Smoke Without Fire [1/6] - Merlin - Arthur/Merlin
Title: Smoke Without Fire
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 28,448
Rating: NC-17
Links to All Parts: Part Two :: Part Three :: Part Four :: Part Five :: Part Six :: Afternotes :: aeroport_art's Illustrations
A/N: Written for the scifibigbang. I want to thank neptuneskisses and gweneiriol for their beta skills. This is certainly more readable because of them. aeroport_art has drawn some very adorable illustrations.
Summary: Merlin's magic is discovered and he is burnt at the stake despite his friends' attempts to save his life. Five years later, Arthur encounters him once more while he and Lancelot visit a prospective bride in a foreign kingdom.
While Arthur knew that returning to the castle ought to be high on his list of priorities, he found that he had absolutely no desire to do so now that he was settled on soft green grass. The summer sun was hot and prickly on his face, pale from winter. He'd shed his armour, the padding far too heavy and hot to be tolerated, and his leather coat was spread out on the grass beneath him, a makeshift mattress. This afternoon was perfect.
"Are you sure that we shouldn't head back to Camelot?" Merlin asked.
Make that almost perfect.
Arthur cracked open one eye. Merlin was standing with their horses, holding onto the reins. The two animals - one considerably more attractive and expensive than the other, which looked as cross-eyed as a horse could manage - had bowed their heads to graze at the lush grass. They were relaxing, but apparently his manservant was twice as thick as their mode of transport.
"Merlin, I am going to ask you a question: am I, or am I not, the prince?"
Merlin huffed. "You are, sire."
"And am I, or am I not, your master?"
This one prompted not only a huff but a groan before Merlin agreed. Arthur made a mental note to tease Merlin over it a little more often - but only a little. He didn't want to prod at their unequal blood like it was a fascinating bruise. It would only breed resentment, and Merlin was moody enough without giving him any more fodder.
"Then as your prince and master, I clearly know much better than you. I'm going to lie here a while longer. Why don't you join me instead of fussing about it?"
It was the sort of invitation that no other prince could offer no other servant. Arthur wasn't quite sure when he and Merlin had arrived as this new state of uniqueness. He couldn't even say whether or not he liked it, this friendship that was like nothing else the world had ever seen. It felt fresh. It felt dangerous.
Merlin plopped ungracefully onto the ground beside him after he'd tied the horses to a nearby tree. Arthur closed his eyes once more and slipped back into the half-awake doze he'd been floating through before the interruption.
Merlin shifted as if he'd accidentally sat on an ant's nest. Considering that Arthur knew that he had been nowhere near daft enough to choose 'right on top of a swarm of ants' as his perfect location to stop, Arthur sighed at him. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Merlin answered sullenly. Arthur didn't say a word: he knew that Merlin would prompt himself into speaking shortly. Sure enough, scarcely half a minute had passed before Merlin said, "I'm just wondering what we're doing here. That's all."
"Well, I am trying to relax. Sadly my half-wit of a manservant keeps trying to sabotage my efforts."
"If I'm the half-wit then I can't imagine what tiny fraction that must make you," Merlin said. Arthur's eyes were closed but he could visualise the smile on Merlin's face, completely smug and self-amused.
"I am a full-wit, thank you very much," he stated, using his most royal of royal voices. It didn't have much of an effect on Merlin; it never did. "We can leave soon. Stop worrying about it."
"I'm not worried - it's just that I'm the one you will blame it on when you're late getting home, which means that I am the one that Uther will decide to put in the stocks." Despite his complaining, Merlin flopped from a sitting position to a lying one, nudging Arthur over so that he could take a spot lying on his coat as well. Arthur could feel the heat from Merlin's wiry body pressed along his side. Merlin was skinny, regardless of how much food he ate, but Arthur could tell that there was strength there. Even if he had been of noble birth they would never have been able to make a knight out of him, but nonetheless he was far from the weakling that Arthur liked to accuse him of being.
Not that he would ever confess to that, of course.
Not ever.
"This is quite nice, actually," Merlin murmured after they'd been lying peacefully for a while.
"I can't believe that you needed me to show you how to slack off," Arthur complained. "Surely you have a great deal of experience with doing so."
"We're not all wastrels like you," Merlin answered sleepily. If they didn't get going soon he would probably fall asleep here - and wake up hours later, his frosty skin burned bright red. "Some of us actually have to work for a living."
"I work extremely hard, I'll have you know," Arthur protested, jutting his arm to the side in order to elbow Merlin's ribs. "Take that back."
His tone was light-hearted, far from serious; he was not yet so far removed from the lives of his people that he would be willing to pretend that his own hardships could outstrip theirs.There was poverty and pain in his land, in the outlying regions as well as in the towns. They were the problem that no king could hope to eradicate, but that Arthur certainly intended to soothe.
"Right then," he announced, sitting up sharply. "If lying here is such an issue for you then I suppose we'd best get on our way."
Although Merlin made grumbling groans, he grabbed Arthur's hand when it was offered. Arthur yanked him to his feet with the power of his arm. It was like lifting a sack of loose turnips. Grumpy turnips at that.
"This is what you wanted, remember," Arthur laughed, taking a quiet and sadistic pleasure in Merlin's bad mood. "Merlin, you are incredibly indecisive at times. You're like a - Whoa." His words dissolved to a panicked shout as he spotted the knot that Merlin had tied in the horses' reins beginning to slide free, releasing Merlin's mare which was as stubborn and skittish as the man himself. Once freed, the horse whinnied, high-pitched and triumphant, and began to rear back, ready to run and-
- and the wind caught a firm hold of the reins and dragged them back to the tree. They encircled the branch once more, moving like a snake, and knotted with an extra-firm tug.
"That's lucky," Arthur murmured. He was willing to pretend that he didn't notice just how many 'lucky' things had a tendency to happen when Merlin was around, and he was willing to turn a blind eye to any golden flashings in Merlin's eyes as well. Some things were better if they were left unsaid; to bring them up would mean that he would have to act upon it. Arthur did not ask why Merlin could do the things he could do because he did not want to know. For as long as he was able, he wanted to hide in ignorance.
"It's not lucky, sire; I think you were just over-reacting," Merlin said, over-cheerful and chatty. "You're awfully jumpy today, I must say."
"Maybe I'm anxious because my manservant has made me late. Perhaps I should suggest to my father that some sort of punishment is required?"
