Apocabigbang: Fic: Postremus Regum Britanniae; Merlin; R; Chapter 11
Chapter 10: A Shattered Skyline
Chapter 11: We Ride to War
He is lying by a lake, a man leaning over him. Arthur recognises him, though he has never seen him before.
“My Lord,” the man says, close to tears. Arthur doesn’t know why he’s crying, he himself feels more relaxed and relieved than he can ever remember. “What would you have me do? Any request I can fulfil for you, I will do it, I swear.”
“Take my sword, Bedevere,” Arthur says, knowing suddenly, as he has always known, that this is Sir Bedevere, a good man, his knight, his vassal. “Take it and throw it into the lake, then return to me and tell me what you see.”
Bedevere takes the sword from Arthur’s lax grasp, standing and bowing his head in acknowledgment of the order, then he disappears.
Arthur is dying, he can feel the life leaving him with every breath, but he is not scared of it, not any more. There is something freeing about death. There is nothing more that can be done to him now, nothing left for his enemies to throw at him. He is done, his path is ending.
It is relief that fills his mind.
Bedevere returns, but Arthur can see in his face, the furtive clench of his jaw, the twitch of his fingers, that he has not done as asked. It is a mighty sword, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship and Arthur understands his reluctance, but he promised Merlin that he would return it to these waters and he will keep that promise if it is the last thing he does.
Arthur knows that it will be.
“Bedevere,” he says, “I asked you to throw it into the water, and you have not done as I asked. You would deny the final request of your King?” The tears are flowing freely down Bedevere’s cheeks now, into his beard.
“No, my lord, I am sorry.”
He disappears again, leaving Arthur with his thoughts and his peace.
The second time Bedevere returns, he has still not done as Arthur asked and the King sends him away again.
The third time, though, Arthur feels the moment the sword is thrown, hurled into water reluctantly.
Bedevere returns again, eyes wide.
“My lord, I did as you asked, and as the hilt was about to hit the waves, a hand came up to grasp it and it held the blade aloft before pulling it down into the water and… My Lord…” Bedevere is looking to his left, out to the mists of the lake, and Arthur manages to twist his head to see what has caught his attention.
The boat is coming for him, the boat to his rest and to Avalon. Five figures sit in the boat, four queens and one cloaked man, hands twisted around a staff.
“And thus passes Arthur, King of Albion, from the mortal lands,” an amused voice says. Arthur blinks to see familiar green eyes staring back at him. “I thought you might go for a more ostentatious death myself.”
“Morgana,” he says. It is the last word he speaks while living.
“Yes, I am here.” She pauses, looking down at him almost fondly, almost ruefully. “I have been given a chance to redeem myself in this world by protecting you and Excalibur until you have occasion to rise again.” She frowns at him. “So try not to be too much trouble, will you?”
“You know him,” a familiar voice says from under the hood of the man’s cloak. He sits at the stern of the boat that the women are now depositing Arthur’s body in. “He never stays out of trouble.” Arthur doesn’t move his head, he has no control over his body, but he sees the huge grin from beneath the cloak anyway and, as he blinks in recognition his eyes opened in the here and now.
Merlin was standing over him, looking down with a grin.
“Wake up sleeping beauty,” he said, unrepentant. “Your turn on watch.”
*
They clustered around him loosely, looking up at his face like he held all the answers.
He was going to send some of these people to their deaths. Arthur looked at the faces and part of him wished he knew which would die and which would live, another part of him felt sick at the very idea of looking at any of them and knowing what he was about to do to them. He swallowed, taking a breath and let his eyes slide over to where Merlin stood, not facing him, but facing the crowd. He was trying to look calm, but there was a little panic in his eyes, barely there, but there nevertheless.
Arthur wondered if this would be the last time he saw that face alive like this.
“This is not the end of the world,” he said, his voice ringing out. “We are standing here because we are survivors and now, I will not say the end is in sight, because it is not the end, it is a beginning. I can see it clearly, and we need to grasp it with both hands.”
He faltered, looking around, they all trusted him, and he had no idea what he was doing, standing on a bench in the underground and giving a fucking speech. He remembered reading Wilfred Owen at school, all those war poems… Dulce et Decorum Est… That was what they had said to him as he went into battle the First World War. That was not what it was. It wasn’t about glory or how right it was to die for your country. It was about the fact that there was no one else to do it and you couldn’t stand back and let other people die while you survived at their expense. It was about what had to be done for survival. This was not like that; he would be with them and there was a cause, a reason.
Then why did he feel like he was tricking them still?
“There is still a weapon. You have heard of it, whispered among you. Morgana has spoken of it since I met her. Some of you have your doubts and I did too, until I saw something that made me believe.” He looked over at Merlin again, wondering what was going through his mind as he listened to Arthur’s words. “I believe that weapon is real and I now know where it is. If we can get to it then we can turn the tide.
