Special thanks to KIMMIKY, who has more faith in me that I have in myself. Updated 1/5/2018. Cover art by Ekta Creation, art/arthur-and-gwen-511211042

I don't own Merlin.

The Sorrows of Pendragons

Broken Deeds

Arthur was too wounded to appreciate the splash of brilliant reds in the morning sky, its beauty lost on him as Guinevere came into visual range pulling her carted belongings behind her. His pace on the wall walk matched hers, slow and difficult, keeping to what little shadow dawn hadn't swallowed up yet, the guards taking nervous care not to obstruct him. He saw Merlin after a moment trailing her from a distance, his every tentative step screaming out his helplessness.

The king's heart breaking and his loneliness stretching taut with every struggling step Gwen took, he crossed his arms tight over his front as if they could comfort him. She'd hurt him, embarrassed him, betrayed him in the worst kind of way and he'd thrown her out. Out of his heart, his life, his kingdom.

His Guinevere. The love of his life. He'd cherished her, had once promised that her home would be hers forever, and Arthur quaked with ill ease that it ended up a lie. Did she remember that promise, too? Did she feel betrayed by him on some level? No matter. Her happiness no longer significant and allowing her to remain in Camelot and so close would be a constant reminder of his failure and her disgrace.

Yes, this was for the best. He'd made the right decision, a merciful decision, his mind shying instinctively from the thought that that might be a lie, too. Dragged from the comfort of his bed by his uncle, Agravaine, to witness Guinevere in Lancelot's locked in a passionate kiss, the man's roaming hands embracing her places that were supposed to be reserved for him. This happening the night before their wedding made it much more intense.

Arthur had snapped, rage fueling a mighty desire to drive Lancelot threw as he rushed him with a bellowing roar. Their duel was frenzied, both taking turns to gain advantage one time or another. When Lancelot had lost his sword and Arthur had the edge, Guinevere had thrown herself between them, pleading and protecting Lancelot with her body. She'd stunned Arthur into silence and he could only stare at her with incredulous eyes full of hurt. He could hardly catch his breath from the duel, his lungs expanding for air in his chest, but her sacrificial action sucked the life out of him. His world had come to an utter end.

Blue eyes, bereft and hollow, now followed her down the stone cobbled road toward the southern gates. Arthur could not see Gwen's face from the wall walk, his position and distance making it impossible. But he knew it must be something akin his: full of confusion and unimaginable sorrow. Anger and disgust were just beneath the surface, too, and Arthur ground his teeth, the veins in his jaws pumped full. He'd fallen in love with Guinevere for many reasons, remembering the first time the way she'd nailed him on his behavior so long ago in Ealdor and awaking a side of himself that he'd neglected. He was a rich man with privilege, royalty. That in itself blinded his selfish flaws from him. He was used to finer things and had the power to demand the best, expected it actually, and most times he'd respond with bullish retribution unbecoming of a so-called honorable man.

The girl's courage to challenge him that day fascinated Arthur. Gwen had grown up in his household and all that time he'd thought her timid, kind of plain, and someone to lord over and keep at a distance, especially since she was Morgana Le Fay's handmaiden, his childhood arch enemy. He'd practically ignored her. His discovery in Ealdor that there was so much more to her, that Guinevere was brave, a defiant seeker of justice and graceful humility had surprised him. She'd handed him a berating that no other woman had ever dared save Morgana, and that stunned him awake, a breath of life into his otherwise stale and predictable existence.

He couldn't stop turning an eye toward her and before he knew it, frightfully discovered that he possibly loved her not long after. It had been a tumultuous affair ever since then, but God, he did love her with all his heart. It would not hurt so much if he did not. All for nothing, for Arthur could not find it in his now broken heart to forgive her, nor to forgive himself for not being good enough to retain her interest and hold her love.

The footfalls of Sir Leon of Willowdale, first knight of Camelot's finest, made his presence known and matched Arthur's slow, stealthy pace as he came up from behind. He'd been in the council chambers when Guinevere was brought in, had watched his childhood friend forced onto her knees in front of an empty throne that would once again pass judgement on her. He was torn between one of his oldest friendships and an allegiance to his sovereign. Sadly, when it came right down to it, there would never be a question of loyalty divided for him. Arthur was his king.

"Sire, it's been arranged. Bernard will be at the gate as you ordered." Leon could deliver the worst of news with the gentlest of voices and sometimes that grated against Arthur. This time was no exception. It wasn't as if the news was bad actually. It was what the news meant, the finality of it that made Arthur's insides quake.

"Send two guards with her," the king said. "Your best soldiers, none with families or considerable holdings." There were more to the words than the emotion in his voice, his long-practiced regal mask easily on display to hide the roiling feelings underneath. "She can defend herself well enough, but the countryside is dangerous, especially for an unprotected woman. I don't want to see her harmed."

Leon swallowed a lump, at odds with his own feelings concerning the state of things. He felt sorry for his sovereign being a married man himself and knowing that happiness was always a risk, that love was a madness that caused madness. Things were not well within his own marital relationship and the thought of losing his wife hit too close heart. "Yes, sire."

