Sow the Seeds
Title Sow the Seeds (Please click on the story's title, not the small heading underneath. It messes up the html.)
Rating PG
Characters/Pairing Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, Mordred, Hunith, Gwaine, The Disir, slight Arthur/Gwen
Word Count 9,230
Warnings/Spoilers spoilers for 5.01, 5.02, 5.03, 5.04, but nothing beyond
Author’s Note 5.05 was mostly Merlin and Colin’s episode. It made me frustrated and enthralled at the same time. Thus, fic. This is for johanen and i-canz-kill-dragon at Tumblr who are awesome, positive, and kind.
Sow the seeds
The cacophony and song of merriment comes from behind as in solitary he stands upon a stone balcony. His mood is sorrowed by the past and what may come in the future days. So young, he has witnessed much, been part of incidents that have shaped who he is and how he lives.
He has killed. He has maimed. He has lied. He has kept secrets. He has loved. He has lost. He has coveted. He has given.
And he hides. What queerly runs through his blood. His machinations of life.
He turns cautiously to the rear before allowing the flash of gold and orange from his eyes. He makes visions appear, clouded circles of a horse and a rider. Of a dragon flying through the sky. Of a king sitting upon his throne. Of a sorcerer and ruler united.
It is stupidly dangerous what he is doing, he remembers, taking a fervent look back.
Thankfully no one there. The glow is gone from his eyes. The magic fogs away. And he stands again, alone, hiding.
The celebration, inside the room behind, is actually for him, but he is not feeling all that celebratory. For days now he’s smiled little, laughed even less.
Privy to the future too often, each time he has dabbled into it further has led to dangerous consequence. The process of sealing fate again and again wears upon his face, with lines that cross his skin, and new crinkles at the eyes. To know the man you serve will surely die because you have taken too many wrong paths is a heavy burden. It weighs upon him like the unyielding heaviness of stones, crushing the heart and mind.
Sometimes, like now, he wishes for the past, when he didn’t know so much and when he didn’t have two names.
A hand touches his shoulder, making him give a little shake of shock. He squares his body. The hand drops away, while a familiar voice utters, “Merlin?”
With his name spoken, days of recent past float in his head.
Nine days before:
It was his break time. Merlin sat down in the wood, at the edge that bordered Camelot’s last bits of cobblestone. He’d always loved this place. There was even a time he would share it with another. He looked for the fallen tree and sat upon its long length of trunk, the seat wide.
He had some meats in hand and fruit. He took it out from a sack, began to dine. He’d only have some moments before he’d probably hear Arthur’s bellow. He wanted to enjoy the food in the brightly shining sun that glared just strongly enough to make him roll up the sleeves of his tunic.
The glare didn’t bother him. The sun’s fiery glow often reminded him of magic. Once, at a very young age, he saw a mirror reflection of himself in the water. Magic blooming inside him, his eyes shined like the burning ore of the sun. He felt terrified and fascinated too. To see his pupils filled with golden fire was quite a sight.
Golden fire. Sometimes it felt like a gift, his magic. Other times a curse.
Arthur asked him a day ago in the wood that burning question and he gave the wrong answer. Magic could have been alive and well again in Camelot. It could have burned brightly. He could have stopped having to conceal it in his heart, where it felt so entrenched that-
“Merlin.”
He looked up, saw the Queen of Camelot, his friend, but also his noble to respect. She stood in a beautiful dress of lavender shade. It fell in gorgeous waves all the way to her feet. Her dark hair curled long and stylish against her back and spine. Maybe Arthur sent her? Maybe he was in trouble. Merlin jumped to his feet, ushering apologies. He was after all still just a servant while she was now…Queen.
“Oh, I’m sorry. My Lady. Gwen. Um-
Her hand came out immediately. She pressed against his wrist gently, shaking her head. “No. Stop. I am not out here to disagree with your enjoyment.” She gestured to a finely woven basket she carried. Merlin recognized it as one Arthur used sometimes too. No question it was made by the best weavers.
The look upon her face brought back memory of old.
“I thought I might join you. You know…like we used to do. Sit out here and bathe in the sun. Dining upon a bit of food we snatched from the kitchen. Laughing about all the silliness of what sometimes goes on in the castle. I thought we could do that again. It’s been so long.”
Merlin stared. Too long. Years really. She stopped about two years ago, or maybe it was three. She had so many tasks around the castle now. She was queen and-well-
“You’ll dirty your dress.” Merlin pointed. It didn’t matter that his clothes grew soiled by the bark of the tree or the soil of the wood. They were already worn anyway, threads loose here, bits of tears and stains that would never come out no matter how many times he washed. His clothes were simple, of cheaper materials than her new ones. It didn’t matter what he looked like, but she, the queen…
“I have no blanket with me for you to sit upon. Gwen.”
She peered down at him sadly, perhaps remembering that she was what she was now. And they were partially separated because of that. Whether either wanted to admit. But then she shook her head determinedly, in that Gwen way he knew so well, and she told him, “I’m not worried. A dress can always be washed. It’s just clothing Merlin. I’m still the same person. Our friendship is still intact, is it not?”
,
He had to smile, reaching for her hand, helping her to sit down upon the hard bark with him. She joined him happily.
They munched upon their food. They laughed and smiled at the wonderings of nature. A bird fluttering from one tree to another. A squirrel peering around curiously to see what they were up to. Perhaps in wonderment that they might leave him a crumb. The calm wind blew at their clothing and at the leaves above head, making them dance with reaction.
But then they grew silent. Merlin felt his heaviness return. He said nothing, just held still for a few moments, before realizing-
“I should go back. Arthur-
She caught his arm. “He knows I’m here. He said there is no rush.”