"Don't you dare, Arthur," Merlin complained as he unwound the tight knot from the tree branch, having to grit his teeth and pick at it with his nails; that 'luck' of his appeared to have tied it far too tight. Arthur stood behind him, watching with his arms crossed as he held his jacket. Patiently; when it came to Merlin he was really having to learn the value of patience. "I'll slip you one of Gaius's potions if you do."
"Well, that won't work now, will it? I'll be expecting it."
"Then maybe this is all a trick, and what I'm really going to do is something much worse," Merlin suggested absent-mindedly.
"Is that so?" Arthur asked; almost a challenge, even if he was wading into tricky territory with that one. "And what exactly could Merlin Emrys do to me that is so terrifying?"
Merlin finally managed to conquer the knot. He passed the reins of Arthur's horse to him - stubbornly, Arthur noted, refusing to offer him any further help that would have been customary while he was mounting - and grinned at him, the confident grin of the man who had promised to take him apart during their second meeting. "I wouldn't want to give too much away, my lord," he said, with a bow as mocking as any bow could be.
"You are such an idiot at times, Merlin," Arthur sighed at him, with an affectionate roll of his eyes as he swung himself up into his horse's saddle, finding his balance upon it as well as he could. "Let's get on home, then. If we rush then maybe I won't have to turn you in to my father after all."
'Rushing' turned out to be 'racing', and Arthur would swear until the day he died that Merlin had used some of that 'luck' of his to make sure that he didn't fall too far behind. When they reached the gates of Camelot, Arthur laughed as the guards approached. There was still an orange hint of sun in the sky: they weren't late, not as such. Not really. "Relax, men," he said, still atop his horse as they waited outside the castle gates for the red-cloaked guards to grant them entry. "There's no trouble here; we merely became a little lost on the way home."
The guards, grim-faced and nervous, did not move - and Arthur noticed, unhappily, that the strength of their steels was directly only at Merlin, not himself.
"Get out of our way," he commanded. "By order the prince, you are to return to your posts."
"I apologise, sir," one of them finally said, a bald man whose sword was pointed very firmly at the nose of Merlin's mare: the horse didn't seem overly bothered by the intrusion. "The king himself has ordered us to take your servant into custody."
"Merlin?" Arthur repeated. He glanced towards Merlin, able to see the wide-eyes and open mouth of his alarm. "Merlin is an idiot, but nothing more than that. It is not his fault that we're late: he didn't kidnap me, you idiots."
"It's not about that, sir," the same guard answered, with a hesitant tremor to his voice that didn't seem to fit with his muscles and sword. "It's sorcery."
Arthur felt a burn in the pit of his stomach, horror and alarm. He hid it behind a smile and a forced bark of laughter. "That is utterly ridiculous. Merlin is not a sorcerer. He's not nearly bright enough."
"We only follow orders - you'll have to take it up with the king."
"I'm taking it up with you," Arthur laughed, nerves puffing out. "This is a waste of your time."
"Arthur," Merlin said, quietly pulling his attention from the guards. "It's alright. I'll go."
"Be quiet," Arthur hissed at him - to no avail, as Merlin was already beginning to dismount from his horse. "I am going to speak to my father about this. I may have to see fit to see that everyone here is fired," he threatened, although it didn't do a lot of good.
"Sire, stop fussing," Merlin said, far too calm on the surface for a man who was currently flanked by grim-looking guards. "This has got to be one big misunderstanding."
Arthur nodded in acknowledgement, but the gesture was stiff and stilted. Those frequent flashes of gold in Merlin's eyes were now well on their way to being impossible to ignore - and as he watched as Merlin was led away he felt sick; worried that, perhaps, his luck had finally ran out.
*
"You've met Merlin, father; you know as well as I do that there is no way that he could be a sorcerer. He'd have hexed his own face off within a week if he ever tried."
Uther sat at the head of the heavy wooden dining table, and watched as Arthur paced back and forth on the stone floor. Arthur's hands were placed firmly on his hips and he was aware of the disapproving indifference in his father's eyes. He didn't care. It did nothing to stop him.
There was food spread out across the table, waiting to be indulged in, but Arthur couldn't bring himself to touch it. The day's trip had left him hungry: he could only imagine how Merlin felt, locked in the dungeons.
Probably serves him right. A night down there will do him a world of good, Arthur thought, but it was weak because the idea that it would be far more than one night was by now unavoidable.
"His clumsy façade has indeed been convincing," Uther agreed, "nevertheless, we have found a book of sorcery in his room. There is no doubt, Arthur, that he is one of them and will therefore be treated as one."
"Why were you even in his room in the first place?" Arthur asked; he was almost shouting and he knew that he had to control himself. Throwing a tantrum at the king would not help matters, nor would it help Merlin.
"You were far later returning than anticipated. We had reason to presume that you were in danger and took the necessary measures to find out exactly what might have happened."
"I was sunbathing," Arthur snapped. His father's nostrils flared and Arthur took a moment to remember that this was all nothing but a tangent: it didn't matter how or why they had found that damn book. "Someone must have planted that book there. Perhaps they have a grudge against him, or wish to take his place in the castle. Rather than arresting my servant you ought to be working out who would have motive to do such a thing."
Uther sighed at him, heavy and long-winded. "I know you were attached to the boy. This must come as a great shock," he said. Arthur knew that this scrap of sympathy was all that he was likely to get from Uther, but it did nothing to soothe him. "To find out that he has kept this from you must feel like a great betrayal."
"He has kept nothing from me," Arthur snapped.
Uther's eyes were cold. "Do you mean to say that you knew?"
"I mean that there is nothing to know," Arthur said. "Merlin is innocent - and I'll prove it."
He turned on his heel and walked from the room, the length of his coat flowing behind him. The burning anger that fired through his veins did not leave enough room for logic: there was no proof to be found. Merlin was far from innocent, and Arthur had known as much for a long, long time now. They hadn't spoken of it because they couldn't: the inevitable consequence would have been a situation exactly like this. It was something that Arthur had longed to avoid. He could already imagine the flames that would lick at Merlin's skin and he could hear the screams, high-pitched and mindless, that would mark his death.
His footsteps thundered fast and determined along cold corridors: not him, each set of steps said, not him.
A withering look at the guards was all that was required to gain entry to the dungeons. Merlin was behind wooden, slatted bars, his cell lit only by the moonlight that slid in through the small window, high in the wall. His skin looked so pale in this light that it was silver, pure enough to melt and forge; his hair was the night.
