Welcome to all! (but specially to Merlin fans ^_^)
This is the beginning of what might turn out to be a respectable series of Merlin/HP crossovers. *crosses fingers*
I feel like we only got a taste of how powerful and BAMF Merlin can be in the series, so I'd like to capitalize on that.
I must warn you, though! This might be a little (oh, who am I kidding?) a lot slow paced.
Huge thanks to Amlia, my lovely beta. Without her this fic would not be.
All remaining mistakes are hers. (Haha). No.
I do hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1: From Avalon to Camelot
He does not know how long he stood there, gazing unseeing upon the tranquil lake waters. It darkens and it brightens. Must have been days.
In the back of his mind, Merlin takes notice of these small details. How his body feels untiring, even if it's been days since he last rested. How his head is clear and his muscles strong, even if it's just as long since he last ate or drank.
He is pretty sure he forgot to breathe a few times, too.
He can feel the magic sustaining him, keeping him alive of its own volition. It's not like he is doing it consciously. It's not like he feels like living anymore.
It's like he is stuck in of his own time spells. Those scattered, uncontrollable bits of magic that often escaped him in his early years. Except, this time, he is the one frozen in time and space, while the rest of the world moves around him.
Ominously, Kilgharrah's parting words echo in his head.
They are not a comfort.
Merlin has lived a life dictated by destiny. A life full of heartache and disappointment and failure. But no matter how much he feels he's done with destiny, it seems destiny is not done with him.
As he stands facing the lake of Avalon, the resting place of his dearest friend, Merlin remembers a decisive meeting, in the busy streets of Camelot, almost 10 years past. A frightened young voice resonated inside his head. Emrys, it called him.
Emrys.
He never did get an explanation for what that name means, Merlin thinks, taking a deep breath, possibly the first in hours. The cold night air burns in his lungs, but he can honestly say it makes no difference to his body.
He's not simply Merlin, after all. He's Emrys. He's magic itself.
Emrys.
In the cave, when he rediscovered his magic, he had thought he'd finally understand what his Druid name meant. Magic, that's what I am, he'd thought.
Now, though, he is beginning to realize that magic is only what enables him to be who and what he is. And that is, unavoidably, Emrys.
Immortal.
And though the Druids might have called him Emrys from the beginning, Emrys is not something he is and always was, it's rather something he became. Or something that became of him.
He's brought out of his turbulent thoughts by a soft whining noise coming from the trees behind him. The warlock lets the magic he'd drawn up go, and feels time start moving forwards with him once again.
Slowly, he glances over his shoulder – the most drastic movement he's done in days – to find his and Arthur's horses looking back at him. They appear unhurt, it a bit ruffled.
Merlin's mare, a docile old thing, steps forward and stops a few inches from his face, as if saying, are you coming or not?
He seriously contemplates turning away and spending the rest of his days inmobly staring at the lake – maybe the grass will grow over his feet, and birds will nest on top of his head, and if he's lucky it will rain so much the lake will overflow and drow him – but in the end decides against it. Arthur does not deserve such a depressing sight upon his resting place.
After a day's journey, Camelot can finally be seen in the horizon. The sun is about to set, and the view would have been breathtaking if it weren't for the black flags raised on top of each tower of the castle. The city is in mourning.
So they know already. Merlin wonders how, but the thought is brief. After who knew how many days with no news on the whereabouts of the king, it's a reasonable assumption he is not coming back.
Still, Merlin feels something cold and bitter cut him from the inside as he realizes they didn't even wait for his arrival for confirmation. They had little faith he would be able to save Arthur.
The feeling worsens as he admits to himself that they were right. He failed. And now he has to face the knights and Gaius and Gwen—
His heart stutters as he thinks of her, and he cannot believe this is the first time he considers that Arthur's death affects not he alone. That Arthur was his friend, but he was also Gwen's husband and partner, the knights' leader and true companion, the people's hero and savior. Arthur is not only his to grief, and it was selfish of him to ever act like he was.
But even as he decides his friends deserve to know how Arthur died and what part Merlin himself played in all of this, still he lingers behind the tree line, just out of sight to any guards patrolling the city walls.
Despite all his power, he feels weak. Despite the magic sustaining him, he feels impossibly tired.
If only he could hide in his room in Gaius' chambers, lie in his bed and rest for a few hours before having to face the world…
With a start, Merlin realizes that he can. It's simple, obvious, really.
He sets his horse free, nudging her along with Arthur's stallion with a thought to run toward the city and not stop until reaching the castle stables. Then, Merlin closes his eyes and imagines hearing the rustling and clincking of Gaius working on his medicines and tinctures, he imagines smelling the mixture of old books and mold of his wardrobe, he imagines feeling the rough but warm texture of his bedcover.
As he sits on his bed in his post-dusk darkened room – the half-opened door to the physician's chamber being the major source of light – Merlin marvels at his latest display of impressive, effortless magic. Gone were the days he had to spend hours trying to master a spell.
Merlin distractedly turns his attention to himself, more worried with listening for signs that Gaius is outside. He realizes he is filthy with battle, travel and mourning. Usually, he would fill a lukewarm water basin and scrub off the worse of the dirt. It's an unpleasant, time consuming task. Now though, he knows he only has to will it to be as clean and refreshed as he wants.
He blinks, and wonders how would it be to never move a muscle or open his mouth again, to simply let magic deal with mundane things such as life in his stead. Once, Merlin would have remembered Gaius' words about the true purpose to magic and hesitated. Now his eyes flash gold and he smells of soap.
