Merlin Fic: And the World You Promised: Chapter Two: You Don't Get What All This is About
Chapter Two: You Don't Get What All This is About
The fire was low so Merlin stacked more wood on top of it. He was anxious to get going, to do something. If there was anything he hated, it was waiting. But Arthur was too injured to travel at night and the danger of being spotted by Morgana’s scouts was great. For all his power, Merlin still couldn’t think of anything else to do than what he was doing, yet he felt that he was missing something obvious. He was using all his excess energy on Arthur, giving him strength and easing the pain. Yet, Arthur was still barely able to go on. Merlin hated to think of what pain Arthur would be in if Merlin hadn’t been here.
Of course, Arthur was in pain because of Merlin. Because of his secret, his lies, his betrayal.
Merlin couldn’t stop thinking about it, about the moment he’d found Arthur on the battlefield, seemingly lifeless. He’d gathered him in his arms, walking over Mordred’s body, then retreated to a safe place, made contact with Gaius, and stood watch. It had been automatic, his need to be practical and take care of Arthur. It was more than a destiny, it was Merlin’s life.
But he’d been so tired of it all, so tired of lying and hiding and being unable to help from the open. His experience in the Cave had showed him the inner core of his power, opened his eyes to possibilities he had always shrunk away from. He knew he should have told Arthur long ago and that waiting so long made it that much more of a betrayal. All the excuses he’d made, they’d died in the light of the Cave. And he’d been scared. Arthur was so close to dying and the worst thing Merlin could think of was Arthur dying and him not knowing he held Merlin’s absolute trust, not knowing who Merlin really was.
So he hadn’t hesitated to make a clean breast of it. It had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, every word seemingly ripped from his heart out of his mouth, but he knew it had been the right thing to do. The timing hadn’t been excellent, but it had been necessary.
The absolute terror on Arthur’s face haunted Merlin every time he closed his eyes. The idea that Arthur would ever be scared of him was laughable, unthinkable, yet it had been so. And still Arthur had managed to pull from the arrogant depths of his kingly self and act like he was still in control. He never ceased to amaze Merlin.
But everything was different now. Arthur had looked at him with such distaste, such anger, and it had been all Merlin could do not to crawl away into some Cave somewhere and feel sorry for himself for the rest of his very long life. But that wasn’t an option for him. Merlin had never had the choice of giving up, of letting go, of doing anything other than be at Arthur’s side. And he wasn’t about to stop now.
So Merlin had pulled himself together that long night while Arthur slept and protected his King like he was supposed to. He'd pushed through Arthur’s stubbornness and anger and was determined to save him, even if Arthur decided he hated Merlin.
It had been awful, like Merlin had lost a limb, like he’d suddenly gone deaf; everything was off balance, because his world was supposed to be one where Arthur trusted him. That had been the greatest joy in Merlin's life, knowing Arthur was there, knowing he could rely on Merlin, even when he joked that he couldn’t.
Once Gaius had arrived, his presence had been a comfort like it always was. But Gaius could not completely patch the gaping wounds in Merlin's soul every time Arthur looked away from him in stony silence. But the decision had been made, the decision to go for Avalon. At least then, Merlin was in action, following a course that could set something to right, even if it wasn't the ultimate fix he wanted more than anything.
Their journey was tense, full of uncomfortable silence, and Merlin was busy trying to ascertain the dangers around them. It would be unconscionable of him not to be alert now. Just because the battle was over did not mean Morgana wouldn’t be out for blood. And Arthur was so weak, it made it hard not to act like Merlin normally would and fuss just to get a reaction out of him. Yet he’d known Arthur wasn’t in a state that would allow him to receive such attention, so Merlin had kept quiet, trying to let Arthur work everything out in his own head.
But it was like a knife in Merlin's heart when he’d saved them from the Saxons and Arthur had simply remarked about how long Merlin had lied to him. But Merlin couldn’t say anything; there was no defense he could make. Well, there were a lot of defenses he could make and he planned on making them, but not until after Arthur was saved. And Merlin could never be sure if Arthur would accept them or not.
There had been small moments of hope. Arthur had allowed him to light a fire using magic, had accepted Merlin’s help. The next day Arthur had talked about their first meeting with fondness and he’d actually asked Merlin questions instead of assuming he knew the answers.
It was like breathing fully for the first time to tell Arthur it was Merlin's destiny to help him. That had been ten years in the telling and there was still so much more to say, but Merlin felt glad to have made a beginning.
He knew he had betrayed Arthur’s trust, that Arthur wouldn’t be able to see past that, but no matter what Arthur’s opinion of him, he needed Arthur to know Merlin’s opinion of him. Not the everyday friend and horrible prat version of Arthur that Merlin could sometimes do without, but the noble King and warrior who gave everything for his people, who looked past titles and positions and was able to see the heart inside. The one who had done, and would do, more for this land than any other. Merlin had seen the seeds sown; he now wanted them to grow. He wanted Arthur to believe in himself as much as Merlin did.