He stood near the window but drew closer once he realised that Arthur was there. His smile twitched but wouldn't stick: it slid away.
He didn't say a word.
Arthur reached out and placed one of his hands on a bar of wood. Clearing his throat, he then commanded, "Go on, then. Get out of here."
"Pardon?"
"You're a sorcerer, Merlin. Put that magic to good use." He didn't meet Merlin's eyes, glancing around at his cell instead. There was straw sprawled on the ground and a set of unused shackles hanging from the wall. Water dripped in the corner. "Vanish into a puff of smoke."
"It doesn't work like that."
With the sound of those five words, Arthur's stomach clenched against the weight of reality. So it was true, then. Sorcery really was in Merlin's blood. Arthur's hand gripped the wood even tighter, as if he hoped to crush it with the clench of his fist.
"I don't care how it works," Arthur clipped out, each word sharp enough to cut his tongue. "Get out of here. You are to be executed if you stay. My father..."
"Your father needs to watch me burn. His hatred of magic will not allow for anything else," Merlin said, obnoxiously calm. He was just on the other side of the bars now. If they vanished, Arthur would be standing toe-to-toe with him. "If I escape tonight, after you've visited me, he'll think that you helped. I don't plan on allowing that to happen."
"Then what do you 'plan' on happening?"
"I'm going to give him what he wants," Merlin said, quirking a false grin that did not fit at all with their dire situation. "If the king wants to see a sorcerer burn then he shall."
"You really are the stupidest servant ever to walk the Earth," Arthur complained - but the crackling of flames in the future grew louder. "You aren't going to even go near any fire. Once you're back in my employ, we shall have someone else attend to all such duties. Really, it's a wonder that you haven't found a way to burn down the entire castle anyway."
"I singed your rug once," Merlin confessed.
Arthur smiled, because if Merlin had thought he hadn't noticed that then he was even more unobservant than he seemed. "I never liked it anyway."
Merlin reached out to place his hand on the wood with Arthur; their fingers brushed together, pressed close in the space, and Arthur was surprised by how scorchingly hot Merlin's skin seemed.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," Merlin said. Arthur had the distinct feeling that they weren't talking about the rug any more. "I wanted to. I really wanted to, but..."
"I already knew," Arthur admitted.
He edged closer to the divider. Merlin's fingers were still pressed against his, and as Arthur watched his face Merlin moved his hand, taking hold of it. His palm was damp from nerves and sweat: it was reassuring to know that he was not nearly as calm about all of this as he pretended to be.
"You knew and you didn't say anything?"
"I thought it best left unsaid," Arthur breezed as if it had been nothing to hold back his suspicions for so long. "You had a good reason for keeping it secret."
"I was born like this," Merlin blustered. His fingers were stroking the back of Arthur's hand. "It isn't something I set out to learn. It's a part of me."
"Merlin, let me assure you that it is extremely clear that you have never had any formal training at anything." Arthur smirked, but it felt hollow.
"Oh, like you could do any better!" Merlin said. "I'll have you know that I am in fact a very powerful wizard."
"Is that so?" Arthur chuckled. His hand slipped from Merlin's grasp, reaching far through the bars in order to grab Merlin's chin. He turned him left and right with the slightest pressure, and prodded at his mouth - trying to ignore his lips - as if checking his teeth like he would check those of a horse he was planning on buying. Laughing, Merlin batted his hand away. "You don't look like a 'very powerful wizard' to me."
"And you know how to tell such things by looking at my teeth?"
"Of course. It's a royal thing: I wouldn't expect you to understand."
His arm was still hanging through the bars and Merlin's hand landed on it, running his fingers over his forearm as if memorising the rise and fall of his muscles. "Promise me you won't be sad," Merlin whispered, serious again.
"Merlin," Arthur growled - a warning.
"I mean it," Merlin said. He'd reached Arthur's elbow now, where the sleeve of his jacket would roll up no further. His fingers encircled the bone and then began the soft return journey to his hand. "This country needs a king like you, Arthur. Someone good and fair. After what happens, you have to stay this way - don't let anger eat you up. Don't become like Uther. Forgive him, if you can."
His hand reached Arthur's again and he entwined their fingers once more. He raised Arthur's hand to his face and held Arthur's gaze as his face bowed to kiss Arthur's knuckles. His lips were dry and cracked: the feel of them caused a red shiver to wind down Arthur's spine. "It has been an honour working for you, sire."
Arthur wet his lips, trying to give himself a moment to stop his heart from racing. "You are going to feel incredibly silly in the morning once this is done with," he declared. He was glad that Merlin was still holding his hand; otherwise, he felt that it would be shaking. Trembling hands were a highly unregal thing.
Around Merlin, he supposed, it hardly mattered. Merlin had never treated him like a prince or expected him to act like one.
"I have one last favour to ask before you go," Merlin said; the glint in his eye, though worried, was almost coy. "I need the book that was found in my room."
The hairs on the back of Arthur's neck prickled as he heard what Merlin wanted. He didn't even want to imagine the ancient knowledge that might be contained within their pages. Coming from Merlin, he couldn't be frightened of magic. Coming from any other source, his upbringing had taught him to see a threat. No doubt that book was destined to be burnt on the same pyre as Merlin. He didn't know how to get his hands on it, never mind get it down here.
Even in the face of impossibiliy, Arthur nodded. "Of course," he promised.
Merlin didn't let go of his hand at first, and it gave Arthur the opportunity to envision pulling Merlin forward with a tug of his arm until they were both pressed flushed against the bars of Merlin's containment. Merlin would be close enough for Arthur to stroke his jaw with the back of his fingers. Perhaps there would be enough space between the wood for them to close the distance between their mouths. With their forced separation it would have to be chaste, but Arthur could imagine the way that Merlin's hand would form a fist in the material of his shirt, holding him as close as possible. The image blinked out of existence when Merlin let go of his hand and stepped backwards. They said their curt goodbyes and - finally - Arthur walked away, ready to take on the impossible.
*
"I'll do it," Morgana said before Arthur had even finished explaining what needed to be done. "Whatever Merlin needs, I will find a way to get it to him."
Her blue eyes, vibrant and passionate, promised the world: her fury was enchanting.
Well, that's that sorted, Arthur thought, because he knew beyond doubt that there was no way to stop Morgana once the drive had taken hold.