Now, feeling the soft weight of her small hand upon his arm, he slowly sat back down. “What?”
She breathed slightly, pressed her lips together the way she did when bothered by something, and told him, “Merlin, he’s worried. I am too. You’ve been so quiet since coming back from that ordeal with the Disir. Since before even. We wonder why.”
Merlin looked up to the sun now, feeling its golden glow blinding his eyes.
He turned away, moving apart from his friend on the log some. It was these moments he felt the most alone. The most deceptive. When he’d have to lie. Keep things from those he cared about.
She went on. “Arthur said you gave him such good counsel. That it was because of you he made the right decision. That Mordred is alive. They rewarded him for making the hard choice of not restoring magic to Camelot. Because of its sometimes evils, he sees now it was the right answer. Arthur says that you were the one who helped him make that decision, though he has also told me never to tell anyone else of course…” She joked.
Merlin did not laugh so she continued more.
“He says your wisdom helped him. And he is grateful for that.”
She didn’t understand. It was the opposite. Arthur had picked the wrong choice. And it was because of him he did. Merlin’s counsel had been completely faulty. Arthur’s fate was sealed. Mordred still lived.
To one day kill him.
Merlin shivered, feeling Gwen’s hand come over his arm comfortingly, seeing the concern in her dark eyes as she held on. “Merlin, what is it? What troubles you so much?”
He felt it again like he had in the wood. That pressure against his throat and heart. To tell the words he didn’t want to say. Because they were more lies. They were more secrets covered, buried under years of friendship. And yet Merlin lied now, covered it all more.
“Grateful? That why he still calls me an idiot all the time?”
It was a jest. She accepted it as such. Merlin wanted to lighten the mood, take away the choking from his throat, but Gwen was always persistent of mind, seeing what Arthur sometimes neglected to notice. “You cannot fool me Merlin. I know you are still bothered by something. I just hope you know as your friend I do want to hear about it if you are ready to tell. Merlin, you used to laugh so much. You used to be so happy and so silly at times even. Now you are so quiet. You don’t smile like you did. You seem weighted by something, but you don’t share with us, why?”
He looked away, his head lowered. His mind thinking. His heart clasping. He thought of Freya. Feeling her die in his arms. He had love then. He was not so alone then. But she had to leave him. She had to go. Then there was Lancelot, his friend. He knew his secret too. He honored it. But Lancelot also died, made the brave sacrifice. A few months ago there was even Mithian. Oh she didn’t know his secret, but he felt himself having feelings that were younger and more fun. The kind a man of his age should have.
The kind Arthur shared with Gwen. But he couldn’t have anything like that because it was his destiny to have Arthur unify Albion. To become the greatest king ever known. To restore magic.
And yet it felt so far away. It felt so lost in the oceans at times that rushed against the seashore. It felt drowned and-
“Merlin-
He closed his eyes hard. Closed away the golden glow that sometimes screamed at him, ‘stop hiding away. Let me out. Share me.’
His magic. It would not do to share it now. It would not help sow the seeds of Camelot’s health. It would only seal its destruction. He searched, found his voice, and told Gwen, as she kept gently clasping to his arm.
“You wouldn’t know about this. Because you don’t falter. You always make the right decision. But see, I’ve made the wrong one from time to time. And now I’ve made a heavy one. I changed things like I shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry for it. But I can’t change it back. I can’t-
“Is this about Arthur?” It was there. The question so rigid. From a woman who loved her husband and would do anything to protect him. Even force ugly truths from her friend. He could feel it as her hand hardened over his arm, almost to the point of pain, before it relaxed some. And yet it was in her eyes, so heavily questioning. “Merlin.” Her voice insisting.
Once again he was given an opening to tell the truth. And yet Merlin couldn’t enter it. Another lie. Another secret.
“No. It’s someone in Camelot that I’m…um…friends with. Someone you don’t know.”
“A woman?” She asked with a glow of wonder in her eyes. Merlin knew that would make her happy so he let it be.
“Yes. A woman.”
“Who you like?” She asked teasingly.
He smiled at her, feeling the lie release some of the weight even as its other pressure felt like a tangled web weaving through his body. Tying up his muscles and bones. “Yes. I like.”
“Then I’m sure what you did can’t be as wrong as you think.”
He shook his head adamantly. She was being so nice, thinking it was something so small, but if she truly knew this was about the fate of her husband, perhaps she might hate him forever for putting him in such danger. “It is. I made things worse for her than I should have. I gave her advice that was all the wrong advice.”
She stared at him for long moments, before he saw her eyes soften. “Merlin, you are wrong. I do not always make the right decisions. With Sefa’s father, I feared I had even blundered there. After all, he did escape. I hoped the knights would be strong enough to deal a mortal blow and they did. But it was close. He nearly got away. And the choice itself was never easy. Condemning Sefa, hoping Roudan would come. Merlin, I gambled there. Thankfully it paid off. So you see we all do things that are not always with the full result we wish. But most everything by our own efforts can be changed later. It can, Merlin, if need be.”
“Not this.” Merlin told her softly, sadly. “I did something terrible, Gwen. And I can’t change it.”
“Merlin-
He shook his head strongly. He couldn’t tell her who it was really about. He had to keep that secret. He was locked into this now, this grip on Arthur’s fate and that of Camelot, of all of Albion really.
“I can’t, Gwen.”