Though when it came down to it, Merlin served Arthur because they were friends. That would always be Merlin’s primary motivation and he said it simply when Arthur asked, not wanting an answer, just needing to say it.
They’d traveled so close to the lake but they were further away than Merlin would like and he was trying to think of ways he could speed up their progress that wouldn’t injure Arthur. They needed to move, but Arthur was sluggish, seemingly beyond caring now. It worried Merlin horribly.
Arthur stirred from his nap and then slumped over. Merlin moved to catch him.
"Arthur, you need to hold on. One more day. One more day."
"Why did you never tell me?" Arthur asked, like he was still asleep.
"I wanted to. You'd have chopped my head off," Merlin said, going for a light tone, despite his very real fear several times that it would happen.
"I'm not sure what I'd have done."
"And I didn't want to put you in that position," Merlin said firmly.
That was very much the truth. Arthur had always had much more to worry about than an ordinary person. Whenever Merlin had come close to telling him, something had always happened to stop him, something that made Merlin realize Arthur wasn’t ready yet. And in the beginning Merlin would never have wanted to pit Arthur against his father for the sake of a servant.
"That's what worried you?"
Arthur looked at him, a sort of wry affection on his face, the same look he’d get whenever he thought Merlin was being absurd.
"Some men are born to plough fields, some live to be great physicians, others to be great Kings. Me? I was born to serve you, Arthur, and I'm proud of that and I wouldn't change a thing.” Merlin said it all with conviction. He had resisted his destiny many times, but once he had accepted it, he took all the hardship and all the grief and simply turned it into energy to help Arthur. Arthur’s face as Merlin spoke gave him hope, just possibly Arthur was willing to see past the lies and be his friend. But he didn’t have time for that. Not when Arthur was dying. “Ready?"
Arthur barely made it on his horse and they’d only gone a few hundred feet when they smelled smoke.
"Saxons," Arthur whispered.
Merlin used his magic to sense the path ahead, a skill he had been very grateful for since he’d learned it on their way to the Dark Tower.
"They're long gone," he assured Arthur.
"How do you know?"
"I can see the path ahead."
"So you're not an idiot; that was another lie."
Arthur didn’t sound angry, he sounded like Arthur.
"No, it's just another part of my charm," Merlin said, daring to smile at him.
Arthur smiled back and for one blissful moment they were Arthur and Merlin again before Arthur’s eyes rolled back into his head and he pitched from the horse.
Merlin jumped from his horse and ran over to him, frantically feeling for a pulse. It was too low. Arthur was going to die, right here and now, unless he could do something. Why hadn’t he simply tied him to the horse?
"We have to make it to the lake," Merlin told him urgently.
"It's too late, it's too late," Arthur said breathlessly. “Just tell Guin-"
"I can't,” Merlin pleaded. “No, Arthur, no goodbyes, no speeches, I'm not going to lose you."
"Just, just, hold me, please."
And then Arthur was silent.
Merlin sat there for a moment with tears running down his face, cursing himself for a helpless fool. But he would not be thwarted now. He reached down into his inner self and pulled on his magical power, blue fire flowing from his fingers into Arthur who suddenly jolted awake, though he did not appear to be conscious of what was happening around him.
Then there were noises from behind Merlin. He could hear hooves beating and looked with his sight again. His eyes widened because it was Morgana, alone on horseback, riding directly toward them, her hair flying in the wind, her eyes filled with vicious glee.
Merlin no longer felt afraid of his power to beat her in magical combat, but he did not have time to waste.
So Merlin threw back his head and called, his voice rolling with the deep dragon tongue.
As always, Kilgharrah was there with inhuman speed.
Arthur stirred slightly
"I would not have summoned you if there was any other choice,” Merlin said, standing up, laying Arthur’s head down gently. “I have one last favor to ask."
“You know I would do anything for you, young warlock,” Kilgharrah said.
Hastily Merlin carried Arthur to the dragon and hoisted him on Kilgharrah’s back and climbed aboard.
“To Avalon,” Merlin said, “with haste. Morgana is close behind.”
“The witch will not be able to best me,” Kilgharrah said haughtily and Merlin smiled grimly.
“Nor me.”
They rose into the air and the last thing Merlin saw of the ground below them was Morgana reining in her horse and staring up at them, screaming his name in hate as they vanished into the sky. Bolts of fire flew from her hands, incinerating Merlin’s horse, who gave a horrible cry as it died.
Merlin couldn’t see what happened after that because when Kilgharrah said he could travel leagues in the blink of an eye, he meant it. They were at the lake shore within seconds.
