-*-*
Arthur was sitting at one of the big bay windows in the lounge, doing anything but thinking of the aeroplane which even now would be leaving from Camelot Pendragon and taking Merlin away from Albion forever.
It was there that Morgana, fresh from the latest round of press conferences and interviews and photoshoots that seemed to have taken over her life in the last two weeks, found him.
“Are you going to be all right?” she asked softly, standing a few feet away, expression cautious as though she was approaching a small wounded animal. Not a bad description of his current state, Arthur mused grimly.
“Tell me,” he said, not turning round. “Do you actually believe any of the rubbish you're spouting?”
He could see Morgana's spine straighten from the corner of his eye. She had her official face on now.
“Of course, I was gifted a vision of what Albion could and should become -”
“Oh, shut up. You're talking to me, your twin brother, not one of those twits from the papers. You and I both know there was no vision.”
She sighed, and came forward to join him in the window, tucking her knees under her chin. “All right. No vision.”
Arthur said nothing. He knew his sister rather well. When the silence became too much for her, she burst out with: “But I had to do something, Arthur! Father doesn't listen to me, but attendance at the rituals of the Old Ways has been going down year on year for the last decade. And the Old Ways is the only thing that legitimises Albion's monarchy in the eyes of the world and the Albish people. How long do you think Father could have kept being so authoritarian, if a charismatic enough leader had started agitating for a proper democracy?”
“That's not why you did it.”
“No.”
“Strange, isn't it, how somehow your visions have shown that the way forward for Albion is exactly what you've been advocating for the last few years, a complete reversal of international policy.”
She was equanimical in her reply. “Look, Arthur. I had to get Father to listen to me. And the lightning hitting just then was too good an opportunity to pass up. He can't ignore me when I've got the press, the whole national religion, and a large proportion of the populace on my side. I saw an opening, and I took it. I won't apologise for that.”
“And what about Merlin? He could have been dying - nearly was! It was only luck which made the knife go into his leg rather than anywhere vital. You didn't even look at him to check, just went straight for your political opening!” This, more than anything, was what made Arthur's heart clench in bitterness and anger.
“Maybe it was the magic, not luck.” She must have seen the expression on her brother’s face, because rather than continue on that tack she said hurriedly: “You were with him, an ambulance was called - what could I have done? I wouldn't have been of any use.”
“Moral support?”
Morgana shut her eyes. “I thought you had it covered. I couldn't let that opportunity go.”
Arthur laughed despairingly. “And that, Morgana, is why you'd make a much better ruler than I will. I will always, always put the people I love first, before the country and its politics.”
Her mouth twisted into a thin, bitter line. “But you were born twenty minutes earlier, so we’ll never find out how good a ruler I could be.”
The prince stared out of the window, watching a solitary bird cross the grey sky. “I can't do anything while Father's King. You've scared him enough already. If I abdicated I think he'd have a heart attack. But afterwards - well. I think we both know which one of us actually wants to rule the country.”
Six and a half years later...
Why doing a PhD meant that he had to mark homework for idiotic first years just starting their physics careers, Merlin would never understand. Well, he did really - it put him in his Professors' good graces and was a little extra income to supplement the loan. But on days like this when he was desperately trying to figure out the chicken-scratch handwriting of a student who clearly had not the faintest idea of what Newton's Laws of Motion were, let alone how to use them, he wondered whether he should just have accepted one of the many offers of banking jobs which he'd been sent when he finished his Masters.
Instead, he'd decided to stay in Cardiff, as though four years of undergraduate and masters study hadn't been enough. But he liked the people, the city was big enough for his tastes, and there was the advantage that he could house-share with his childhood best friend Will, who was working at one of the big industrial factories on the outskirts of the town. And he knew and got along with the physics and maths professors, having met many of them over the course of his joint degree.
Radio 4 was on for background noise. Merlin hadn't really been paying attention, too engrossed in the problem sheet in front of him, but his head snapped up when he heard a familiar name.
“...funeral of King Uther Pendragon of Albion, aged 52.”
It wasn't often that Merlin thought about his time in Albion these days. It all seemed something like an idyllic dream, though on cold nights the scar on his leg twinged a little, and he remembered that terrible midsummer night all too well. He still sent Gwen and Elena the occasional Facebook message and commented on Gwaine's ridiculous photographs, but he'd more or less lost contact with his other friends. Morgana hadn't really spoken to him after the Midsummer ritual, too busy spreading the word that the magic was back. Merlin really wasn't sure what to think about all that, so he didn't. At least his strange dreams had stopped since coming back to Britain; his doctor thought it was probably the trauma.
At first, he'd kept up emailing Arthur, but gradually the emails had become fewer and shorter. Arthur and Morgana didn't have Facebook because of privacy concerns, so they'd slipped further and further out of touch. Funny, when he'd left Albion aged sixteen, he'd never have imagined that that might have happened. Then, he’d felt that a life without Arthur would be unliveable.