Eight Days Before:
As Merlin walked into one of the many rooms, of the large, and vast castle of Camelot, he felt a memory drift into his head. He turned, lowered his head some, and peered into the room’s corner. His feelings that day had been of conflict and self disgust. He could recall rummaging through Gaius’s vials, ailments. Finding the poison. Depositing it into his water sack. Then he ran up the steps and rejoined them. When she complained of thirst he gestured with a sweat filled smile. He was so weary then. Tiring so strongly. The spell was so gripping. It was sapping at Arthur’s physical prowess. It was yearning to put them both to sleep. So he had to do it. He had to give her it.
She denied it at first, but then he told her more firmly, more convincingly to drink. To wash her mouth. Soak it with the coolness of the water. And so she did. She raised it to her lips. She swallowed it with her throat. He watched the action at first with dreaded wonder and then soon turned away so he wouldn’t see.
Then he heard it. Her gasping breaths. Her awful wrenching throat trickles. He tried to keep looking away, to deny his tears from falling, but it wrenched him back. The horrible disgusting sound of a person dying, of a person not being able to breathe because they were poisoned. Because he did it.
Because he had to. Had to save his then prince. Had to-
Oh. He never wanted to hear her like that again. Oh. It was clutching his heart. She was one of his first friends. She was kind and good. She was sad and scared when she realized she had magic. And she reached out to him. She tried to get his help. But he couldn’t give it then. Couldn’t give it now. Just-
Tears of the throat. Wrenches of the breath. Gasps of the mouth.
Finally he turned around and saw her hand forcedly gripping her throat. There was so much pain in her eyes. She was still making those terrible sounds. He moved down to the ground to be with her, to hold her. To give her some degree of comfort as she died. He wanted to protect her from his own self. And he could see it…see it so awfully in her eyes as she questioned, as she asked, and all he could do was nod.
Merlin? They asked. Why? Why would you do this to me? Are we not friends? Why?
Oh. His tears fell then so hard. They flooded his face. He didn’t want to do this. But he had no choice. She was the center of the dark magic. She was the one that would lead to Arthur’s death. If he didn’t do this, Arthur would die and he couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t let that pass.
So, kill her. Poison her.
It was no easy choice. It hurt so much to feel her clutching to life, to feel her agony of the poison coming into her body. Trapping its life force. He felt her hitting him, but he just grasped her close. He held her in his arms and then Morgause burst-
“Merlin.”
He turned around at the voice, the hard edge in it. Seeing the king staring at him, his eyes crinkling with question. “Did you even hear me?”
He remembered something else suddenly, being in the wood, Morgana the now witch looked like an old wizened woman. She brought out her hand so firmly. So evilly. She made him fly through the air, made his back crunch into a tree’s trunk. And then she clenched with her hand. So that his throat screamed in agony. So that it locked so hard he felt himself gasping for breath, struggling for air, needing-
“So do that now.”
He shook his head, not understanding.
The king’s voice grew, but then a hand was touching his shoulder. He looked down a bit, seeing the young face of Mordred. “It’s alright Sire.”
Merlin watched as Arthur rolled his eyes and stalked away, but there were touches of concern there. There was unhappiness.
“I have them too.”
Merlin turned to the young boy who was now a distinguished knight of Camelot. His dark hair curled around his youthful face. His eyes were full of awareness. “Dark dreams. Only I don’t have them in the day.”
Merlin moved away from the helping hand. He frowned at the supportive touch and the words. “I wasn’t having a dark dream.”
“No?”
Oh Mordred. Sometimes, he saw too much. He understood too well. He should have killed him when he had the chance. But it wasn’t so easy. Because Mordred also saved Arthur’s life, twice. He went against Morgana.
Merlin took no joy in killing anyway. Each death brought on another line of dreadful experience. Soiled his body. Made him feel as wretched as those he went against. Each death bloodied his heart.
“It’s alright. I won’t tell.”
He was consoling him and Merlin didn’t like that. He made sure no one was looking and grabbed the young man’s arm, pulling him back away from all the conversation and interactions. Mordred silently let him even as his eyes widened with a bit of shock.
When they were out of hearing distance, Mordred pulled away and asked, “What was-
“You need to know something.”
Mordred stared in the shadows of the hall that they stood in, half his face darkened like nebulous night, his other half almost too angelic. Both little evils.
“If you ever hurt Arthur, I will not stop from-
Mordred let out a dry laugh, touched Merlin’s arm. “Hurt him? Are you forgetting that I saved him twice?”
Merlin didn’t like that bit of boastfulness. Even Mordred seemed to hold himself with chagrin.
“No need to remind. It’s not knightly to count up one’s achievements. Arthur’s taught me that among other things.”
Merlin barely contained his bits of jealousy. It wasn’t fair sometimes, how Mordred was now so prized in Arthur’s eyes; even if Arthur took him on ventures and such, he still was just the servant. The Lackey. Fixing the bed. Doing the laundry. Entering the hot kitchens. While Mordred was adorned in Pendragon red.
Where did fate decree this ridiculousness of outcome?
He was Emrys. Wasn’t he supposed to be something of importance by now? And yet he felt like a liar. A secret keeper. A person who was so low in stature it was common to have the king change behind the screen, insult by discarding his clothes down upon his head and shoulders. Like Merlin was nothing more than a clothing hook.
“Merlin…” Mordred too gently touched his hand. Merlin flinched some, struggling to not push it away entirely. It felt so conflicted, liking Mordred, hating Mordred, fearing Mordred…and the worst of all…simply not knowing him.
Oh, Morgana he knew. He could predict. She was angry, crazily furious and wanting to hurt anyone who got in her way. But Mordred? He was as much a puzzle as a complicated labyrinth. He gave nothing away.
“I told you before I owe Arthur my life. A debt.”
Merlin whispered, a hiss, “And then you returned that debt. You’re even. Actually you’ve saved him twice like you said.”
“Right. Because I wanted to.”