Merlin hears the sound of the outer door opening and closing. It's Gaius, and he is alone. Merlin can always kind of tell these sorts of things. His magic has always worked as an extra sense that allows him to get a feel of people. Normally, he shies away from these sensations and tries to ignore these intuitions, afraid of letting on he knows things he is not supposed to. Now, he embraces the sense, and dives deep into it, reaching out and absorbing as much information as he can.
The first thing that jumps to his attention is Gaius's magic. The magical signature is something that always draws Merlin, be it either from people, animals, objects or places. But he had never realized how much he could learn from a magical signature simply by reaching out with his own magic.
Merlin does that now. He lets a tendril of his magic travel through the wall, across the room to the old physician. He lets it circle him, envelop him. He senses his teacher's moderate magical powers, his honeyed if rusty capabilities.
Then, Merlin focuses on Gaius' body, on his strong if old heart, his thinned bones, his congested lungs – cold? -, his empty stomach – forgot to eat supper?
Lastly, Merlin reaches for his mind. He brushes against it, softly. Worry, grief, pain, fear flash in a convoluted mess and Merlin gasps loudly.
On the other side of the door, Gaius lets something slip from his hands and it smashes on the floor. He'd heard him.
Merlin stands up, horrified with himself, horrified that he had dared invade Gaius' mind like that. What's wrong with him? What is he doing? He is not like this. Is he?
But he has no time to ponder this question, for Gaius is throwing the door open the rest of the way and staring up at him, surprise clear in his lined face.
"Merlin!" He exclaims, sounding relieved. "You're home."
Gaius steps into the door as if to throw his arms around Merlin and hug him, but something in the young man's expression stops him.
"Merlin?" His tone is tentative now. "My dear boy, you've been gone for weeks. What happened?"
But Merlin can't find it in himself to answer. He barely knows it himself. So he just stands there, drinking into Gaius's features and magic and life, pulsing right in front of him. He focuses on that, and is impossibly glad for it.
Gaius, blessed him, might not know what's happening, but he knows what to do.
He reaches forward purposefully, as he might to grab for an ingredient in one of his coconutions, and wraps his arms around Merlin, pulling him tight against his chest.
Merlin, for his part, only curls into the hug and lets himself be grounded by it, while expanding his magic around Gaius' and hugging him as he cannot with his arms. It might be only Merlin's impression, but he thinks Gaius notices it, because his grip on Merlin's back momentarily thightens.
Be what Emrys may be, to Gaius he is still Merlin.
The first few weeks, Merlin doesn't speak.
It's not that he doesn't have anything to say, or that he doesn't want to talk to his friends. It's just that try as he might he can't seem to be able to find words to retell what happened.
When Merlin tries to rehearse in his head how he might approach Gwen about her husband, he always ends up thinking about a young, naive yet fearful boy, full of power, and lacking desperately in purpose. He has flashes of dragons and prophecies and murderous children. He feels dread and powerlessness. Merlin remembers his last days with Arthur, and is overcome by such love and regret he is amazed his chest doesn't burst out with the vicious strength of his feelings.
There are very few words that can describe exactly what Arthur meant to Merlin. Everything is one of them.
There are no words that can make justice to how destroyed Merlin is by his loss. He tries them all: hopeless, bereft, raw, purposeless…
But all the words in the English language can't possibly comport the enormity of the significance of Arthur's death as it is: before Arthur, Merlin had no objective to achieve, no dream to follow, no wish to fulfill. Before Arthur, Merlin had no reason to live. And from the beginning, Merlin knew how things would end. He knew, and all his actions ensured that those predictions came true. Merlin fulfilled all the prophecies, just as he tried to prevent them.
So, although Merlin doesn't protest when Gaius informs the queen that he is back, the warlock doesn't show up when summoned. Although he doesn't hide in his room all day, he quietly (magically) slips away when someone he knows approaches as he is completing his tasks around the castle (either acting as Gaius' helping hand or performing chores recently assigned to him by the royal steward). He makes himself not quite invisible, more like unnoticeable when he crosses paths with people looking for him. And he unscrupulously blinks himself away when Gwen or Gaius try to corner him in his room.
During his solitary wanderings, Merlin discovers more of what happened after Camlann. He hears talk about new treaties being set in motion with the other kingdoms. He hears reports about the Saxons retreat. He hears accounts of the day the queen declared she knew there was no longer any point in waiting and was proclaimed ruler. He hears the reports on the battle toll.
When Merlin learns of Gwaine's cruel death, he spends one whole day sitting on the ramparts of the tallest tower in Camelot, fantasizing about slipping forward in his clumsiness.
In the end, what causes him to emerge from his self imposed isolation, is the presence of something foreign and unknown emmanating, strangely enough, from Queen Guinevere herself.
It is late morning, and Merlin is apparently busy with scrubbing the floors of the antechamber that leads to the council room. In truth, the floors have been clean for a while now, and he is actually listening in to the debate happening on the other side of the guarded closed doors. Usually, the thick wooden structures are enough to prevent any sound from escaping the confines of the private meeting, but Merlin had, with a flash of his eyes, made sure that his hearing reached the round table.
When Arthur was King, Merlin had, as his manservant, almost unrestricted access to important meetings and councils, which, although often boring, provided crucial information on mysterious, possibly magical incidents that Merlin liked to keep an eye out for, in case the royal prat needed any saving – as was usually the case – or in case there was any magical creature or sorcerer that could use his help.