By the time the sun had set on the day before Merlin's execution, the confiscated book was in Merlin's possession. Arthur did not know what he planned on doing with it: it was best, perhaps, that he hid in ignorance for as long as he could. Then, after Merlin's inevitable escape, it would be easier to showcase honest shock and amazement.
"He's cutting it a little fine," Arthur noted when the sun began to rise - no alarm had been sounded during the night. Merlin had to still be in his cell.
"You know Merlin," Gaius sighed, sitting down. They'd gathered together in Arthur's chambers: the faithful. Gaius, Morgana, Gwen, all of them gathered around the table while Arthur remained on his feet. Waiting. This useless waiting was enough to drive him mad. "He'll pull through. At the last second, he will pull it off - whatever 'it' may be."
"You really don't know?" Gwen asked with open curiosity in her voice.
"My dear, I'm afraid not. I never had the talent for sorcery, but Merlin..." The impressed rise of his eyebrow was all that Arthur needed to know that Merlin's mocking boasts of being extremely powerful had had more than a single grain of truth to them.
"How powerful is he?" Morgana asked. She sat beside Gwen, her posture so stiff it appeared awkward.
"I couldn't say, my lady - but he has saved us more times than I could count, and he has shown skill that I would not have thought possible."
Merlin, a magical genius... Arthur wouldn't have believed it at all if it had been anyone but Gaius who said as much.
"I can't believe that, all this time, we didn't know. I didn't know," Gwen said, to herself as much as to the others in the group.
"I ought to take responsibility for that, I feel. I have no doubts that, left to his own devices, Merlin would have told all three of you. I stressed the importance of secrecy," Gaius said. Arthur had no way of telling whether or not this was a simple white lie or the truth, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.
"Clearly it wasn't stressed enough," he sighed.
"Yes," Gaius conceded. "I suppose it is precisely Merlin's luck to be undone by a messy bedroom."
Arthur smiled, even if the expression was tension-tight. He couldn't fight against the painful spike of worry that had taken residence in his stomach. They were running out of time; Merlin was running out of time.
In the centre of the castle's courtyard, the pyre was stacked high with wood and ready to be lit. When no one spoke further in Arthur's room, unhappy silence fell; they waited.
Eventually, after so long spent in silence that Arthur felt quite mad, he heard the determined trooping of several footsteps along the corridor to his rooms. Stomping. Fast and angry enough to let him know that Merlin must have succeeded.
The doors burst open and in came the knights: seven or eight of them, a good collection when no doubt the majority would have been assigned to the courtyard itself. Arthur placed a ringed hand upon the back of Morgana's chair.
"Sir Richard," he said, choosing to address the most experienced of the group. "What on Earth are you doing, barging into my chambers like this?"
"King's orders, sir," Richard announced. "We are to ensure that you remain here for the duration of the morning. The others are to be escorted to the balcony with the king."
"I shan't be 'escorted' anywhere," Morgana said, sliding her chair back and getting to her feet. Arthur wouldn't put it past her to have a sword hidden somewhere in the flowing length of her dress - and he knew that she would be perfectly ready and willing to draw her weapon and help him fight if it came to such a stand-off.
"It's the king's orders, my lady," Richard said. At least he had the good grace to bow his head and look embarrassed. He wouldn't meet her eyes.
Gaius swept to his feet as well, his brown robes draping onto the ground. "I have served Uther well for many years now, but if he thinks I will agree to watch as he executes my ward then he will find himself very much mistaken."
"It's out of our hands. If you ask the king, perhaps he'll excuse you."
"Perhaps he shall have no choice," Gaius barked. He didn't stir from his spot at all until two of the knights came forward, one on each side. They were strong and well-trained, more than a match for an aging physician regardless of how stormy his temper was.
"Lady Morgana..." Richard urged.
His gaze was pleading and yet Morgana's jaw remained set in determination. Arthur reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. It felt frail beneath his palm, ready to break. "I think it might be best if you go," he suggested. If Morgana was not following the king's orders and sticking by his side when Merlin escaped, then he might easily suspect her of some involvement - she did have past history with such things.
When they had all gone, only Arthur and three of his knights remained. He knew their strengths and their weaknesses, having trained them himself. If he had to, he could have fought for his freedom. If he had thought it might help Merlin, he would have done so. And yet they had all done their part - he had done his part. He'd already helped. The responsibility to save himself now rested solely upon on Merlin's shoulders - and Arthur was determined to leap into the afterlife itself if Merlin managed to mess up this particular task.
*
When the others returned to his chambers but an hour later, he could tell that not all had gone according to plan. Morgana's eyes were water-stained and tear tracks had turned blotches of Gwen's skin red. Gaius's red-rimmed eyes didn't focus on a single thing.
"What happened?" Arthur demanded, out of his seat and storming forward. He paid no attention to the knights still in the room with him. "Where is Merlin?"
"It didn't work, my lord," Gwen whispered. "Whatever Merlin was going to do... It didn't work."
Useless to the last second, Arthur thought, but it was hollow. He wasn't yet ready to accept this. "What do you mean?"
"He burned," Morgana answered, crisp and angry - choked, Gwen couldn't say a word. "Your father made us watch as he burned."
The venom and hatred in her voice were the kind not easily overcome; a true enemy had been born for his father today. Arthur could offer no consolation or defence. This was too impossible to process.
"Merlin can't be dead," he scoffed. He was happy to pretend that his voice didn't waver on that final, wicked word. "We got the book to him. He should have been able to..."
"We should have broken him out," Gwen whispered. She wasn't looking at him, at any of them. "We should have done something."
"Guinevere, we did exactly as he asked. He must be-" Arthur's words cut off sharply: he didn't know what to say, how to finish his sentence.
"There was nothing left: only ash," Gaius said. His voice sounded as if he wasn't truly there with them. His thoughts had taken him elsewhere. "Most don't burn so completely."
"Then that must mean that he escaped," Arthur said determinedly. "Magic. Something."
"It's certainly a possibility," Gaius confirmed. "Yet I can't say for certain. If Merlin has any sense in his skull then he will stay far from Camelot."
We should see him any second, then, Arthur thought, but he couldn't actually say the words - not if Merlin was dead. Gaius could be wrong. There was no way for him to know either way. All they could know for certain, now, was that Merlin was truly gone; dead or vanished, for the foreseeable future he was gone. The uncertainty made it impossible to grieve, and Arthur could only sit down with an empty huff of air as he tried to imagine a Merlin-less tomorrow.