“Why?” Merlin asked with a wrinkle to his brow. “Why would you risk so much for him?”
“Didn’t he risk much for me?”
Merlin shook his head. It wasn’t enough answer. He feared he’d never get enough. “Mordred, you are living in a land where magic is firmly outlawed. You can’t use it at all, but in the shadows.”
Mordred’s youthful face showed reaction. A frown. Then a smile. It was something Mordred did often. Went from one emotion to another like a flicker. Not a long breeze. “As is the same for you Emrys. And yet you stay. Why?”
Merlin closed his mouth hard. Said nothing. He would not give away what Mordred wouldn’t.
The younger man, not so much a boy as he had been years ago, that, perhaps something Merlin should consider, nodded his head. “See. We both have our secrets. I see no reason to divulge. And I’m guessing you don’t either. I told you before, you’re not the only who has had to pretend, Emrys. I have too kept it secret because even beyond Camelot, there are so many who look upon it with suspicion. At least with Arthur I serve a good man. A fair one.”
Merlin had to wonder if Mordred found out that Arthur nearly sacrificed his life for Camelot’s continuance, if he would think the same. Mordred should not know that truth. Among others. Like the truths that Mordred held back from him.
Merlin knew Mordred was waiting for a response, but he gave him none, simply nodding before he walked away.
Seven Days Before:
Making his way down the long hall, seeing the sconces upon the walls glowing with a soft fire of light in the evening hours, he felt a memory of months before. Uther’s ghost had tried to wipe out everything in its path. It felt worse than even Uther himself. Merlin had watched then as it stood over Arthur’s unconscious body; then it turned to him angrily. When it did, Merlin finally confessed the truth. His magic. His force of life. It wasn’t really enough, confessing to a ghost, but it was at least a tiny release.
Now Merlin continued his way down the hall, coming to the outside of the room the king shared with his wife. So deep in thought, the secrets and lies still webbing within his body and soul, he opened the door without reservation, seeing it. Arthur and Gwen kissing. They were just sitting upon two chairs, doing nothing but, fully clothed, and yet still it was a private moment. Arthur yelled at him that he was an idiot, but Gwen got up from the chair, made her way forward and touched his arm. Merlin looked down, into her eyes, seeing her friendship, but still feeling so alone. So apart.
No longer could he enter these chambers without knocking. He should have tapped his knuckles against the thick wood. Arthur wanted private time with the woman he loved. Just like on the battlefield he was one with his knights and now especially Mordred. Merlin had no place in that anymore, but servant. Everyone moved up, their stature grander, Gwen now a queen. While he stayed the same.
Merlin shivered just a bit before steeling himself, attempting a smile.
If only he could tell them the truth. Stop weaving the intricate complicated web. It was sucking at his bones, pulling his muscles. And it hurt.
He looked down at his torn and imperfect clothes, compared to the richness of the two people before him, and felt so distant. So unlike any kind of sorcerer. He was the lackey, fine to be that, but for that everything he did, it weaved another complication.
He should have known it was a test, it was a trick. It was a punishment. It was like the Disir wanted Arthur to fail. To die.
“Merlin.”
Gwen’s hand was warm on his. She was looking at him with so much confusion, so much worry. Beyond, Arthur looked annoyed, but held still.
As Merlin finally spoke, “I um…I need to go from here for a few days. I…I want to visit my mother.”
Now Arthur put down the knife he’d been toying with, looked across, staring as much as his wife, his face blanching. “Is she ill?”
Merlin started to shake his head. “Because if she is, we can bring her here. Gaius can tend to her and she’ll be well again.”
“Arthur is right. Merlin-
He cut through all their worries. “She’s not ill. She’s fine. I just…it’s been two, three years really since I’ve seen her last. And I…I miss her and would like to be with her again, spend just a few days in Ealdor with your permission Sire. Arthur.”
Merlin watched carefully as Arthur shook his head, moving forward now to stand by his wife. “Of course you can go Merlin. She is your mother. I could go with-
He stopped, remembering, sharing an expression with his wife, before he amended. “I would go with you, but we have visitors that will be arriving then for the peace treaty talks between-
Merlin knew what he meant. He didn’t fear so much. The talks should go well. Basically they were just a preliminary to another kingdom joining Arthur and Gwen’s alliance.
“It’s alright. I can go alone.”
Gwen shocked at that. “No-
Arthur deadpanned. “Right. And trip over your own feet, get a concussion, or ride your horse off a cliff-no.”
Merlin smarted for a moment. “Prat.”
Arthur lifted his eyebrows at him, exchanging another look with his wife and then, “Gwaine. He can go with you.”
Merlin knew it would be futile to protest. His magic no doubt would keep him safe, but he couldn’t tell them that. So he just relented. “Fine. Gwaine.”
Six Days Before:
Ealdor was in Cenred’s old lands. Now the territories out there were taken over by another not so regal king. He was supposed to be slovenly too, said not to guard as heavily as Cenred had. Merlin and Gwaine made it just past the border with no incident other than a little bandit skirmish, that they actually had some fun getting out of. Merlin was even able to secretly use his magic.
Now it was night, the fire was flaming, and after a meal of young deer, parts not eaten saved for later, they rested quietly. Gwaine had his shoulders against his pack while Merlin sat up against a tree trunk.
“Arthur’s right. You’re quiet a lot lately.”
Merlin turned to Gwaine. “Arthur talks about me?”
He watched as Gwaine shook his head, long waves of dark hair echoing the gesture. “Not always. But a few times. Since all that with the Disir. Thanks, by the way mate, for making sure I’d heal.”
Merlin smiled softly. “You’d do the same for me.”
Gwaine nodded.