With Arthur gone, and Merlin dutifully – and possibly mutinously too – avoiding the queen, Sir Leon and Sir Percival – the only two remaining knights of the original round table –, he has no way of participating in the council.
So he has no choice but to crawl through the floors and pretend to be slow and useless, while secretly using his illegal abilities to try and save everyone – a fair summary of his whole life in the city, now that he stops to consider it.
Merlin does it after habit, really. Because, what is the point of keeping his cover as a lowly servant? What is the point of listening into these meetings? What is the point of protecting Camelot? What is the point of staying in Camelot even, with Arthur gone? He refuses to answer Gaius' questions, he avoids Gwen like the plague, he ignores anyone who talks to him outside matters of his chores. Merlin could as well go back to Ealdor live with his mother, or leave to travel the world. He could make new friends, start afresh somewhere far away. He should get used to goodbyes – being immortal means he will outlive every person he knew, and every person he will ever come to know.
And it is in that moment of Merlin's bleak musings that the council chambers' doors are thrown open and people start filling out, distracting him, at least for now.
"Bemīþ mec," he mutters hastily under his breath.
Men and women, young and old, rich and poor walk past him. Gwen made a point of summoning people from all backgrounds to form her council, a popular decision among the common folk, and a controversial one among the upper classes.
Lastly, emerges the queen, accompanied by her faithful knights, Sir Leon and Sir percival. They are in a deep discussion – which Merlin has been half-heartedly following from a distance – about recruiting new knights and foot soldiers, and slide past him without glancing his way, as Merlin ensured they would.
But as they leave the antechamber, a flicker of something catches Merlin's attention. He focuses his magical awareness around, feeling out his surroundings, and realizes that a second, small but pulsing, life-force seems to be coming from Gwen.
Merlin hesitates for a moment, before following the queen to the corridors that lead to her private chambers – she hasn't been able to go back to the room she shared with her husband.
Casting his magic ahead of him, he tentatively reaches out to Gwen, fully expecting the violent backlash of some evil influence – she had been under Morgana's control for weeks a few months previous after all – and is thoroughly surprised to find a warm, benign presence instead.
Bewildered, Merlin approaches the queen, just as she is bidding the knights goodbye. They walk on and turn a corridor, still in a heated discussion, disappearing from sight.
"Bemelde þín dierne."
Casting his power a bit more intensely, the warlock tries to get a better feeling of the presence coming from Gwen. He looks for some object that stores a curse, like Morgana's old bracelet, or for some magical spell or even the effects of a magical parasite, but finds none. He wonders if there is any kind of sickness known to provoke such strange effects.
So distracted Merlin is with this possibility, he only just realizes the queen hasn't entered her quarters, and is instead squinting towards him, as if trying to see through fog or at a great distance.
"Who is there?" Gwen demands, voice strong and steady. "Show yourself!"
Startled, the warlock checks to see if he's dropped his illusionment spell by accident. But the magic holds strong. This is not his doing, it's Gwen's. How she is doing this, though, is mystery to the warlock.
The queen's expression changes from defiant to uncertain.
"Merlin…? Is that you?"
She takes a tentative step forwards, then, more confidently, another, and another, until she's standing right in front of him, looking into his eyes. And although Merlin has not let his hold of the magic go, he knows Gwen sees right through it, as if it wasn't there.
She doesn't say anything, just stares at him, face unreadable.
His first night back, Gaius told Merlin he was certain the queen had at least a measure of idea of the role Merlin played in winning the battle of Camlann.
'It seems', the old physician reported, 'that Gwen appears to accept the idea that magic had an important part in insuring Camelot's victory and that magic was Arthur's last hope of recovering.' Merlin hadn't had the heart to ask Gaius about how Gwen had reacted to discovering that her old friend had been a sorcerer and a liar all along.
He wishes he had, for now the almighty Emrys can't stand to meet a young grieving queen's eyes, fearing the reaction he will find there.
The sharp slap to the face, if unavoidably startling, is in truth quite expected. The engulfing hug that follows, though, catches Merlin completely off guard and has him murmuring the first, strangled, sentence he has said in almost two months.
"It's all my fault, Gwen." The words pour out of him, as if her hug had bursted a bubble that held them all. "I'm so sorry. You all trusted me and I failed. And now he is dead because of me. I'm so sorry." His voice breaks as he hugs her back fiercely, eyes closing to try to hold back tears.
The queen doesn't reply, doesn't contradict him, just holds him tightly. It's both terrible and wonderful.
After Gwen has guided Merlin into her chambers, warning the servants who arrived bringing her lunch that they were not to be disturbed, the queen sits on one of the armchairs in front of the unlit fireplace and gestures for the young man to do the same.
Quietly, his first friend in Camelot asks Merlin to tell her everything. He doesn't even consider denying her.
Halfway through his tale, Merlin realizes Gwen is crying silently, brown eyes fixed on him.
Startled, he realizes he is crying with her.
Hours go by. The queen starts asking questions, demanding clarifications, confirming facts. Merlin is forced to go back and forth in his story. He realizes it's easier to talk when there is a question to prompt him, Gwen helps him focus on small parts of the whole, preventing him from becoming overwhelmed as he feared he would.
"I… I don't know what to say, Merlin." Gwen whispers in the end. At that moment she is not the confident queen she became, but the shy servant girl she had been a decade ago, on the day they first met.