"And don't let her see them." Arthur stopped and turned his head to look at Leon for the first time, the noble's unruly curls falling onto his brow and around a lightly bearded face. The lean and tall knight hid well the distress behind light blue eyes. As a captain of his men, the highest level of control was demanded in order to maintain discipline and respect. The balance of severity and compassion that motivated as well as instilled a degree of fear. "I fear she'll dismiss them out of principle, or integrity, or some other damned thing. They are there to protect her until she…until she finds somewhere safe." There was a good likelihood that Gwen would find love again, too. She had many fine qualities that could snare another heart he was sure. Regrettably, he wished he hadn't thought that and shook away a low throaty groan.

Leon's eyebrows scrunched together, his moustache twitching above thinning lips. "That could take months, sire," he said, his voice still gentle, yet slightly elevated.

"Then it takes months!" Arthur spat, straining to keep his tone low, though piercing as a shard of glass. He was volatile, his nerves frayed already and unravelling them would not take much. But as he'd learned because of his commoner mentors, Merlin and Gwen, he reined in his ire with concerted effort and a surrendering wave of a hand.

"Yes, my lord. It will be done."

Leon turned to leave, but stopped and faced the king, knowing full well the internal conflict raging within his friend. If he lost his wife, Mylla, or one of the twins, he was sure he'd turn into a raving lunatic. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I know what she meant to you."

Not the first time since all this began did Arthur's throat seize and the sting of water beneath his lids threaten to show themselves in public. He blinked them away quickly, ashamed of his weakness, of showing his brokenness to anyone who wasn't Guinevere and now she was gone.

"To us all," Arthur managed to croak deeply, swallowing a lump all the same. He returned his vigil to the woman approaching the gates, the dawn of this new day and the days to come as bleak as ever.

"Leon," Arthur called after him, but not bothering to look in his direction. "Post a severe warning on her home to deter any thievery or vandalism, then board it up. I don't want anyone ever living in there again."

…

Merlin's heart was deeply grieved: for Lancelot, the real Lancelot, his body summoned from the dead to be Morgana's pawn with ill intent against friends. For Arthur, his friend and master suffering yet another crushing betrayal from two people he loved. But mostly his heart bled for Gwen. He knew she was wracked with shame and guilt for what she'd done and with no one to comfort her, she must be consumed with grief and feeling as abandoned as streets now were. A tear rolled down Merlin's cheek as an involuntary puff of air escaped his nostril. This was so unfair.

But he watched her go, looked her straight in the eye but unable to find any words to say to her, not even a "fair thee well." It was just too difficult and too surreal that this tragedy had actually unfolded anyway. He was numb, mixed up, and certain this was not how it was supposed to be. He'd later try to convince himself that it was because his failure to stop the Shade Lancelot had consumed his rational thought and saying anything to Gwen during her pitiable departure would have only made the situation worse. But Merlin knew that was a lie, that he was just too cowardly to face her squarely because he'd in the end, he'd failed. He had become rather good at doing that of late.

He could explain his actions any more than he could Elyan's. He was her brother, the defender of House Leodegrance. Why had he not been there to support her? Or leave with her now to protect her? The same could be asked of any of the other knights who'd called her friend. These thoughts vexed Merlin mightily, but he despairingly understood. Their loyalty to Arthur was unquestionable and betrayal of this kind could not be paid with sympathy nor the least bit of understanding on the perpetrator's part. Gods, no one had foreseen this and it shocked them all into inaction. Still, after all Gwen had done for each of them, did she not deserve the least bit of empathy from at least one of them.

She was as pure and as loyal as anyone that he knew. It wasn't like her, this betrayal. Of all people, not Gwen. What could possess her to do such a thing? He was there when she and Lancelot had first met, and sure, there was a definite attraction, but the fallen knight's honor could never keep him around long enough for them to do anything about it. That fire had long turned to cold cinders after Arthur threw his interest her way. Merlin had had a few doubts about that reeling relationship, too, mainly because the two of them didn't know what they wanted or what to do in the first place. But they loved each other, truth, and those closest to them saw sparks ignite whenever they were near each other.

So odd. Within a day of Lancelot's return Gwen seemed off a little come to think of it, especially when his serendipitous glance caught her somewhat clandestine entrance into Lancelot's tent. He now mentally kicked himself for not asking her about that. It may have been a hard conversation to have, but as her friend, he might have been able to sense that something was foul and maybe he would have had a chance to clean it up before something really bad happened.

But he didn't. And something really bad did happen, a twisted game of the heart that tore lovers and friends apart. All Merlin could think about at the time was keeping Arthur safe. He was so sure that the king was target that he didn't think to consider anyone else could be. He was a fool.

Yet still, how could Gwen's affections toward Lancelot turn so quickly? It made no sense and screamed an enchantment, but Merlin had no proof. It probably would not make much of a difference either way. He couldn't reveal the truth that Lancelot was the necromantic shell of their dead friend and maybe, somehow, he enchanted Gwen. It sounded ridiculous. Merlin sighed, trailing her like a stray dog and still battling whether or not to say something to her.