Kilgharrah watched as Merlin carried Arthur to the shore, then spoke.
"Merlin, there is nothing you can do."
"I can't lose him, he's my friend,” Merlin yelled, not caring what the dragon thought of him.
“You know the prophecy, you know what must happen. It is written that at Camlann, Arthur will meet his end.”
“Don’t talk to me about semantics!” Merlin said, placing Arthur in the boat. “I am tired of destinies and prophecies that I either cannot change or make come true by trying to stop them. But it will not be this time. I am Emrys and I will change Arthur’s fate. End does not have to mean death.”
Kilgharrah blinked in surprise at Merlin’s surety and Merlin couldn’t blame him. He’d never claimed that title for himself and he’d never been so certain about his path. But while he’d been simply Merlin the past few days in order to ease Arthur’s mind, Merlin could never fully be the man he’d been. He’d seen too much, felt too much of himself, and who he was meant to be.
“Your wisdom has grown, young one,” Kilgharrah said gravely, then inclined his head. “I fear you have no more need of me. I am proud of you.”
“Does that mean you knew he doesn’t have to die?” Merlin demanded, feeling a flush of pride nonetheless.
“Dragons know many things, but we do not know all,” Kilgharrah answered. “I know Arthur will meet his end, but, as you say, that word choice does leave the prophecy open to interpretation. Truth be told, I was surprised to see it end this way for you have not yet done all that it was foretold you would do.”
“Then tell me what to do on the island,” Merlin said.
“The Sidhe are no friend to mortal man,” Kilgharrah said. “You will have to be most persuasive. They have no love of Arthur or his manservant, but perhaps they will listen to Emrys. And never forget, young warlock, you are Emrys and you are magic itself.”
Merlin’s head shot up at that, remembering the words his father had spoken to him in the Cave.
“I am magic itself,” he murmured, getting into the boat, before looking back to the dragon. “Thank you. I am in your debt.”
“We are of the same kin,” Kilgharrah told Merlin, launching himself into the sky. “The privilege is mine and I am ever at your call.”
Merlin turned his attention to the lake, pushing the boat forward with his magic, willing it to move fast and smooth. Arthur coughed and jerked occasionally at his feet, but he was breathing more easily now and Merlin wondered why he hadn’t just asked Kilgharrah for a ride in the first place. Probably because of the dragon’s hatred of being ridden and how old he’d looked the last time Merlin had seen him, but this had been a desperate situation and Merlin knew that was what he’d been worrying about missing earlier. He’d been too distracted and he was angry with himself for ignoring the obvious help he had at his disposal.
The island loomed above him within a short amount of time and Merlin could feel so much magical energy dancing around through the air, winding through the trees, trailing along the edges of the water. In a way it was like coming home and he breathed fully, feeling refreshed and energized. He trailed his fingers through the water and imagined for one precious moment it was like stroking the side of Freya’s face. But he didn’t have to time to reflect on the past, for they had reached the shore.
“W-what’s going on?” Arthur asked, his eyes struggling to open.
“We’re at the lake, Arthur,” Merlin said, carrying him across the shore, heading for a small copse of trees. “You need to hold on.”
“Ugly place…i-isn’t it?” Arthur slurred out. “Muddy.”
“I don’t know,” Merlin said, easing him down. “I’m thinking of building a summer residence here. I quite like it.”
“F-figures. Y-you would,” Arthur said as derisively as his weakened state allowed, closing his eyes, his pulse dropping rapidly.
Merlin wasted no more time, but he threw back his head and summoned the Sidhe. He did not call to them as kin, like the dragons, but as a master to servant. He had no love for them, for the tricks they played, but he respected their power.
Spots of light shimmered around him as the faeries called themselves into corporeal existence. He slowed time, relishing that feeling of being a part of something grand. Their beauty always awed him, but despite the slowing of time, he still needed to hurry.
“Lords and Ladies of the Sidhe,” he said, extending his hands, “I come seeking a favor. A great King of men is ill, fallen by an immortal blade. I ask for the magic of the Sidhe to save him.”
A chorus of mocking laughter greeted his words, ringing out merrily through the still woods, yet there was an edge of menace to the laughter for all its lightness.
“We are the Sidhe,” a bright spot of light said from his right. “What do we care if the mortal dies?”
“Arthur Pendragon is destined to be Albion’s greatest King, to unite the Five Kingdoms, and to restore magic to the land. By refusing to save him, you are hurting yourselves.”
“The boy-king has not accomplished all of these things nor does it seem likely he will,” another faerie said. “He despises you, you who are close to him, for having magic.”
“He needs time. I used the word destined for a reason,” Merlin said desperately. “Just because it has not happened does not mean it can’t.”
“Arthur is to meet his end.”
“The end of what? Perhaps the end of his prejudice to magic. Do not be blinded by the past.”