"It's hard to reconcile with the fact that you are… you, but you are also a sorcerer." Twisting her hands on her lap, she avoids his gaze.
"I've always thought of magic as something dangerous, corruptive, evil," she admits. "But I can never believe you to be dangerous, or corrupt, or evil. So I guess..." Her eyes fly back to his. "That means not all magic is evil, if you have magic too."
Merlin smiles a little at that.
"I used to think as magic as a sword," the warlock tells her. Their tears have dried, and Merlin feels it's easier to draw breath than it has been for weeks. "A tool that is not inherently good nor evil, but which can be use to do good and evil depending on who is wielding it."
Gwen nods. "I… can see the analogy," she says with uncertainty. She pauses for the longest moment.
"Merlin, you are my oldest friend," Gwen begins, suddenly standing up and turning around to face the windows. "I understand why you would hesitate to tell me or-or Arthur," her voice breaks a little on the name, but she forges on, "about your magic when Uther was King. But after he died… after Arthur was crowned King…"
She stops, before slowly turning back to him, face hard.
"I can forgive the lies and deceit. What is hard to forgive is your lack of trust in us. In me."
Merlin stands up too, head bowed.
"I understand, Gwen," he replies calmly.
"What is hard to forgive," she continues as if she hasn't heard him, "is that it took you three weeks, three weeks, to come back after he died. Three weeks in which I felt it in my bones that he was gone, but still, even after the ceremony… even knowing I shouldn't, I hoped." There are tears back in her eyes again, though this time she refuses to let them fall. "What is hard to forgive is that you put him to rest without me." The queen pauses and breathes deeply. "What breaks my heart is how you avoided me for six weeks. Ignored my requests to see you. Fled the room when I arrived – don't you think I didn't notice it."
Merlin thought there was no heart left in him to hurt, after Arthur. He was wrong.
"I'm so sorry, Gwen," he says helplessly, knowing this will never be enough.
How could he tell her he didn't notice it had been three weeks? How could he tell her he hadn't felt capable of talking to her – or anyone for that matter? How could he tell her he was so weak? So weak, where she was so strong. Strong enough not to despair, but to take control of the situation and do what must be done.
For all his power, for all his magic, Merlin always lacks in strength. Strength of will, strength of character, those are Arthur and Gwen's virtues, not his.
She seems to read all this and more in his expression, for she sags a little, moving over to rest her weight against her work desk.
"For what it's worth," she tells him, "I'm sorry too."
At his inquisitorial look, she elaborates.
"I'm sorry for all the prejudice and persecution you had- you have to face. I'm sorry you had to live in fear and hide who you were from everyone. I'm sorry you had to stay in the shadows and have others take credit for you actions."
"That's not why I do it," Merlin interrupts quickly, another conversation coming back to him. "I don't do it for recognition. I do it because I believe- believed in Arthur, and in the world he would build."
"And what world is that?"
The queen poses the question mildly, but Merlin senses that his response will carry great weight, so he takes his time in answering it.
"In that world," he begins carefully, taking his turn to walk to the windows and gaze outside, "there is unity and peace among the lands. The people prosper, both the nobility and the common folk. We are all treated as equals. We all work together, helping however we can to grow food, and build houses, and protect the land, and heal people, and save lives."
Turning to face Gwen, Merlin's expression is serious, intense.
"In that world," he continues, "we are not judged by our birth, or what we can or cannot do, but on our choices and our actions."
The queen smiles at that, approaching to take Merlin's hands in hers.
"Merlin, I'm not Arthur," she states, "I'll never be as good as a ruler as he was."
The warlock attempts to contradict her, but she shushes him with a look.
"No, listen. It is the truth," she continues. "I'll never manage to lead the arm or inspire the people like he did." Gwen smiles, apparently completely at peace with the notion. "But I want to help to build the world that he envisioned. I want to do it better, even."
Merlin trembles with emotion, barely letting himself hope that he understood right the underlying meaning of her words.
"But Merlin," she says sternly, "I can't do it without you."
Letting the seriousness drop a little, Gwen smiles, with a hint of her old playfulness.
"If Arthur couldn't do it without you, secretly lending a helping hand every step of the way, how could I?"
Merlin half shrugs.
"He would have found a way," he replies.
"Maybe," Gwen says unconvinced. "Maybe not. The fact is that the peace and safety we have now was secured with your help."
She looks thoughtfully at the courtyard below them. At the people rushing about with their days. He follows her gaze.
"The work is not done, though." Gwen's tone is meaningful.
Merlin doesn't answer at once. He is busy watching a mother scold her young daughter. He wonders what she had done to anger her mother as such. The graying woman is purple in the face with rage.
Maybe the girl dropped the fruit basket she was supposed to be holding, maybe she had a nasty fight with her little brother, maybe she didn't want to wash her hair.
But maybe the girl had magic and had done something with it, to her mother absolute terror.
How many times had Hunith beaten Merlin when he was young and had done magic where anyone could have seen it? How many times had Merlin seen the fear badly masked by outward anger in his mother face?
How many parents still worried sick over their children when they manifested uncontrollable magical abilities? How many young sorcerers and sorceresses feared for their lives daily, for simply being who they were?
If still one person did, it was one too many.
"No. It's not," he agrees, at last.
The queen smiles.
When Gaius arrives back to the physician's chambers, after his afternoon rounds, Merlin is sitting on the dinner table, waiting for him with supper ready.
"It's stew," the warlock says simply. "You should eat it while it's still warm."