“We have had no other choice, up until now, to hide, keep our heads down and hide from the monsters and the nightmares above us. We have gone underground to survive. But now we have a choice and we have an opportunity. We will get this weapon and we will get our world back.
“It won’t be easy,” he said, the understatement of the century. “But we cannot live like sewer rats forever. I don’t know about you, but I want to walk in the sunlight. I want to see the stars and I want to breathe air that tastes fresh. I don’t want to be scared anymore.” There was a rumble of agreement from the people around him. “I want to be free. I never realised it before this, but I never appreciated what it was to walk down the street without fear. I never appreciated what it was to see the sun come up in the mornings as I got up for work. I never appreciated having a pint down the pub with my best friend,” he shot Lance a small smile which was returned. There was no hesitation in that gaze, Lance was ready. He envied him the certainty that this was the right course of action.
His gaze slipped past him to Gwen, who nodded firmly, containing her fear with sheer force of will. He saw that, in another lifetime, she would have made a good queen - had made a good queen, he was sure.
On the other side of the group Gawain sat in his chair, his guns set out on his lap. He looked like a seasoned fighter, not someone who had only seen battle a few days before. At his side stood Gareth, a gash across his face from their last skirmish standing out livid red, even in the dim light. It aged him, he no longer looked thirteen, as Arthur had always privately though, he looked older than his nineteen years. He had the same look of fierce intensity his brother did.
Jeff, by his side, was moving nervously from foot to foot. He wasn’t a fighter and Arthur knew that he didn’t want to go, but the twist of his mouth said that he knew what the score was. He nodded as his eyes caught Arthur’s. I won’t let you down, he seemed to be saying. I’m not going to leave you to do this alone. Will, next to him was frowning in a way that Arthur knew without asking was hiding his fear. He didn't want to be here and his eyes were straying to the man by Arthur's side more than to Arthur himself.
Morgana stood with her hands held loosely out to her side. She looked every inch the warrior, and Arthur knew that she had been here before, had seen battles and wars. She had seen him like this before. The feeling was unnerving. He felt like she was weighing him up against himself.
His gaze returned to Merlin, still standing at his side like a bodyguard steady and firm. Another person who had seen this before, who knew the score better than even Arthur did.
“It’s not going to be easy. It’s not going to be fun. But someone’s got to do it and like it or not, that job has fallen to us. If the past few days have taught me anything it’s that we stand together and we have a chance. We stand together and anything’s possible. We stand together and… we can win.”
*
Epilogue: Postremus Regum Britanniae
Chapter 11: We Ride to War
He is lying by a lake, a man leaning over him. Arthur recognises him, though he has never seen him before.
“My Lord,” the man says, close to tears. Arthur doesn’t know why he’s crying, he himself feels more relaxed and relieved than he can ever remember. “What would you have me do? Any request I can fulfil for you, I will do it, I swear.”
“Take my sword, Bedevere,” Arthur says, knowing suddenly, as he has always known, that this is Sir Bedevere, a good man, his knight, his vassal. “Take it and throw it into the lake, then return to me and tell me what you see.”
Bedevere takes the sword from Arthur’s lax grasp, standing and bowing his head in acknowledgment of the order, then he disappears.
Arthur is dying, he can feel the life leaving him with every breath, but he is not scared of it, not any more. There is something freeing about death. There is nothing more that can be done to him now, nothing left for his enemies to throw at him. He is done, his path is ending.
It is relief that fills his mind.
Bedevere returns, but Arthur can see in his face, the furtive clench of his jaw, the twitch of his fingers, that he has not done as asked. It is a mighty sword, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship and Arthur understands his reluctance, but he promised Merlin that he would return it to these waters and he will keep that promise if it is the last thing he does.
Arthur knows that it will be.
“Bedevere,” he says, “I asked you to throw it into the water, and you have not done as I asked. You would deny the final request of your King?” The tears are flowing freely down Bedevere’s cheeks now, into his beard.
“No, my lord, I am sorry.”
He disappears again, leaving Arthur with his thoughts and his peace.
The second time Bedevere returns, he has still not done as Arthur asked and the King sends him away again.
The third time, though, Arthur feels the moment the sword is thrown, hurled into water reluctantly.
Bedevere returns again, eyes wide.
“My lord, I did as you asked, and as the hilt was about to hit the waves, a hand came up to grasp it and it held the blade aloft before pulling it down into the water and… My Lord…” Bedevere is looking to his left, out to the mists of the lake, and Arthur manages to twist his head to see what has caught his attention.
The boat is coming for him, the boat to his rest and to Avalon. Five figures sit in the boat, four queens and one cloaked man, hands twisted around a staff.
“And thus passes Arthur, King of Albion, from the mortal lands,” an amused voice says. Arthur blinks to see familiar green eyes staring back at him. “I thought you might go for a more ostentatious death myself.”