“You are blinded by the future.”
Merlin tightened his jaw.
“I am blinded by the character of the man who lies on the ground. He is greater than any I have ever met. He deserves that chance.”
“He has been saved by magic before,” a light said, bobbing in closer and almost skimming over Arthur’s silent form. “You tempt fate by asking for another chance.”
Merlin desperately tried to think, grasping the right words to say. What could convince them? What had Kilgharrah said to him about the Sidhe? What had he read about them? What had the Crystal Cave taught him? He closed his eyes, the answer rising to his mind from deep within him.
“I am fate,” Merlin declared, throwing out his hand and letting words fall from his tongue. He felt the change, a familiar creeping on of old age, yet a deeper mantle of power, as he transformed into an older man. “I am Emrys. You will do as I ask.”
The faeries started flying faster and faster until even he had a hard time keeping track of them. Words of fear, respect, and shock passed between them and soon he couldn’t understand what they were saying. A great rumble shook the island and then a bright light appeared, straining his eyes. He held his hand in front of them as the light expanded.
A humming rang in the air and then a chill swept through Merlin as he stood, an old man, alone. But he had never felt so confident in his life. The unearthly noise was beautiful, a melody he’d never heard before but wished he could pay more attention to. Then the light contracted to a single point and a form was made visible right in front of him, one he had seen before.
“Mab,” he said, inclining his head to the Queen of Air and Darkness.
He’d read up on her after their last encounter.
“You risk much, Emrys,” she said, nodding back to him. “Your presumption is high.”
“Is it though?” he asked respectfully. “You recognize me as Emrys, you know my purpose and my power. I am made of magic as the Sidhe are. You belong to my order.”
“Prettily put, warlock,” she said, “yet you are asking for power to do a task that we do not have.”
“But…” Merlin said, trailing off as he realized he only had the word of Gaius that it was possible to heal Arthur. “…this island, it holds the magic.”
“But we are not to wield it so,” she said, smiling a cold smile. “Only the great Emrys has that power. If you are truly he, then only you can save Arthur Pendragon.”
“Then I will,” Merlin said, trying not to let his surprise show. “Tell me what I must do.”
“We will allow this on our ancient isle,” Mab said, studying him, “on one condition. Only here may you perform your power and you may only do so if we grant our permission. This is an ancient law far beyond your power to overthrow, so take heed before you refuse us.”
“What is your condition?” Merlin asked suspiciously.
“That when Arthur Pendragon does come to his end, the end of death, that he will be placed here on this isle to rest until it is time.”
“Time for what?”
“For the Once and Future King’s purpose to be fulfilled.”
Merlin studied her, feeling unsure about his answer. From what he knew of the Sidhe, they were notoriously tricky, but their spoken word was their bond. Yet he sensed an urgency in Mab, a fear that she would be refused, and not a fear for herself or the Sidhe. It was something deeper than that, some great thing that rested on his decision; terrible events would happen if he said no, not just Arthur’s death.
He paused, but there was really only one answer he could make.
“You have the word of Emrys.”
“So mote it be,” Mab said and the faeries all echoed her words, the chorus of voices lifting up like a seal of judgment.
The faeries started to glow, moving together into a swirl of golden energy. They flowed toward Merlin, flowed over him, and he stepped backward under the force of the magic at his disposal. It was more than the island itself, it was magic itself, it was like part of himself. It was the most amazing feeling.
Merlin allowed a smile to curl around his mouth because there were no more doubts, no more fears. He knew exactly what he needed to do now. This was magic at its purest form, completely malleable, neither good nor evil, it simply was. In the wrong hands it would be horrendous, but Merlin felt nothing but peace.
He focused the magic, letting it become a part of him, letting it flow through him. Arthur became a silhouette in his vision, glowing with blue energy except where a single dark cloud hovered in his chest, the piece of the accursed blade.
Merlin let the magic cover the sword fragment, dissolving it under the stronger power. It faded into non-existence, and Arthur immediately began to breathe easier, but his side was open, gaping, blood pouring forth.
Merlin slammed the power into Arthur, picturing the body inside, allowing it to knit and heal, each layer of tissue and muscle being repaired. Merlin loved this fusion of magic and healing, the two things he was good at, though he had never been so able to mix them before. The magic did its work and Merlin allowed himself to breathe again. He felt winded, but strong for all that, the magic of the Sidhe siphoning out of him to dwell among the island once more. He could still feel it, calling to him, and in a way, it was a loss and he missed it, but he had more than enough magic of his own and the extra had served its purpose.
Merlin let the old man form melt away, stretching his young muscles and yawning.
On the ground below him, Arthur’s eyes opened and Merlin grinned at the look of shock on Arthur's face.
“Sire,” he said, bowing low and extending his hand to help Arthur up.