Merlin meant what he said. Gwaine could be a wild card at times, but he also was incredibly loyal to his friends and his king. That was why he struck out at the Disir.
Merlin reflected on years back when his friendship with Gwaine was more evenly matched. He wasn’t Sir Gwaine then, just a guy who helped them out in a tavern brawl. It was a crazy time, a fun time really.
Merlin peered out at the nature that surrounded them, hearing the cracks of the fire, seeing the branches in the trees swaying just slightly, the wind commanding them.
He looked beyond into the dark shadows that lingered within. The forest merged into a bloody battlefield. A war raged of anger and of vengeance. Of insolence and arrogance. Of pursuit to obtain. Steel clashed with steel. Armor gleamed through the foggy halo. Wounds burst. Death screamed. Slain men falling to their ends. So many colors. So many red capes that the blood mingled with.
And then, when the fields were mostly vacant, he saw him standing, surrounded by the piles of corpses, many his knights that he loved. Merlin turned to yell and use his magic, but he was paralyzed. Something blocked it and kept his voice from making a sound, his tongue stripped, his lips sealed.
In horror, all he could do was watch, as Mordred stalked toward Arthur with his blade in hand. He raised it into the air. Once again Merlin tried desperately to use his magic, clawing at his sleeves, straining his eyes, his mouth giving out quivers. But he couldn't move physically, his eyes held no gold, and his voice wouldn't utter a sound.
The blade was fast. Arthur taught Mordred well. Too well. The sound was like a knife cutting through fleshy fruit. Dread crushing his heart, Merlin watched as Arthur’s face registered the pain of death. He fell to his knees. And then-
“Merlin.”
He nearly fell forward, the touch shocking him and the voice like a bell ringing in his ears. Only the hand pressing his shoulder kept him upright. Fear and anguish not totally out of his eyes, he gaped into familiar ones. Gwaine’s. Merlin stared. His chin trembling. Filled of that dread he felt the night Arthur asked him…
“Merlin, are you alright?”
No. Nothing was okay. Merlin knew his stupid choice had brought him, Mordred, back to life. It was there in his visions that kept haunting him, how Mordred was set to kill his king, Arthur Pendragon. Mordred would end his destiny.
And it was his fault. He ruined everything by not listening, by believing he could change things his way. By-
“Merlin.”
He turned his head to the side, bit so hard at his bottom lip he could feel it warn of tearing. He looked up to the sky, to the stars that shined through the trees. He was a man of a million lies and secrets. So many he could barely keep them straight anymore. Blood that would never wipe off his hands.
“I’m fine.”
Gwaine showed that he didn’t believe, but Merlin paid him no heed, stated instead, “We should get some sleep.”
Five Days Before:
They reached the aging village by morning. Merlin saw her walking in the field. Gwaine left his side to allow him moments of privacy. Merlin felt his smile grow as she became clearer and clearer. She stooped just a little more. Her cheeks had deeper wrinkles. Her hair had speckles of gray and silver. But she was still beautiful to him. Still his…
“Mother.”
He watched as she turned around, saw her eyes widen.
“Merlin my boy?”
He nodded his head, lids welling with salty water. She put the hoe down, moved fast as she could, her dress’s hem short enough to help her walk with no hindrance. He rushed forward, clasping her small body to his, holding his mother tightly. “I’ve missed you. So much.”
She held him just as reverently, whispering against his sweaty brow. “Oh and I have missed you Merlin. Oh my boy, let me see you…”
She pulled back and he couldn’t contain it any longer. No longer cared to try.
“Merlin, what is it?”
He hadn’t known how much he needed this. Not until now. Not until he felt her warmth and tenderness. Not until…
“Merlin.”
“I ruined it. Everything. I-I can’t s-save him. I-Arthur will never see me as I truly am-I can’t tell him. I-I’ve failed. I’ve-
A shell, he crumbled into her warmth. With tears. With sobs. With disgust in himself.
Four Days Before:
She had calmed him down before Gwaine or anyone else could see what was going on. Then the next morning Gwaine left because Merlin lied, telling him that he’d be staying for some time. About a week.
After Gwaine’s departure, Merlin made his way silently to the grave of his friend, Will. It had too many dried flowers. As he was looking for ones in bloom, he heard his mother’s voice. “Merlin…”
Turning around, he gestured to the almost forgotten grave. She helped him gather flowers and after they had them in a bunch, spoke.
“You told Gwaine you would be staying.”
Merlin shook his head firmly, not looking up as he dug the flowers into the ground and between the stones. “I can’t.”
Hunith let out a sigh, nodding her head. “I guessed as much. Why did you lie to him?”
Merlin let out a round of ironic laughter . “I tell lies all the time now. I say I go to places I don’t go to. I say I don’t know people that I do. I say that I don’t have magic when I do. I say that magic cannot be in Camelot, when it is. When I use it all the time. So you see Mother,
I’m always lying.”
“Oh. Merlin.” Her hand went to his arm. He followed her to sit upon the ground, short grassy fields with splatters of wildflowers.
“What happened?” She asked, raising her hand to his hair, tenderly brushing it back.
“I can’t tell you. Not all of it anyway. Just that I ruined it. I had a chance to keep Arthur safe long ago and I didn’t take it. I’ve had chances to tell him the truth about who I am, that I was born with magic, and I haven’t spoken it. Finally, I had the chance again, to make Arthur’s fate good and just. To restore magic.
And I cut through it like the blade of a sword cuts through flesh. I ended the chances, Mother. I destroyed it all.”
“With Arthur? But you’re here. You’re not jailed or anything such.”
Merlin lifted up some of the grass, curled it around his fingers, shaking his head. “Because Arthur still doesn’t know my secret. But you see now his fate is determined and I can’t do anything to change it.”