*
Part Two
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 28,448
Rating: NC-17
Links to All Parts: Part Two :: Part Three :: Part Four :: Part Five :: Part Six :: Afternotes :: aeroport_art's Illustrations
A/N: Written for the scifibigbang. I want to thank neptuneskisses and gweneiriol for their beta skills. This is certainly more readable because of them. aeroport_art has drawn some very adorable illustrations.
Summary: Merlin's magic is discovered and he is burnt at the stake despite his friends' attempts to save his life. Five years later, Arthur encounters him once more while he and Lancelot visit a prospective bride in a foreign kingdom.
While Arthur knew that returning to the castle ought to be high on his list of priorities, he found that he had absolutely no desire to do so now that he was settled on soft green grass. The summer sun was hot and prickly on his face, pale from winter. He'd shed his armour, the padding far too heavy and hot to be tolerated, and his leather coat was spread out on the grass beneath him, a makeshift mattress. This afternoon was perfect.
"Are you sure that we shouldn't head back to Camelot?" Merlin asked.
Make that almost perfect.
Arthur cracked open one eye. Merlin was standing with their horses, holding onto the reins. The two animals - one considerably more attractive and expensive than the other, which looked as cross-eyed as a horse could manage - had bowed their heads to graze at the lush grass. They were relaxing, but apparently his manservant was twice as thick as their mode of transport.
"Merlin, I am going to ask you a question: am I, or am I not, the prince?"
Merlin huffed. "You are, sire."
"And am I, or am I not, your master?"
This one prompted not only a huff but a groan before Merlin agreed. Arthur made a mental note to tease Merlin over it a little more often - but only a little. He didn't want to prod at their unequal blood like it was a fascinating bruise. It would only breed resentment, and Merlin was moody enough without giving him any more fodder.
"Then as your prince and master, I clearly know much better than you. I'm going to lie here a while longer. Why don't you join me instead of fussing about it?"
It was the sort of invitation that no other prince could offer no other servant. Arthur wasn't quite sure when he and Merlin had arrived as this new state of uniqueness. He couldn't even say whether or not he liked it, this friendship that was like nothing else the world had ever seen. It felt fresh. It felt dangerous.
Merlin plopped ungracefully onto the ground beside him after he'd tied the horses to a nearby tree. Arthur closed his eyes once more and slipped back into the half-awake doze he'd been floating through before the interruption.
Merlin shifted as if he'd accidentally sat on an ant's nest. Considering that Arthur knew that he had been nowhere near daft enough to choose 'right on top of a swarm of ants' as his perfect location to stop, Arthur sighed at him. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Merlin answered sullenly. Arthur didn't say a word: he knew that Merlin would prompt himself into speaking shortly. Sure enough, scarcely half a minute had passed before Merlin said, "I'm just wondering what we're doing here. That's all."
"Well, I am trying to relax. Sadly my half-wit of a manservant keeps trying to sabotage my efforts."
"If I'm the half-wit then I can't imagine what tiny fraction that must make you," Merlin said. Arthur's eyes were closed but he could visualise the smile on Merlin's face, completely smug and self-amused.
"I am a full-wit, thank you very much," he stated, using his most royal of royal voices. It didn't have much of an effect on Merlin; it never did. "We can leave soon. Stop worrying about it."
"I'm not worried - it's just that I'm the one you will blame it on when you're late getting home, which means that I am the one that Uther will decide to put in the stocks." Despite his complaining, Merlin flopped from a sitting position to a lying one, nudging Arthur over so that he could take a spot lying on his coat as well. Arthur could feel the heat from Merlin's wiry body pressed along his side. Merlin was skinny, regardless of how much food he ate, but Arthur could tell that there was strength there. Even if he had been of noble birth they would never have been able to make a knight out of him, but nonetheless he was far from the weakling that Arthur liked to accuse him of being.
Not that he would ever confess to that, of course.
Not ever.
"This is quite nice, actually," Merlin murmured after they'd been lying peacefully for a while.
"I can't believe that you needed me to show you how to slack off," Arthur complained. "Surely you have a great deal of experience with doing so."
"We're not all wastrels like you," Merlin answered sleepily. If they didn't get going soon he would probably fall asleep here - and wake up hours later, his frosty skin burned bright red. "Some of us actually have to work for a living."
"I work extremely hard, I'll have you know," Arthur protested, jutting his arm to the side in order to elbow Merlin's ribs. "Take that back."
His tone was light-hearted, far from serious; he was not yet so far removed from the lives of his people that he would be willing to pretend that his own hardships could outstrip theirs.There was poverty and pain in his land, in the outlying regions as well as in the towns. They were the problem that no king could hope to eradicate, but that Arthur certainly intended to soothe.
"Right then," he announced, sitting up sharply. "If lying here is such an issue for you then I suppose we'd best get on our way."
Although Merlin made grumbling groans, he grabbed Arthur's hand when it was offered. Arthur yanked him to his feet with the power of his arm. It was like lifting a sack of loose turnips. Grumpy turnips at that.
"This is what you wanted, remember," Arthur laughed, taking a quiet and sadistic pleasure in Merlin's bad mood. "Merlin, you are incredibly indecisive at times. You're like a - Whoa." His words dissolved to a panicked shout as he spotted the knot that Merlin had tied in the horses' reins beginning to slide free, releasing Merlin's mare which was as stubborn and skittish as the man himself. Once freed, the horse whinnied, high-pitched and triumphant, and began to rear back, ready to run and-
- and the wind caught a firm hold of the reins and dragged them back to the tree. They encircled the branch once more, moving like a snake, and knotted with an extra-firm tug.
"That's lucky," Arthur murmured. He was willing to pretend that he didn't notice just how many 'lucky' things had a tendency to happen when Merlin was around, and he was willing to turn a blind eye to any golden flashings in Merlin's eyes as well. Some things were better if they were left unsaid; to bring them up would mean that he would have to act upon it. Arthur did not ask why Merlin could do the things he could do because he did not want to know. For as long as he was able, he wanted to hide in ignorance.
"It's not lucky, sire; I think you were just over-reacting," Merlin said, over-cheerful and chatty. "You're awfully jumpy today, I must say."
"Maybe I'm anxious because my manservant has made me late. Perhaps I should suggest to my father that some sort of punishment is required?"