Of course, that hadn't turned out to be true. Sixth form hadn't been great - he'd spent far too much time working on his A Levels and secretly googling 'Pendragon' and 'Camelot' to make many friends. In the posh public school where he'd ended up, he'd been labelled as the odd boy from day one.
But at least university had been better. He'd made quite a few friends on his course, and spent his undergraduate years in typical British fashion: drinking, studying, and wearing stupid dress-up costumes to themed evenings. There had even been a few boyfriends, whom he'd met through the LGBT+ society, of which he became secretary in his third year, but somehow none of them lasted longer than a month or so.
Every so often he'd wonder what might have happened if he'd been able to stay in Albion, maybe gone with Arthur and Morgana to Mercia University. Arthur had done history and economics, they could have shared a flat, maybe. But then Merlin's practical nature would intrude again, and he'd remember that there was no point worrying about things that could never have happened.
The news report was still going on. Merlin paused, putting down his pen to listen. He hadn't realised that Uther had died - he spared a thought for the cold, angry man who'd never seemed to approve of Merlin, but clearly loved his children more than anything. How must Arthur be feeling?
“...the state funeral this afternoon was a sombre affair, with emotional eulogies read both by the as-yet-uncrowned King Arthur and his sister Princess Morgana. Both were sedate, presumably having expressed their emotions at the small private funeral two weeks ago. A whole country is in mourning today for a king who ruled them for thirty years and was taken far too young. The King has had a weak heart for several years, often attributed to stress. His problems began at the attempted assassination of his son six years ago. Some believe he never really recovered from the shock, so his death last month, while sorrowful, is not entirely unexpected.
What's - oh - breaking news here - King Arthur has declared a press conference this afternoon at four pm. No one's quite sure exactly why, but the world will be waiting avidly to see what this young royal, who has spent years avoiding the press, has to say. I can confirm that we'll be streaming the conference live on the BBC News Website. That's four pm this afternoon, on bbc.co.uk.”
Merlin glanced at the clock. Just past one. It wouldn't hurt to watch the conference, would it? If he finished his marking, of course.
He turned back to the abominable sheet in front of him with renewed vigour.
*-*-*
Arthur took a deep breath from where he stood behind the doors that would open out onto his press conference. The small golden circlet on his head felt unbearably heavy, but this was one speech for which he needed to wear the crown, if only as a gesture.
Morgana came up next to him and touched his arm lightly. “Are you sure about this?”
He grinned at her reassuringly, trying to hide his nervousness. “Of course. We've been planning this for years. Besides, I think you'd murder me if I went back on my word now.”
“Murder's such a horrible word,” she joked. “You're definitely important enough for it to count as an assassination.”
Arthur held out his hand to her and nodded to the Knight in front of the doors. Arm in arm, they stepped forward into the flashing camera lights.
Once they reached the front of the room, Arthur patted Morgana's hand and headed for the podium, while she sat sedately on the divan which had been set out for that purpose.
Arthur took his notecards out of his front pocket, and set them down on the lectern. He didn't look at them though. This was a speech he'd been composing for years, and he had it down pat.
“Ladies and gentlemen,
“I understand that you're all wondering why I've called this conference, particularly given my past history where I've tended to avoid courting unnecessary press interest.
“Firstly, I'd like to thank everyone who's expressed condolences upon the death of my father. Morgana and I would like to personally say that your good wishes have been crucial in helping us through this difficult time. We loved him very much, and we will always miss him and think of him. But we can only trust that he has joined our mother in the afterlife, and we believe that they were reunited there to spend eternity together.”
He paused to calm the choking in his throat. He saw from the corner of his eye as a tear dropped down Morgana's impassive face.
Taking a deep breath, Arthur carried on. “My father, King Uther the Fourth, was a great king. He steered this country through the turbulence of two world recessions, kept strong and calm during good times and bad, and built upon the thousand year foundations that Pendragons throughout history have lain, in order to make this country, our Albion, the greatest it has ever been. Brettagna is gone, ladies and gentlemen, but thanks to the tireless work of people like my father, Queen Elizabeth, and politicians in both nations, Britain and Albion are two great countries, following in its unique legacy.
“This legacy is not one to be taken lightly. The person who leads Albion, needs to be strong-willed, yet flexible and open to new ideas where necessary. He or she needs to be loving and kind, but above all Albion's monarch has to be someone who will put his or her country's interests above all else, including his or her own personal happiness.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am not that person.”
He allowed the sudden shouts of questions which followed this statement for a few seconds, before raising his hands for silence. “Please allow me to finish; I'll take questions at the end.”
Once the room had quieted somewhat, though he could still hear the whispers of people desperately trying to get through to their editors on the phones, Arthur continued, finally revealing what he'd been desperate to say for about a decade.