His mother frowned, her fingers rising to graze his cheeks gently. “No fate is determined before time has passed.”
“The seers have fore-sawn this. They say-
She cut him off. “I don’t believe that. And neither should you. Merlin, you have lived in Camelot for years now. I have seen Arthur’s care for you. You have kept him safe as he has kept you safe too. You have good friends. Gwen, after the banishment, before she was reunited with Arthur, spoke of the good you have done. We all make mistakes my boy and they are hard to deal with. But to believe that once a mistake is made, nothing can be fixed?”
She held his face reverently. “I don’t believe that Merlin. Camelot has become your home away from here; when you go back it must be with hope, not despair. Such pain in your eyes, heaviness in your face, what has happened to my happy smiling boy?”
Leaning into her warmth, expression lightening just a bit by her wise counsel, he whispered, “I’ve had to grow. I can’t serve Arthur properly and be that boy you remember.”
“Of course not. You are a man now, young but so grown. So matured. And so wise enough to know that if you make a mistake it can be changed for the better.”
“You have such confidence in me.”
She kissed his cheek.
“Of course I do. You are my son. Special.”
Her love and belief bolstering him, he felt a little less anxious about what was to come next.
Two Days Before:
He was tired. He’d traveled a long way on horseback, and on the way to his destination, was ambushed by bandits. At least he had his magic. He used it to make some tree branches mysteriously fall to the ground, and cause the earth to quake jarringly.
Now as night started to fill the wood he came to the familiar cave. Quietly he entered, reverently making his way through the darkness, careful not to knock anything down. The cave was sacred, something not to be taken carelessly. Through the haze of black he saw three shadows. Saying nothing, he just waited. Within seconds enough light was shining to let him see their shadowy forms in sharper detail, but underneath the shrouded cloaks, their withered faces were mostly hidden. They were known as the Disir.
“Emrys.”
One spoke. And then, like they had when he was with Arthur and the knights, their words flowed rhythmically, their tones voluminous.
“We have wondered when you would come.”
“After your king made the wrong choice.”
“Saw to it that his death and that of his kingdom will be near.”
“Enough.” Merlin interrupted their eerie cadence. “You judge him and yet you never did his father?”
“We are not judges.”
“We do not decide.”
“We are the voice only. To have summoned Arthur’s father would have been time wasted.”
“He never would have listened.” Merlin responded.
“You understand then.”
He shook his head fervently. “No. I don’t understand. You punished Arthur, but I’m the one who convinced him. I told Arthur that magic could never be in Camelot.”
His mother told him he could change fate. On the ride over Merlin realized how right she was. “So you see it was me, Emrys, who denied you. Blame it upon me then. Spare Arthur.”
They were silent for a long while. Was there hope? Merlin wondered.
Then the recrimination came. “It is proven. He is his own bane.”
“Listening without thinking.”
“Hearing without understanding.”
“No!” Merlin yelled out, taking a desperate step forward. “Please. You don’t understand. Arthur is a great king. He wants peace.”
The angry sneering began now, their voices filled with it.
“How can there be peace when he kills?”
“Leaves blood upon the land.”
“Has maimed your brothers and sisters of magic. How can you walk with him when he is as much a scourge as his father was.”
“No.” Merlin shook his head strongly. “Arthur is not his father. And how can you say you don’t judge when you’re doing it right now. You punished him by letting Mordred live. You want him to die. How can that be good?”
“We want nothing.”
“We seek nothing.”
“But to serve her.”
“The triple goddess.” They all said in unison and Merlin could feel the futility of what he was trying to achieve, and yet he still tried to convince.
“Arthur will restore magic. I know he will.”
“And how do you know Emrys when you tell him to never restore it?”
“When you lie.”
“When you conceal the truth.”
“When you turn against your own kind.”
“You are as much a defiler as he.”
“You know what I said to him?” Merlin asked shakily, and perhaps a bit stupidly. Because deep down he knew. They saw all.
“We know.” They stated together, ominously.
Merlin let out a dreaded sigh, for he was almost certain now he would not sway their decision making. “Punish me then.”
“You would seek your own doom for Arthur’s sake?”
Merlin swallowed, before stating, “Yes.”
He had to wait a long time before answer came. During that time hope filtered in again, and anxiety. Finally they broke their silence.
“It is too late.”
“Time already past negotiation.”
“Camelot will fall.”
“Your king and all he holds dear will perish.”
“The old religion will find its return.”
“It will-
Thinking something disturbing, Merlin cut through. “With Morgana? Is that what you think? You think Morgana will make everything alright again? Because she won’t. She’s too full of hate now.”
“And you are too full of fear, Emrys.”
“It is why you hold in your secret.”
“It is why you fail as much as the witch.”
“So you don’t believe her?” Merlin asked. Hoping.
They looked away from him, saying nothing.
He tried to look past their cloaks to see their faces, to distinguish, but excluding the cracked lines upon their withered skin, they were shadowed in blue light.
He stressed with fervor, his hand upon his heart. “Give me a chance. I’ve been told that my name, Emrys, it means something powerful. I can alter it. My destiny and Arthur’s. His is to restore magic. Help me achieve that. Take away the threat. Take away Mordred.”
Finally they spoke.
“We are not killers.”
“We seek no vengeance.”
“We are not your king.”
Merlin’s lips pursed unhappily, his body filled with frustration. “Arthur is a good man! He is. He makes mistakes. I make mistakes. But he means well. It’s why he pled for Mordred’s life, a Druid. Someone with magic.”
“And yet he does not know of that magic.”
“Do you think he would defend if he did?”