"Don't you dare, Arthur," Merlin complained as he unwound the tight knot from the tree branch, having to grit his teeth and pick at it with his nails; that 'luck' of his appeared to have tied it far too tight. Arthur stood behind him, watching with his arms crossed as he held his jacket. Patiently; when it came to Merlin he was really having to learn the value of patience. "I'll slip you one of Gaius's potions if you do."
"Well, that won't work now, will it? I'll be expecting it."
"Then maybe this is all a trick, and what I'm really going to do is something much worse," Merlin suggested absent-mindedly.
"Is that so?" Arthur asked; almost a challenge, even if he was wading into tricky territory with that one. "And what exactly could Merlin Emrys do to me that is so terrifying?"
Merlin finally managed to conquer the knot. He passed the reins of Arthur's horse to him - stubbornly, Arthur noted, refusing to offer him any further help that would have been customary while he was mounting - and grinned at him, the confident grin of the man who had promised to take him apart during their second meeting. "I wouldn't want to give too much away, my lord," he said, with a bow as mocking as any bow could be.
"You are such an idiot at times, Merlin," Arthur sighed at him, with an affectionate roll of his eyes as he swung himself up into his horse's saddle, finding his balance upon it as well as he could. "Let's get on home, then. If we rush then maybe I won't have to turn you in to my father after all."
'Rushing' turned out to be 'racing', and Arthur would swear until the day he died that Merlin had used some of that 'luck' of his to make sure that he didn't fall too far behind. When they reached the gates of Camelot, Arthur laughed as the guards approached. There was still an orange hint of sun in the sky: they weren't late, not as such. Not really. "Relax, men," he said, still atop his horse as they waited outside the castle gates for the red-cloaked guards to grant them entry. "There's no trouble here; we merely became a little lost on the way home."
The guards, grim-faced and nervous, did not move - and Arthur noticed, unhappily, that the strength of their steels was directly only at Merlin, not himself.
"Get out of our way," he commanded. "By order the prince, you are to return to your posts."
"I apologise, sir," one of them finally said, a bald man whose sword was pointed very firmly at the nose of Merlin's mare: the horse didn't seem overly bothered by the intrusion. "The king himself has ordered us to take your servant into custody."
"Merlin?" Arthur repeated. He glanced towards Merlin, able to see the wide-eyes and open mouth of his alarm. "Merlin is an idiot, but nothing more than that. It is not his fault that we're late: he didn't kidnap me, you idiots."
"It's not about that, sir," the same guard answered, with a hesitant tremor to his voice that didn't seem to fit with his muscles and sword. "It's sorcery."
Arthur felt a burn in the pit of his stomach, horror and alarm. He hid it behind a smile and a forced bark of laughter. "That is utterly ridiculous. Merlin is not a sorcerer. He's not nearly bright enough."
"We only follow orders - you'll have to take it up with the king."
"I'm taking it up with you," Arthur laughed, nerves puffing out. "This is a waste of your time."
"Arthur," Merlin said, quietly pulling his attention from the guards. "It's alright. I'll go."
"Be quiet," Arthur hissed at him - to no avail, as Merlin was already beginning to dismount from his horse. "I am going to speak to my father about this. I may have to see fit to see that everyone here is fired," he threatened, although it didn't do a lot of good.
"Sire, stop fussing," Merlin said, far too calm on the surface for a man who was currently flanked by grim-looking guards. "This has got to be one big misunderstanding."
Arthur nodded in acknowledgement, but the gesture was stiff and stilted. Those frequent flashes of gold in Merlin's eyes were now well on their way to being impossible to ignore - and as he watched as Merlin was led away he felt sick; worried that, perhaps, his luck had finally ran out.
*
"You've met Merlin, father; you know as well as I do that there is no way that he could be a sorcerer. He'd have hexed his own face off within a week if he ever tried."
Uther sat at the head of the heavy wooden dining table, and watched as Arthur paced back and forth on the stone floor. Arthur's hands were placed firmly on his hips and he was aware of the disapproving indifference in his father's eyes. He didn't care. It did nothing to stop him.
There was food spread out across the table, waiting to be indulged in, but Arthur couldn't bring himself to touch it. The day's trip had left him hungry: he could only imagine how Merlin felt, locked in the dungeons.
Probably serves him right. A night down there will do him a world of good, Arthur thought, but it was weak because the idea that it would be far more than one night was by now unavoidable.
"His clumsy façade has indeed been convincing," Uther agreed, "nevertheless, we have found a book of sorcery in his room. There is no doubt, Arthur, that he is one of them and will therefore be treated as one."
"Why were you even in his room in the first place?" Arthur asked; he was almost shouting and he knew that he had to control himself. Throwing a tantrum at the king would not help matters, nor would it help Merlin.
"You were far later returning than anticipated. We had reason to presume that you were in danger and took the necessary measures to find out exactly what might have happened."
"I was sunbathing," Arthur snapped. His father's nostrils flared and Arthur took a moment to remember that this was all nothing but a tangent: it didn't matter how or why they had found that damn book. "Someone must have planted that book there. Perhaps they have a grudge against him, or wish to take his place in the castle. Rather than arresting my servant you ought to be working out who would have motive to do such a thing."
Uther sighed at him, heavy and long-winded. "I know you were attached to the boy. This must come as a great shock," he said. Arthur knew that this scrap of sympathy was all that he was likely to get from Uther, but it did nothing to soothe him. "To find out that he has kept this from you must feel like a great betrayal."
"He has kept nothing from me," Arthur snapped.
Uther's eyes were cold. "Do you mean to say that you knew?"
"I mean that there is nothing to know," Arthur said. "Merlin is innocent - and I'll prove it."
He turned on his heel and walked from the room, the length of his coat flowing behind him. The burning anger that fired through his veins did not leave enough room for logic: there was no proof to be found. Merlin was far from innocent, and Arthur had known as much for a long, long time now. They hadn't spoken of it because they couldn't: the inevitable consequence would have been a situation exactly like this. It was something that Arthur had longed to avoid. He could already imagine the flames that would lick at Merlin's skin and he could hear the screams, high-pitched and mindless, that would mark his death.
His footsteps thundered fast and determined along cold corridors: not him, each set of steps said, not him.
A withering look at the guards was all that was required to gain entry to the dungeons. Merlin was behind wooden, slatted bars, his cell lit only by the moonlight that slid in through the small window, high in the wall. His skin looked so pale in this light that it was silver, pure enough to melt and forge; his hair was the night.