Nonplussed, Gaius sets his things aside and pulls a bench opposite to Merlin's.
"I'm really sorry, Gaius," it's how Merlin begins.
Night has long fallen before the young man stops speaking. Merlin tells his teacher everything, from Arthur's last moments, to the dragon's ominous words, to his recent discoveries about his magical abilities.
The only thing he doesn't mention is his realization about what being Emrys means.
When he finishes, Gaius is astonished.
"You say you are able to-to transport yourself from one place to another with no spell or incantation? And to camouflage for hours to end effortlessly?" His eyebrows are far into his hairline.
At Merlin's shy nod, Gaius sighs.
"You, my dear boy, have always been an impossibility," he says. "I always knew to expect great things of you."
The young warlock turns away.
"I can do all sorts of impossible things," he mumbles, "but I fail at the one thing that truly matters."
Gaius reaches forwards and places a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Even you, with all your magic," he says as gently as he can, "are not infallible, Merlin." When the young man looks back at him, the physician smiles kindly. "And even Arthur, the 'Once and Future King'", he quotes, "was not immortal. One day, either at Camlann, or 20 years in the future, by a sword or by a disease or by old age, he would die. Just as we all will."
At that, Merlin feels an abrupt urge to throw up, and he can't bare to face Gaius' wrinkled expression. He stands up and walks around the room, restless.
"Merlin?" The old man inquired worriedly.
Grasping for anything to change to subject, Merlin says the first thing that springs to mind.
"Earlier today," he stops his pacing to look at Gaius, "I felt something hiding inside Gwen or around her. It pulsed with a life-force of its own."
At the physician's alarmed expression, Merlin is quick to reassure him.
"No, no. Nothing like that. It wasn't… evil. It was…" He searches for the right words. "Organical?" He tries, before shaking his head. "No, no. More like… something alive, something warm and growing. Gaius," Merlin stares at his teacher, horrified, "it wasn't on her, or possessing her. It was coming from inside her body. I've never seen anything like it."
At Gaius' surprised gasp, Merlin shares his hypothesis.
"Do you think it's possible that Gwen has developed some sort of deadly sickness?"
"Deadly–what?" He trips on the words. "No! Of course not. Honestly, Merlin," his tone is impatient, "you may be the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, but you are still an idiot."
At Gaius' familiar exasperation, Merlin can't help but let out a small chuckle. Which soon grows into a true laugh, as the physician joins him.
"Alright then," the warlock demands when their giggles subside. "What am I missing?"
"The impression you just described," Gaius replies, with the tone he usually takes when talking about his remedies, or magical creatures, or sicknesses, "reminds me of how Alice used to describe a particular female condition."
At Merlin's blank expression he elaborates. "It appears that the queen is with child."
Merlin is rendered speechless.
"What?" He asks, expression blank. "Gwen is- but how?"
At Gaius' nonplussed raised eyebrow, the warlock amends, "I mean, I know how. But. It's been what? Two months since-since. Even if they had- I mean. Right before the battle." He struggles with the uncomfortable concepts, to Gaius' great amusement. "How can't Gwen not know by now?" He inquires.
"Maybe with losing her husband and her new responsibilities," the physician hypothesizes, "she hasn't taken notice of the symptoms yet," even as he says this, his expression is doubtful. "But," he continues, "what I believe is most likely is that she knows, but has chosen not to disclose the information for now."
Merlin gapes at him.
"But not even to the court physician? Why?"
Gaius shrugs. "We would have to ask her."
The warlock nods along, thoughts flying.
Merlin can clearly see it. A small child with eyes as kind as Gwen's and with a smile as broad as Arthur's. A child who would inherit their parents hopes and dreams. A child who would one day rule Camelot.
That night, Merlin lies awake on his bed staring at the ceiling for hours.
After so many weeks barely speaking a word, the conversations he had that day felt absolutely draining, and left his throat burning.
He pays it no mind, though, too absorbed in Gwen and Gaius' words.
If the queen is indeed expecting, she and the unborn heir will need protecting. Not only during the pregnancy, but also after the birth. Arthur's old enemies will not hesitate to plot against a child of his.
Merlin will have a purpose again.
At such thoughts, Merlin shakes his head viciously. He shouldn't dare hope things like that.
Gwen might not be pregnant, Merlin might not be allowed to remain in Camelot, should the laws not change, Gwen might not want her son or daughter associating with him.
If the laws do change, though, Merlin can't help but wonder, he will need to find a way to interfere more effectively, more openly. Hiding in the shadows, making tree branches fall and giving discreet nudges in the right direction won't cut it anymore.
As his eyelids start to drop, vague plans consolidate in his mind. He thinks he might even have some fun, as strange as the concept of having fun in a world without Arthur in it is.
That night, there are a few less shadows in Merlin's dreams.
When they talk to her about their suspicions, Gwen initially seems more bothered by Merlin's intrusiveness than by the way he used his magical – and still largely illegal – abilities.
Merlin feels extremely optimistic at this reaction, and can't help but beam at the queen, even as she is shouting at him about boundaries.
"And you… knew this," Gwen asks Merlin, "how exactly?"
Running a hand through his hair in frustration, Merlin searches for words.