“Do you believe that Emrys?”
“I don’t know.” Merlin answered truthfully.
There was no more speaking. He waited maybe ten minutes.
And then left the cave. Defeated.
Alone, he rode back to Camelot.
One hour before:
Merlin left the king and queen’s chambers, an hour past supper, still enough time to fix himself something to eat. With Gaius in a nearby village, he’d have to tend to the meal himself. Too bad he was wretchedly tired.
It had been a busy day of cleaning armor, mucking out the stables, and doing the laundry. None of it was novel for him, but on the anniversary of his birth, he certainly would have preferred to be doing something else.
Yes, it was his birthday. Before departing Ealdor his mother had made a small, but delicious cake. They ate it together with some friends in a quiet celebration that fit his dark mood.
Now back in Camelot, he had received a few gifts. Gaius gave him a new volume on medicine…and magic. Gwaine gifted him with some sweet cakes snatched from the kitchen of course. Finally, Gwen made him a warm woolen blanket for the cold winter months that would come soon enough. All the gifts touched him. It had to be said though that none came from the king. That wasn’t something new, although, in stark contrast, Arthur had given Mordred a sword that was personally crafted for him just the other day.
Since returning to Camelot, Merlin had been keeping a watchful eye on Mordred. So far he hadn't done anything sinister at all. In fact, the mysterious young man showed no smugness, was cordial to everyone, and couldn't hide his firm admiration of the king.
Letting out a tired yawn, Merlin walked further down the hallways, hearing some peculiar sounds coming from a room to his left. Odd. The banquet room should be empty at this time.
Alarm sensor kicking in, hoping this wasn’t some kind of surprise attack, Merlin cautiously entered. As soon as his foot moved past the door’s edge, concentrated shouts of ‘surprise’ filled his ears. His eyes widened with shock. There they all were, the knights, Gaius, many of his servant friends, and at the front, the king and queen. Every one of them was beaming with happiness, their smiles directed straight at him. And beyond those he knew, were a slew of musicians and entertainers.
Merlin gaped, feeling a hand fall down upon his shoulder. It was the king, Arthur, giving him a wry look now. “Well it took you long enough to get here. Some of us had to rush in earlier thinking you’d beat us, but no, we arrived far earlier than you did. Should have known with your penchant for tardiness.”
“I was doing the last of your laundry you prat.”
Arthur laughed at that. Then, holding her red skirts away from her feet as she excitedly rushed over, Gwen bounced over to kiss his cheek. “Don’t listen to him Merlin. Just enjoy because this is all for you. So rightful too because you deserve it for all you do for Camelot and us.”
Arthur smiled, silent begrudging approval to what his wife said.
The knights all raised their glasses in salute, while the ones he knew best, came over to give friendly hugs.
It all shocked Merlin so much. Although sometimes on his birth’s anniversary he was given a day off, no such allowance this time because of important upcoming visitors, never had anything like this been put together.
Noticing all the fine dinnerware, by habit he prepared to rush off to the kitchens to fetch the food. Before he could move a foot though, he was firmly turned around in the other direction. As Arthur grasped his shoulder, Gwen held to his hand, and the knights took up the rear defensive position. The friendliest ambush ever. The king stated strongly, “No Merlin. You will not set foot in the kitchens tonight.”
With a smile, Gwen continued her husband’s words and they made their way with Merlin to the front of the banquet room. “You most certainly won’t as you are the guest of honor tonight, Merlin.”
They stopped at where their chairs were placed, that of the king and queen; peculiarly tonight, another chair sat between.
Merlin frowned at it, feeling Arthur’s hand push some on his shoulder. “Sit, Merlin.”
He looked back to both of them with stunned amazement. “What?”
Gwen squeezed his hand with meaning, her smile gentle and full of the love of friendship. “Sit down Merlin. Relax and enjoy.”
Merlin looked back to Arthur, whose smile was full and genuine as he gestured with a quiet half rude, and half endearing, order. “Just shut up and sit Merlin.”
Merlin sat.
*
Now the first hour of the celebration is past.
Merlin stands on the balcony alone, apart from the festivities. He’s been given plenty of drink to loosen his tongue and demeanor. He’s enjoyed it all, but managed to stay mostly sober.
There are still too many lurking feelings of what is to come. His throat is not yet past that feeling of constriction. These dark thoughts, they enter his mind again, a new one coming. He is in chains, forced to submission. Must kneel at the throne of his king and queen, his friends, people he loves. Arthur looks down upon him like he is a monsterish traitor, for lying, for deceiving. The knights look away, no longer caring to friend him. Gaius looks sad. And Gwen, her face is unreadable as she stands by her king and husband. She’s been a victim of sorcery of course, too many times. Mordred watches silently, saying nothing.
In a blur he’s taken away. The dungeon cell’s unyielding ground does not cushion his body. He lays still, in pain, bruised from the fall, but does nothing to heal himself. He’s never cared to learn enough of that remedy. He does not turn himself to Dragoon. His heart feels broken. The next morning he’s lead out. Given a chance to say final words. But he has none. The noose is put around his neck. His lips quiver. His body shivers and-
“Merlin.”
The voice shocks him. Arthur’s been standing here all this time, his hand on his shoulder, his expression questioning. Merlin shakes violently, seeing Arthur’s eyes widen.
“Merlin, come on. There are festivities in there for you and yet you idiot you’re our here, white as a ghost. What is wrong?”
Sometimes, like earlier, like a bit now, Arthur teases him and Merlin teases back. There are plenty who do not get their banter, their odd relationship. There are times Merlin himself does not get it. But he knows one thing deep enough. Arthur cares. And he feels the same. He has stayed in Camelot, by his king’s side because in Camelot he has learned the honor of duty. Its burden too. Merlin truly does fear one day his secret will be found out and he will be sentenced to death. But it is not so much for himself he fears. No. It is more for the destruction of Camelot, the death of his king and friend.