He stood near the window but drew closer once he realised that Arthur was there. His smile twitched but wouldn't stick: it slid away.
He didn't say a word.
Arthur reached out and placed one of his hands on a bar of wood. Clearing his throat, he then commanded, "Go on, then. Get out of here."
"Pardon?"
"You're a sorcerer, Merlin. Put that magic to good use." He didn't meet Merlin's eyes, glancing around at his cell instead. There was straw sprawled on the ground and a set of unused shackles hanging from the wall. Water dripped in the corner. "Vanish into a puff of smoke."
"It doesn't work like that."
With the sound of those five words, Arthur's stomach clenched against the weight of reality. So it was true, then. Sorcery really was in Merlin's blood. Arthur's hand gripped the wood even tighter, as if he hoped to crush it with the clench of his fist.
"I don't care how it works," Arthur clipped out, each word sharp enough to cut his tongue. "Get out of here. You are to be executed if you stay. My father..."
"Your father needs to watch me burn. His hatred of magic will not allow for anything else," Merlin said, obnoxiously calm. He was just on the other side of the bars now. If they vanished, Arthur would be standing toe-to-toe with him. "If I escape tonight, after you've visited me, he'll think that you helped. I don't plan on allowing that to happen."
"Then what do you 'plan' on happening?"
"I'm going to give him what he wants," Merlin said, quirking a false grin that did not fit at all with their dire situation. "If the king wants to see a sorcerer burn then he shall."
"You really are the stupidest servant ever to walk the Earth," Arthur complained - but the crackling of flames in the future grew louder. "You aren't going to even go near any fire. Once you're back in my employ, we shall have someone else attend to all such duties. Really, it's a wonder that you haven't found a way to burn down the entire castle anyway."
"I singed your rug once," Merlin confessed.
Arthur smiled, because if Merlin had thought he hadn't noticed that then he was even more unobservant than he seemed. "I never liked it anyway."
Merlin reached out to place his hand on the wood with Arthur; their fingers brushed together, pressed close in the space, and Arthur was surprised by how scorchingly hot Merlin's skin seemed.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," Merlin said. Arthur had the distinct feeling that they weren't talking about the rug any more. "I wanted to. I really wanted to, but..."
"I already knew," Arthur admitted.
He edged closer to the divider. Merlin's fingers were still pressed against his, and as Arthur watched his face Merlin moved his hand, taking hold of it. His palm was damp from nerves and sweat: it was reassuring to know that he was not nearly as calm about all of this as he pretended to be.
"You knew and you didn't say anything?"
"I thought it best left unsaid," Arthur breezed as if it had been nothing to hold back his suspicions for so long. "You had a good reason for keeping it secret."
"I was born like this," Merlin blustered. His fingers were stroking the back of Arthur's hand. "It isn't something I set out to learn. It's a part of me."
"Merlin, let me assure you that it is extremely clear that you have never had any formal training at anything." Arthur smirked, but it felt hollow.
"Oh, like you could do any better!" Merlin said. "I'll have you know that I am in fact a very powerful wizard."
"Is that so?" Arthur chuckled. His hand slipped from Merlin's grasp, reaching far through the bars in order to grab Merlin's chin. He turned him left and right with the slightest pressure, and prodded at his mouth - trying to ignore his lips - as if checking his teeth like he would check those of a horse he was planning on buying. Laughing, Merlin batted his hand away. "You don't look like a 'very powerful wizard' to me."
"And you know how to tell such things by looking at my teeth?"
"Of course. It's a royal thing: I wouldn't expect you to understand."
His arm was still hanging through the bars and Merlin's hand landed on it, running his fingers over his forearm as if memorising the rise and fall of his muscles. "Promise me you won't be sad," Merlin whispered, serious again.
"Merlin," Arthur growled - a warning.
"I mean it," Merlin said. He'd reached Arthur's elbow now, where the sleeve of his jacket would roll up no further. His fingers encircled the bone and then began the soft return journey to his hand. "This country needs a king like you, Arthur. Someone good and fair. After what happens, you have to stay this way - don't let anger eat you up. Don't become like Uther. Forgive him, if you can."
His hand reached Arthur's again and he entwined their fingers once more. He raised Arthur's hand to his face and held Arthur's gaze as his face bowed to kiss Arthur's knuckles. His lips were dry and cracked: the feel of them caused a red shiver to wind down Arthur's spine. "It has been an honour working for you, sire."
Arthur wet his lips, trying to give himself a moment to stop his heart from racing. "You are going to feel incredibly silly in the morning once this is done with," he declared. He was glad that Merlin was still holding his hand; otherwise, he felt that it would be shaking. Trembling hands were a highly unregal thing.
Around Merlin, he supposed, it hardly mattered. Merlin had never treated him like a prince or expected him to act like one.
"I have one last favour to ask before you go," Merlin said; the glint in his eye, though worried, was almost coy. "I need the book that was found in my room."
The hairs on the back of Arthur's neck prickled as he heard what Merlin wanted. He didn't even want to imagine the ancient knowledge that might be contained within their pages. Coming from Merlin, he couldn't be frightened of magic. Coming from any other source, his upbringing had taught him to see a threat. No doubt that book was destined to be burnt on the same pyre as Merlin. He didn't know how to get his hands on it, never mind get it down here.
Even in the face of impossibiliy, Arthur nodded. "Of course," he promised.
Merlin didn't let go of his hand at first, and it gave Arthur the opportunity to envision pulling Merlin forward with a tug of his arm until they were both pressed flushed against the bars of Merlin's containment. Merlin would be close enough for Arthur to stroke his jaw with the back of his fingers. Perhaps there would be enough space between the wood for them to close the distance between their mouths. With their forced separation it would have to be chaste, but Arthur could imagine the way that Merlin's hand would form a fist in the material of his shirt, holding him as close as possible. The image blinked out of existence when Merlin let go of his hand and stepped backwards. They said their curt goodbyes and - finally - Arthur walked away, ready to take on the impossible.
*
"I'll do it," Morgana said before Arthur had even finished explaining what needed to be done. "Whatever Merlin needs, I will find a way to get it to him."
Her blue eyes, vibrant and passionate, promised the world: her fury was enchanting.
Well, that's that sorted, Arthur thought, because he knew beyond doubt that there was no way to stop Morgana once the drive had taken hold.