"It's hard to explain," he stutters out, "sometimes magic can't really be put into words." At her unimpressed expression, Merlin rushes to say, "I can definitely try, though." He lets out a breath. "I felt... something different coming from you yesterday after the council meeting. I haven't always been as good at it as I am now, but after-after what happened at the Crystal Cave," he trusts Gwen to remember the name from their previous conversation, "certain kinds of magic seem to come more easily now. I felt something in you, something alive. At first I feared it was something dark, dangerous, like the Formorroh, but soon I realized it was not. It was good." He finishes awkwardly. After years of avoiding talking about magic with incriminating familiarity, it is mind-boggling to speak so freely to Gwen. Merlin finds he has to repress his instinct to talk hypothetically and distance himself from the conversation.
The queen takes a long time to consider his words. Tenderly, she places her hand against her stomach. Her head is low and her tone quiet when she speaks again.
"Just before you came back," Gwen tells Merlin, "I noticed my time wasn't coming. At first, I thought it was the shock of losing Arthur, but when one week later the other symptoms appeared, I knew." Gwen looks up at them. "I felt impossibly happy when I realized I was carrying Arthur's child," she confesses tearful. "We had been trying for years, unsuccessfully. But I was also incredibly sad to think that he died without ever knowing that he would be a father," a tear escapes her eyes at that, and she expertly brushes it away. Merlin's heart breaks a little.
"I couldn't bare to announce it at court," she explains. "I would be expected to behave a certain way, feel a certain way. And I-I couldn't yet. I had to keep this with myself for a little while longer. Do you understand?"
And Merlin does. Completely. So he leans down and hugs her.
"You are not alone, Gwen," he whispers against her hair. "Not anymore. We are in this together."
She lets herself lean against him.
"Merlin," she calls after they have parted, "that world you envisioned?"
He nods once.
"I want this child to be born in that world," she says determinedly.
The following weeks are bustling with preparations and plans. Merlin, Gwen and, more often than not, Gaius meet daily to talk strategies. At some point, the queen insists that Sir Leon joins their small council, and soon the tiny table in Gaius' workroom feels overcrowded.
"He was Arthur's most trusted knight," she said a fortnight after the decisive conversation in the physician's chambers, "Leon deserves to know, Merlin. And besides," Gwen continued as Merlin opened his mouth to say something, "if we are doing this, we will need his help."
Still, Merlin remained reticent. Leon had been Camelot's knight ever since Uther ruled, and the old king's beliefs had always seemed well-rooted in him. The warlock doubted Leon's reaction would be a good one, if told he had been made a fool for years.
The decision was taken out of Merlin's hands, however, when a few days later, Leon caught him red-handedly performing magic. And in the queen's presence, no less.
Merlin was in Gwen's private chambers, an occurrence which was becoming increasingly more frequent, as the two friends who had largely distanced themselves when Gwen's social status changed, and between whom the recent revelations created strains that hadn't been there before, worked to develop mutual trust and renew the affection they had always felt to one another. If their relationship still wasn't the easy camaradage they'd had before, it was slowly moving towards something similar. Merlin knew, though, that it would never be like it was before, not after Arthur and all the other losses they faced, not to mention the years of deceit in Merlin's part and Gwen's new position and responsibilities.
Still, they had taken to having supper together, using the time alone to talk freely, reminisce Arthur and generally take a break from all the seriousness of their usual conversations. At the queen's request, the warlock had begun showing her small, harmless forms of magic, and teaching her about the Old Religion. So that she would be able to rule a kingdom that did not treat all magic the same, but that saw the nuances of it.
Soon, it became clear to both Merlin and Gwen how challenging that would be.
"I mean," Merlin was saying, "look at elemental magic."
At that, he raised his hand towards the lit fireplace, as if reaching for it – even though it was several feet away – before bringing it back, palm turned up, bright flames sitting on it, in a harmless but unmistakable show of magic.
It was proof that Gwen was becoming accustomed to it that, even though she was inches away from Merlin's outstretched hand, her only reaction was to raise an eyebrow, as if asking if the showing-off was really necessary.
"A frightened child may accidentally cause a fire using their untrained magic," the warlock elaborated. "But an ill-intentioned sorcerer can provoke a fire on purpose and later claim that it was an accident." He looked expectantly at the queen. "In Uther's reign, both verdicts would be clear: they used magic, so they were guilt. But now-"
"Yes, I see your point, Merlin," Gwen interrupted. "However, I'm sure we will-"
And it was in that precise moment that Sir Leon, unannounced, walked in, looking troubled.
"I apologize for the interruption, Your Majesty, but I must speak to you."
He stopped short at the scene he found. Face betraying the utmost surprise and horror, his gaze narrowed in the flames in Merlin's hand. The warlock, taken completely off guard, stood frozen in place.
Suddenly, Leon's expression morphed into one of fear and rage.
"Sorcerer!" He exclaimed – disgust clear in his voice – throwing out his sword and pointing it threateningly at Merlin. "Step away from the queen or I will cut you through where you stand!"
His words seemed to snap Merlin out of his shock and he hastily let the magic go and jumped away from Gwen.
"How could you?" Leon was shouting heatedly, moving forwards and shoving his sword right in the warlock's face.
"He trusted you more than anyone!" The knight raged on. "He would have died for you, and now you dishonor his memory like this! Threatening his queen with sorcery! How dare you!" And then, to Merlin's absolute horror, Leon's eyes started brimming with unshed tears.
The shock of witnessing the usually fierce and steady knight show such unbidden emotion robbed Merlin of any words he might have used to defend himself. It was Gwen who had to step in to interfere and save the warlock from being stabbed right then.