Gwen finally reached the gates and wiped her brow with a sleeve after stopping with the cart. Gods, it would take her weeks to get anywhere at the pace she was traveling; and the terrain was as hostile and unmerciful as the environment she was treading in to. Merlin's bottom lip trembled and angry water came to his eyes as his fists balled. This wasn't right. Arthur didn't know what he was doing once again. None of this was making any sense to him.

Merlin's anger waned as quickly as it had surfaced when one of the grooms, Old Bernard they called him, approached Gwen with a donkey, saddle bags overly stuffed and hay strapped to a dock. She declined the offering with a shake of her head and tried to move forward with her heavy burden on her own, but Bernard said something to stop her, his posture pleading. She relented with a quick nod after brief consideration, thank goodness, allowing the experienced groom to hitch the animal to her cart. He handed Gwen the reins and departed after a humble bow to her.

She just stood there, holding the reins and watching Bernard disappear behind the wide castle gates, heading back toward the royal stables Merlin could tell. Gwen glanced at him then, but said nothing in the loud stillness. Merlin could see the internal struggle behind sad, brown eyes before she looked away and continued down the well-trodden path leading into the Forest of Brechtfa, the donkey and all that she had left in the world in tow. The great forest soon swallowed her up and she was gone.

All the joy in Merlin had drained out of him and pooled under his feet, cementing him in place. She'd been the first friend he'd made when he arrived in Camelot and had been fierce in her loyalty to him, sometimes putting herself at risk to aid him, sometimes to save him. So what kind of friend was he now? His chest ached, and he let the tears finally fall warm on his cheeks. Merlin loved her, too, and the king had sent her away. Arthur's spirit wasn't the only one crushed on this terrible day.

He entered the courtyard, shoulders slumped with despair but determined to make Arthur see reason. About to ascend the steps, he heard the clop of horses' hooves behind him and he stopped, peering over his shoulder. Sir Leon was speaking to two militia soldiers, both dressed in travelling clothes that bore no Camelot colors or markings or the traditional military livery they normally wore. Escetir-branded horses were laden with supplies and weapons and Merlin didn't miss the exchange of coin from Leon to both of them before he grasped their arms in farewell and sent them off.

They didn't mount their horses to ride off on whatever mission the first knight had sent them. With no sense of urgency, they walked with casual ease out of the square and not a word between them. Leon caught the curious eye Merlin had slid back to him, but without saying a word, spun on his heels and headed back toward the army barracks. Merlin's gaze drifted back to the departing soldiers now past the drawbridge and wished he could smile, but it was too hard given the lives that had just been shattered.

…

Lancelot du Luc had been summoned back from the dead with dark magic, returning in the shade of the once-noble knight, now just mass filled with vile intentions to the ruin of two lives, three if the violation against the real Lancelot's body, honor, and integrity counted. Not long after its wicked deed resulted in Guinevere's banishment, the necromantic Lancelot took its own life and with it went the machinations of Morgana's deception, the reputations of honorable friends and broken hearts in its wake.

Merlin had taken its body to the Lake of Avalon and prepared a burial barge, an abundance of yellow flowers that it did not deserve haloing it. But the body was Lancelot's, his friend. He, at least, deserved it.

Merlin placed a gentle hand upon Lancelot's forehead, cold to his touch it was, and then whispered an ancient prayer, a blessing to ease the passage of this spirit into the next life regardless of its evil nature. The breath of life that suddenly came from the corpse startled Merlin and he jerked his hand back, the prayer proving to be more powerful than he'd expected.

"Merlin," Lancelot breathed softly, a gentle and familiar smile forming on his lips and in his eyes. It was definitely more than just a prayer. The shade appeared to be gone. This was Lancelot du Lac, the knight of Camelot lost to them earlier this year, his true soul reunited once more with his body. Merlin puffed with relief as a smile spread across his lips.

To his dishonor, Lancelot was aware of what had happened, the vile deed he was forced to carry out; had been there all along, bound by Morgana in the deep recesses and unable to do anything about it. He hadn't the strength now to even lift a hand, his body atrophied, his soul heavy with desire to be returned to his final resting place and urging him back into the darkness. But remnants of the shade still lurked for its own existence within him. There was little time.

"Bracelet…" Lancelot whispered with effort. Dry lips worked to form another word, but it never came in the struggle. Merlin's brow scrunched together, anxious to understand.

"Thank you," he breathed, exhausting the last of his breath and then closing his, his journey to rejoin the dead over. Perhaps, he'd earned passage to Avalon this time instead of returning to the harrowing darkness of the Veil.

Merlin could only guess that being dead and coming back to life could cause anyone's brain to scramble and spew out nonsensical words. "Bracelet" meant nothing to him, a random word fired from a traumatized brain. But Lancelot's heart-felt gratitude was undeniable and for a brief moment in time, Merlin smiled. He'd actually done something right during this whole wretched mess.

…

As of 1/6/2018, the succeeding chapters have not been updated. Read at your own risk. 😊