“I can't do that, citizens of Albion. I cannot promise that I will put you before all else, whatever it may cost me. I've spent my whole life in this country. I love it, and you, my people, more than I can accurately put into words. But I cannot in good conscience take on the mantle of your king, not when I know that I am not by temperament suited to it, and there is someone who would make a far better ruler than me.
“For this reason, I am abdicating my throne in favour of my sister Morgana. Given that we have no laws favouring the male heir, only twenty minutes has ever been the difference that meant that I'd take the throne over her. Morgana is everything you need in a ruler - kind, fair and wise - and she actually enjoys politics!”
He smiled ruefully. “That's always been the crux of the matter. She will be a better ruler than I ever could be, because she cares more for the country than anything else and enjoys the work of fighting for you. So, for the sake of both myself, Morgana and Albion, I'm leaving behind the best person to rule.
“I say leaving behind, ladies and gentlemen, because I'm leaving. I shall be taking full-time charge of the first overseas branch of the Albion Trust Fund, which my father set up five years ago and in which both my twin sister and I have always had active roles. The Trust is instrumental in advocating Human Rights causes, and provides help and assistance to victims both in Albion and elsewhere.
“I shall be moving to London in a few weeks time to oversee the preparations for the grand opening on the fifteenth of June.
“I know that this is unexpected for all of you, but I hope that you will support my decision. I truly believe that I am doing what's best for Albion, and I know that Morgana is going to be a fantastic Queen.
“King Arthur Pendragon, ladies and gentlemen. I'm just Arthur Pendragon, Chairman of the Albion Trust.”
Ceremonially, he raised his hands to his head, removed the crown, and walked towards. Her long blue dress rustled as she stood. She made to kneel, but Arthur grasped her shoulder and pulled her upwards. “Equals?” he asked with a grin.
She smiled through her tears. “Of course. I'm so proud of you.”
He put the circlet on her dark hair, where it clashed brilliantly, glinting in the flashes of what felt like a thousand cameras. They hugged, and it felt right, like this was the way things were supposed to be.
Arthur Pendragon took a deep breath, and turned to face the questions. But before he did so, he slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and pressed a button on his phone, finally sending the email that he'd spent all of that morning composing.
*-*-*
At five to four, Merlin had finally given in and abandoned his marking, instead going to his laptop to watch the live stream of Arthur’s press conference. He had to check four different news websites before he accepted that yes, he had just seen that. He rubbed the side of his left ear, and cocked his head. Really? The world felt a little like it had tilted off its axis. He'd always just sort of assumed that Arthur would become King Arthur of Albion one day, a far-off unreachable figure, and maybe he'd tell his grandchildren one day that he'd used to go to school with a king, but they'd never believe him. Not that he'd thought about this a lot, of course.
But somehow, all this seemed right, if upside down. Even when they'd been children, Arthur was always far better nobly charging in to save people, than he was with anything that involved actual politics. Merlin had no doubt that Morgana was going to be fantastic. And they both looked so happy in the video!
He was still trying to get his head around the fact that he and Arthur were actually going to be in the same country again when his phone chirped.
Without taking his eyes from the computer screen where Arthur and Morgana were smiling wider than he ever remembered seeing, he grabbed the phone from the desk. It was only when he glanced down at the sender of the email that he paused, hyperventilated a little, and opened it.
From: arthur.pendragon@albiontrust.org.ab
To: m_emrys@cardiff.ac.uk
Subject: Hi
Merlin -
So, I don't know if you've seen the news yet, but I've abdicated the throne to Morgana. I've always wanted to travel the world and live abroad, and this means I'll finally be able to. I'm going to be living in London, moving there next week, as I'm going to be leading the Albion Trust Fund, my charity. I'll probably have to travel a lot, to spread the message in different countries. It's what I've always wanted to do, and I think we both know Morgana's going to be a better ruler than I would have been.
I just wanted to say, Merlin, since what the hell, I've rearranged my whole life today - why not one more thing? - that I never stopped loving you. I don't know if you're still single - I can't imagine that you are - but I just thought that you should know that I've never met anyone else that I wanted to be with. There's no expectations there; I just thought you should know.
I'd love to come up and see you in Cardiff. Not because I want to pick up where we left off - I'm not an idiot - but just as friends, to catch up.
How does next weekend sound? I know it seems a bit forward and soon, but I'd really like to see you. I promise to let you correct my grammar again.
Yours,
Arthur
Merlin typed his reply into his phone with trembling fingers, as fast as he could. It was an instinctive response, no thought required.
From: m_emrys@cardiff.ac.uk
To: arthur.pendragon@albiontrust.org.ab
Subject: Re: Hi
Arthur -
I'll meet you at Cardiff Central Station at midday. Yes, I'm single. And no, there's never been anyone else for me either.
Yours,
Merlin
Merlin went back to the live stream on the BBC website and watched as Arthur, completely ignoring the reporter trying to get his attention, pulled his Blackberry out of his suit pocket, looked down at it, and smiled.