The tense conversation that followed had been – well – unpleasant was how Merlin later described it to Gaius, trying not to let on how close Leon had truly being from throttling him for bewitching and manipulating the queen. But it all worked out in the end. Mostly.
Even after almost two months, Leon avoids at all costs exchanging more than the most perfunctory words with the warlock. Sometimes Merlin still catches the knight staring at him as if he is an evil puzzle – waiting to be smashed, rather than solved
The warlock is therefore mildly surprised when his reluctant ally directly addresses him halfway through that evening's meeting.
"Merlin," he says quite suddenly.
They are discussing the most crucial aspects of the plan, as Merlin has taken to call it in his head. The plan has the ultimate goal of reestablishing magic to the land, while maintaining peace with the other kingdoms. It is divided into smaller steps, objectives easier to reach.
First, Gwen is to announce she is expecting Arthur's child and heir. Hopefully, such news will consolidate her position in the court, among noble men and women, who although had respected Arthur and his choice to marry a commonborn woman still had misgivings about the future of the kingdom in the hands of a young, grieving, childless widow.
Then, a few weeks later, she will reveal to the public – in an event whose size the four of them are still debating (with Merlin, Gaius and Leon favoring a smaller thing, less prone to attacks or the unpredictable, and Gwen advocating something big, for all the citizens of Camelot) – the role magic had in their last victory against the Saxons, hopefully, opening the way to the idea that magic may not be all evil, and that Uther's stance had been extreme, to the detriment of everyone in the kingdom, not only sorcerers.
Meanwhile, Merlin will be roaming the kingdom, using his magic to help people throughout the lands, hopefully contributing to change people's views towards magic. At the same time, he will look for sorcerers and sorceresses in need of aid and parents of children manifesting magic potenting, offering guidance when necessary.
They are discussing how exactly Merlin is supposed to help these people without jeopardizing their safety and his own when Leon interrupts.
At once, the warlock's gaze snaps to the knight's and their eyes meet across the table.
"This plan of yours," he begins, apparently steeling himself for what he is about to say, "will never work, unless you steer the minds not only of the common folk in the small communities across our territory, but also of the people living in the city of Camelot itself, in particular, the noblemen and women."
"The common people in the country make up the majority of our population," the queen argues.
Sir Leon respectfully inclines his head towards her. "That is true, my Lady, however," he continues, "the highborn families in the city have much influence and are very well-connected politically to be able to sway the public opinion regarding a matter so- controversial as the lift of the ban on magic."
Looking now in Merlin and Gaius' direction, the knight's expression is calm and sure. "You need to have a trustworthy magic user in close contact with the court, showing them what advantages they might gain by supporting this new, risky pro-magic stance."
Merlin feels extremely uncomfortable with the prospect of having to navigate the complicated noble politics, but Gaius and Gwen do not seem at all fazed by what Leon is proposing.
"Sir Leon raises a most relevant concern indeed, Merlin," says the old physician with a thoughtful look on his face. "When Uther started the Purge, he made a point to convince most noble houses of his views on magic, and their support was crucial to provide the men, resources and intelligence that made his endeavor possible."
He fixes his ward with a stern look. "Say what you will of Uther, but he was a brilliant strategist."
A murderous brilliant strategist, Merlin doesn't say.
"And besides," Gwen places a comforting hand on top of his, distracting him from bitter thoughts, "you said it yourself, Merlin." She smiles at him. "From now on, you are not hiding in the shadows anymore."
Merlin grimaces at that.
"Yes, I know," the warlock mumbles. "I realize I'll have to take a more open role. However," the words come quickly paced, half-rehearsed, so many times he has gone over it the last few weeks, "I still think I can do more good out there, in the villages and settlements. I'm no politician," he states without preamble, "if I try to persuade the court through their power struggles and clever word play I will butcher any chances we have. What I say, I say with actions, I'll say through helping the common folk. To what use is a law approved by noblemen and women, if the people do not believe in its fairness?"
"The law is what separates us from savagery," mutters Sir Leon under his breath.
Gaius' only reaction is to raise his eyebrows.
Gwen furrows her brow. "What are you saying, Merlin?"
"I'm saying that it will fall to you," he says, indicating the queen, "and you," he gestures to Gaius, "to change the minds of the people, here in the heart of Camelot." The warlock pauses briefly, choosing his words. "Gwen, you have already proven yourself to be a resourceful leader, if there is anyone able to sway the council, it is you." The queen acknowledges this with an assertive nod. "Gaius, you have treated these people their entire lives, they trust you implicitly. Not only that, you are also the most knowledgeable person I know in matters of magical lore. If anyone can advocate for its benign uses, it is you." The physician looks somewhat disconcerted, but does not argue.
Leon remains unconvinced. "Say her majesty and Gaius do manage to turn the court's favor toward magic," he poses leerily, "how do you propose to travel through these communities without alerting them to your presence? Surely you are aware that news of a boy," Merlin bristles, but the knight ignores him, "using magic will spread like wildfire. And surely you cannot expect a warming welcome in the villages you reach. You must remember that until we manage to formally lift the ban on magic, its practice is still considered illegal, and if your face is recognized and you are caught, there will be little we can do for you."
The knight appears satisfied with his arguments, while Gwen and Gaius look worried, Merlin, though, grins at them, a little of his old mischievousness leaking through his smile. "It is fortunate then, that mine is not the only face I can wear," he says mysteriously.
Gwen and Leon's faces remain blank, but the physician blanches noticeably.