By the time the sun had set on the day before Merlin's execution, the confiscated book was in Merlin's possession. Arthur did not know what he planned on doing with it: it was best, perhaps, that he hid in ignorance for as long as he could. Then, after Merlin's inevitable escape, it would be easier to showcase honest shock and amazement.
"He's cutting it a little fine," Arthur noted when the sun began to rise - no alarm had been sounded during the night. Merlin had to still be in his cell.
"You know Merlin," Gaius sighed, sitting down. They'd gathered together in Arthur's chambers: the faithful. Gaius, Morgana, Gwen, all of them gathered around the table while Arthur remained on his feet. Waiting. This useless waiting was enough to drive him mad. "He'll pull through. At the last second, he will pull it off - whatever 'it' may be."
"You really don't know?" Gwen asked with open curiosity in her voice.
"My dear, I'm afraid not. I never had the talent for sorcery, but Merlin..." The impressed rise of his eyebrow was all that Arthur needed to know that Merlin's mocking boasts of being extremely powerful had had more than a single grain of truth to them.
"How powerful is he?" Morgana asked. She sat beside Gwen, her posture so stiff it appeared awkward.
"I couldn't say, my lady - but he has saved us more times than I could count, and he has shown skill that I would not have thought possible."
Merlin, a magical genius... Arthur wouldn't have believed it at all if it had been anyone but Gaius who said as much.
"I can't believe that, all this time, we didn't know. I didn't know," Gwen said, to herself as much as to the others in the group.
"I ought to take responsibility for that, I feel. I have no doubts that, left to his own devices, Merlin would have told all three of you. I stressed the importance of secrecy," Gaius said. Arthur had no way of telling whether or not this was a simple white lie or the truth, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.
"Clearly it wasn't stressed enough," he sighed.
"Yes," Gaius conceded. "I suppose it is precisely Merlin's luck to be undone by a messy bedroom."
Arthur smiled, even if the expression was tension-tight. He couldn't fight against the painful spike of worry that had taken residence in his stomach. They were running out of time; Merlin was running out of time.
In the centre of the castle's courtyard, the pyre was stacked high with wood and ready to be lit. When no one spoke further in Arthur's room, unhappy silence fell; they waited.
Eventually, after so long spent in silence that Arthur felt quite mad, he heard the determined trooping of several footsteps along the corridor to his rooms. Stomping. Fast and angry enough to let him know that Merlin must have succeeded.
The doors burst open and in came the knights: seven or eight of them, a good collection when no doubt the majority would have been assigned to the courtyard itself. Arthur placed a ringed hand upon the back of Morgana's chair.
"Sir Richard," he said, choosing to address the most experienced of the group. "What on Earth are you doing, barging into my chambers like this?"
"King's orders, sir," Richard announced. "We are to ensure that you remain here for the duration of the morning. The others are to be escorted to the balcony with the king."
"I shan't be 'escorted' anywhere," Morgana said, sliding her chair back and getting to her feet. Arthur wouldn't put it past her to have a sword hidden somewhere in the flowing length of her dress - and he knew that she would be perfectly ready and willing to draw her weapon and help him fight if it came to such a stand-off.
"It's the king's orders, my lady," Richard said. At least he had the good grace to bow his head and look embarrassed. He wouldn't meet her eyes.
Gaius swept to his feet as well, his brown robes draping onto the ground. "I have served Uther well for many years now, but if he thinks I will agree to watch as he executes my ward then he will find himself very much mistaken."
"It's out of our hands. If you ask the king, perhaps he'll excuse you."
"Perhaps he shall have no choice," Gaius barked. He didn't stir from his spot at all until two of the knights came forward, one on each side. They were strong and well-trained, more than a match for an aging physician regardless of how stormy his temper was.
"Lady Morgana..." Richard urged.
His gaze was pleading and yet Morgana's jaw remained set in determination. Arthur reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. It felt frail beneath his palm, ready to break. "I think it might be best if you go," he suggested. If Morgana was not following the king's orders and sticking by his side when Merlin escaped, then he might easily suspect her of some involvement - she did have past history with such things.
When they had all gone, only Arthur and three of his knights remained. He knew their strengths and their weaknesses, having trained them himself. If he had to, he could have fought for his freedom. If he had thought it might help Merlin, he would have done so. And yet they had all done their part - he had done his part. He'd already helped. The responsibility to save himself now rested solely upon on Merlin's shoulders - and Arthur was determined to leap into the afterlife itself if Merlin managed to mess up this particular task.
*
When the others returned to his chambers but an hour later, he could tell that not all had gone according to plan. Morgana's eyes were water-stained and tear tracks had turned blotches of Gwen's skin red. Gaius's red-rimmed eyes didn't focus on a single thing.
"What happened?" Arthur demanded, out of his seat and storming forward. He paid no attention to the knights still in the room with him. "Where is Merlin?"
"It didn't work, my lord," Gwen whispered. "Whatever Merlin was going to do... It didn't work."
Useless to the last second, Arthur thought, but it was hollow. He wasn't yet ready to accept this. "What do you mean?"
"He burned," Morgana answered, crisp and angry - choked, Gwen couldn't say a word. "Your father made us watch as he burned."
The venom and hatred in her voice were the kind not easily overcome; a true enemy had been born for his father today. Arthur could offer no consolation or defence. This was too impossible to process.
"Merlin can't be dead," he scoffed. He was happy to pretend that his voice didn't waver on that final, wicked word. "We got the book to him. He should have been able to..."
"We should have broken him out," Gwen whispered. She wasn't looking at him, at any of them. "We should have done something."
"Guinevere, we did exactly as he asked. He must be-" Arthur's words cut off sharply: he didn't know what to say, how to finish his sentence.
"There was nothing left: only ash," Gaius said. His voice sounded as if he wasn't truly there with them. His thoughts had taken him elsewhere. "Most don't burn so completely."
"Then that must mean that he escaped," Arthur said determinedly. "Magic. Something."
"It's certainly a possibility," Gaius confirmed. "Yet I can't say for certain. If Merlin has any sense in his skull then he will stay far from Camelot."
We should see him any second, then, Arthur thought, but he couldn't actually say the words - not if Merlin was dead. Gaius could be wrong. There was no way for him to know either way. All they could know for certain, now, was that Merlin was truly gone; dead or vanished, for the foreseeable future he was gone. The uncertainty made it impossible to grieve, and Arthur could only sit down with an empty huff of air as he tried to imagine a Merlin-less tomorrow.
*
Part Two