Arthur is smiling, trying to get him to smile back. “I got you jugglers, silly jesters and all that sort of thing you were so excited about when it was my birthday years back. You love all that nonsense.”
Merlin smiles just a tad, shrugs. “I did. I guess I’ve grown.”
“So you don’t still love it.”
He has to tell the truth. At least he can here. “No. I still do.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Arthur asks him with exasperation. “You walk around this castle morosely every day. Shouldn’t admit, but has been driving me mad to see.”
“I do my work.” Merlin defends.
Merlin watches as Arthur, in all Camelot celebration gear, lets out a frustrated sigh. “Yes you do. As poorly as you always do. But at least then you do it with an annoying whistle or hum. Now you’re just so silent.”
“Thought you’d be pleased. Don’t have to listen to it.”
It’s there. Arthur’s stubborn look where he doesn’t want to admit the truth, but then he does. “Well oddly enough I do. I miss your smile and I miss your humming and…if you tell anyone I said that I will deny it so don’t even bother.”
Merlin laughs a little. He admits, “I just don’t feel like humming a lot lately. You’re busy so it shouldn’t matter.”
Arthur gets a look in his eye. Some kind of realization. “It’s Mordred, isn’t it?”
Merlin holds still cautiously, giving nothing away.
So Arthur continues. “You’re a bit jealous of him? I’m assuming. I spend time with him often enough.”
Merlin lets out a sigh, whispering with irritation, “Prat. Not jealous.”
“Royal prat, remember?” Arthur injects with a look of humor in his face.
Merlin does remember-meeting him, thinking what a supercilious clotpole he was then, but he has grown, and so has Arthur. He sees his king for much more now. And it terrifies him to think that his mistakes will lead to that king’s destruction.
He can feel Arthur studying him, with concern the king doesn’t want to admit. With deep inquiry. Merlin tries to look away, but Arthur is not giving up. He’s seeing much more these days. He’s thinking much more. In the wood, Merlin could feel the intensity of Arthur’s stare as he asked him about magic. If he would have him reinstate it. Merlin could have said yes. Mordred wouldn’t have lived then. Everything would have been so different and-
“Merlin.”
The hand is on his shoulder. Arthur’s eyes are strongly on him, watching, scrutinizing. “Felt it from the moment we met. And still. Something…something…”
Merlin looks away, not admitting anything. He can’t. He said things in the wood that will now make it nearly impossible to bring magic back. And that makes him feel more tangled into that web that has crept into his body. Sucking at his bones and muscles. That makes every secret and every lie so heavy like shackles holding him down to the ground, so he can only kneel there as the worst is done.
“Did you hear me Merlin?”
He turns and sees that Arthur knows he didn’t. And so Arthur says it again. “If there is something you have to say…then just say it. I swear Merlin you are like a puzzle. You get these moods, you say nothing, you act like you’re full of dread and such a g-
He starts to say it. Starts to tease. Arthur’s way. But then he holds back from it, shaking his head.
“You truly are the worst servant ever. But you are also loyal and brave. And you are the finest friend I've ever had Merlin. Because you tell me the truth. You’re more than a servant.”
Merlin looks away again, to the corner. Seeing the shackles of the dungeon. Seeing Mordred dealing the final blow. Seeing the Disir deny him the peace of mind to keep Arthur alive. Seeing all of Camelot’s destruction.
Arthur thinks he tells him the truth? With lie after lie. With secret after secret. With-
“Merlin.”
Looking back, seeing Arthur’s eyes touched with worry, knowing that he means something to him and to Gwen and to Gaius and to the knights…everyone really, Merlin knows his mother is right. He’d be a fool to give up. To lose himself in some kind of despondency like he’s felt since that night in the wood when he made the mistaken choice. He lies to protect. Sometimes it’s more secrets than lies. That doesn’t excuse them, but it is what he must stick to for now. Within it all, he tries to be as honest he can with everyone.
He still has a chance to turn fate to what it’s meant to be, what he hopes for. Arthur is not dead. He is alive, strong, and Camelot is not fallen, instead thriving.
The seeds are still being sown; he is part of that planting, making sure they are placed in the ground just right. Ready to change direction if need be. He is Merlin Emrys, noted to be a sorcerer of great power. He cannot just give up then. Arthur never does, always fighting.
Merlin will too. In his way. His strength. And now his resounding banter.
“Sounding a little like a girl there, Arthur.” He deadpans, for the first time in a long time giving a true genuine smile.
It brings out Arthur’s grin, so bold and happy. “Idiot. Shut up.”
Merlin smiles more, feeling Arthur’s arm swing around him in friendship, in camaraderie. Then he moves apart from him as they reenter the festivities. It’s different though.
Gone from him is the strong drowning of loneliness. This time Merlin watches with just a hint of boyish wonder as the jugglers juggle and the jesters make everyone laugh. He even joins in with the juggling, getting Gwen and Gaius to exclaim at his ability to send more than two balls up into the air at one time.
By secret magic.
His gift, not his curse. The darkness may never totally be lifted. He has much he needs to alter.
But for now, to relax and frolic with friends is a delight.
He feels Gwen’s hand squeezing his, her comforting glow of enjoyment, plus her resolve to find that 'mysterious woman', and Arthur’s hand pound his shoulder jovially as they enjoy all the antics.
It releases him from the price of fate for the night. It surrounds him with friendship so profound that there is no room for loneliness. That the seeds open up with hope.
*