“Morgana,” he says. It is the last word he speaks while living.
“Yes, I am here.” She pauses, looking down at him almost fondly, almost ruefully. “I have been given a chance to redeem myself in this world by protecting you and Excalibur until you have occasion to rise again.” She frowns at him. “So try not to be too much trouble, will you?”
“You know him,” a familiar voice says from under the hood of the man’s cloak. He sits at the stern of the boat that the women are now depositing Arthur’s body in. “He never stays out of trouble.” Arthur doesn’t move his head, he has no control over his body, but he sees the huge grin from beneath the cloak anyway and, as he blinks in recognition his eyes opened in the here and now.
Merlin was standing over him, looking down with a grin.
“Wake up sleeping beauty,” he said, unrepentant. “Your turn on watch.”
*
They clustered around him loosely, looking up at his face like he held all the answers.
He was going to send some of these people to their deaths. Arthur looked at the faces and part of him wished he knew which would die and which would live, another part of him felt sick at the very idea of looking at any of them and knowing what he was about to do to them. He swallowed, taking a breath and let his eyes slide over to where Merlin stood, not facing him, but facing the crowd. He was trying to look calm, but there was a little panic in his eyes, barely there, but there nevertheless.
Arthur wondered if this would be the last time he saw that face alive like this.
“This is not the end of the world,” he said, his voice ringing out. “We are standing here because we are survivors and now, I will not say the end is in sight, because it is not the end, it is a beginning. I can see it clearly, and we need to grasp it with both hands.”
He faltered, looking around, they all trusted him, and he had no idea what he was doing, standing on a bench in the underground and giving a fucking speech. He remembered reading Wilfred Owen at school, all those war poems… Dulce et Decorum Est… That was what they had said to him as he went into battle the First World War. That was not what it was. It wasn’t about glory or how right it was to die for your country. It was about the fact that there was no one else to do it and you couldn’t stand back and let other people die while you survived at their expense. It was about what had to be done for survival. This was not like that; he would be with them and there was a cause, a reason.
Then why did he feel like he was tricking them still?
“There is still a weapon. You have heard of it, whispered among you. Morgana has spoken of it since I met her. Some of you have your doubts and I did too, until I saw something that made me believe.” He looked over at Merlin again, wondering what was going through his mind as he listened to Arthur’s words. “I believe that weapon is real and I now know where it is. If we can get to it then we can turn the tide.
“We have had no other choice, up until now, to hide, keep our heads down and hide from the monsters and the nightmares above us. We have gone underground to survive. But now we have a choice and we have an opportunity. We will get this weapon and we will get our world back.
“It won’t be easy,” he said, the understatement of the century. “But we cannot live like sewer rats forever. I don’t know about you, but I want to walk in the sunlight. I want to see the stars and I want to breathe air that tastes fresh. I don’t want to be scared anymore.” There was a rumble of agreement from the people around him. “I want to be free. I never realised it before this, but I never appreciated what it was to walk down the street without fear. I never appreciated what it was to see the sun come up in the mornings as I got up for work. I never appreciated having a pint down the pub with my best friend,” he shot Lance a small smile which was returned. There was no hesitation in that gaze, Lance was ready. He envied him the certainty that this was the right course of action.
His gaze slipped past him to Gwen, who nodded firmly, containing her fear with sheer force of will. He saw that, in another lifetime, she would have made a good queen - had made a good queen, he was sure.
On the other side of the group Gawain sat in his chair, his guns set out on his lap. He looked like a seasoned fighter, not someone who had only seen battle a few days before. At his side stood Gareth, a gash across his face from their last skirmish standing out livid red, even in the dim light. It aged him, he no longer looked thirteen, as Arthur had always privately though, he looked older than his nineteen years. He had the same look of fierce intensity his brother did.
Jeff, by his side, was moving nervously from foot to foot. He wasn’t a fighter and Arthur knew that he didn’t want to go, but the twist of his mouth said that he knew what the score was. He nodded as his eyes caught Arthur’s. I won’t let you down, he seemed to be saying. I’m not going to leave you to do this alone. Will, next to him was frowning in a way that Arthur knew without asking was hiding his fear. He didn't want to be here and his eyes were straying to the man by Arthur's side more than to Arthur himself.
Morgana stood with her hands held loosely out to her side. She looked every inch the warrior, and Arthur knew that she had been here before, had seen battles and wars. She had seen him like this before. The feeling was unnerving. He felt like she was weighing him up against himself.
His gaze returned to Merlin, still standing at his side like a bodyguard steady and firm. Another person who had seen this before, who knew the score better than even Arthur did.
“It’s not going to be easy. It’s not going to be fun. But someone’s got to do it and like it or not, that job has fallen to us. If the past few days have taught me anything it’s that we stand together and we have a chance. We stand together and anything’s possible. We stand together and… we can win.”
*
Epilogue: Postremus Regum Britanniae