"Merlin," the old man's tone is warningly. "You talk about difficult, unpredictable magic. Even with all your power…" He doesn't continue.
"What are you two talking about?" The queen demands.
Gaius is opening his mouth to reply, but his ward doesn't wait for him.
The warlock's eyes flash bright gold. Leon startles so badly he just manages to keep his seat. No one notices this, though, for they are all staring at the white haired, long bearded, old man sitting in Merlin's place.
"Pleasure to – ahem – formally make your acquaintance, my Lady, my Lord," croaks the old warlock.
Gaius is shaking his head disapprovingly, while Leon is squinting in faint recognition, and Gwen just looks bewildered.
"Merlin…?" She asks hesitantly.
The old man bows half-mockingly.
"It's Emrys, actually,"
If Merlin thought he was done with difficult, uncomfortable – if necessary – conversations, he was clearly mistaken.
One afternoon, Leon is training the knights and asks Merlin to fill in for the servant who usually runs about fetching extra swords and bringing water to the men. Just when they are about to start, the First Knight realizes he's forgotten his sword back in the armory and sends the warlock to retrieve it.
As he steps inside the blessedly cool armory, a low voices calls from the corner.
"Hello, Merlin."
The warlock startles so badly he almost trips to the floor. Magic at the ready, he turns to face–
"P-Percival."
The knight smiles grimly. "I couldn't get Leon to tell me what's going on with you," he says, "but I did manage to guilt him into helping me corner you."
Merlin silently curses at the bearded knight, absolutely certain that Leon is doing this to get back at him for the incident with 'Dragoon, the Great'.
"You've been avoiding me," Percival states, not unkindly. The warlock sputters words of denial, but the knight ignores them. "What I'd like to know is–" His words break by the end. "Do you avoid me because you blame me for Gwaine's death," he asks softly, eyes downcast, "or because you fear my reaction to the fact that you have magic?"
At that, Merlin is at a complete loss for words.
"You knew?" He manages to gasp. "How long? Did Lancelot–?"
Percival interrupts him with a definite shake of his head. "After the battle of Camlann, after we witnessed how that old sorcerer saved us, Gwaine and I, we– talked." The strong man breathes deeply and looks right into Merlin's eyes. "We came to the conclusion that the only thing that made sense was that you were the sorcerer."
Merlin gapes at him. "And you were…alright with this?" He asks, trying hard for nonchalant and failing.
"It is as Gwaine said," Percival replies, "magic or no magic, you are our friend, and nothing can change that."
Incredibly relieved, the warlock sags on a nearby bench. To discover that Gwaine had known in the end, and not cared, not hated him, and that Percival accepted him as well lifted a weight off his shoulders that Merlin had not realized to be there. But as his rushing heart calms, something the knight had said comes back to him.
"Why would I blame you for Gwaine's death?" The warlock asks, bewildered at the notion. "It was Morgana who tortured and killed him."
Darkly, the knight looks away.
"It was me who proposed that we went to find Morgana, to finish her off." He laughs humorlessly. "As if she could be killed by mere mortal things such as swords. If we hadn't gone–"
"Percival," Merlin cuts firmly. "You couldn't have known. I don't blame you, and neither does Leon, or Gwen." He pauses, and makes sure that the knight is looking at him when he continues. "And I know Gwaine wouldn't blame you either. So you shouldn't blame yourself."
A single tear escapes Percival's eyes and he ducks his head to hide it.
"Thank you, Merlin," he mumbles.
Warmly, the warlock pats him on the back and turns to leave. Just as he is crossing the threshold, Percival stalls him.
"Merlin," his voice is steady once again. "Sometimes you are wise beyond your years, you know."
The raven-haired man grins at that.
"I have my moments."
"It won't be possible to hide the truth for much longer, my Lady," Gaius is warning softly. "You are almost reaching the fourth month mark, the signs should become evident at any moment."
Sighing tiredly, Gwen nods. "I know, Gaius."
"People may talk," the physician continues cautiously, "perhaps it would be advisable to-"
"I know, Gaius," the queen snaps irritably.
Merlin follows this conversation at a distance, busy preparing a draught to help ease Gwen's headache. The past few months – with the pregnancy and her sovereign duties and the plans to welcome magic users into the land again – have taken their toll on the young queen.
Quietly, he approaches and hands her the medicine, flashing her a warm smile.
"Thank you, Merlin," she says in response, trying to smile back. Gwen drowns the remedy on one gulp, grimacing at the unpleasant taste.
There is an awkward pause, before Gaius stands up from his place besides the queen and walks towards the door.
"If you will excuse me, your highness," he says formally as he goes, "I must see to my patients of this afternoon." And with that, he departs.
As the door closes behind him, leaving Merlin and Gwen alone in the physician's chambers, the queen's shoulders fall.
"I don't mean to be this– snappish," she murmurs guiltily. "I know all of you are trying to help. But." She seems at a loss for words. "It's hard. Ruling a kingdom. Preparing to be a mother."
She laughs humorlessly.
"I feel like I have no idea what I am doing half of the time," Gwen admits. "I fear I'm making the wrong decisions. I fear I'll be a terrible mother to this child."
Shaking his head emphatically, Merlin kneels in front of her.
"Gwen, stop," he says, taking her hands in his. "You are doing great. The court and the people love you. The crops are prospering. The criminality rate in the city is low. There is peace throughout the lands. The other kingdoms have already agreed to a meeting and the alliances you and Arthur had already established hold strong. Politically and economically, Camelot hasn't seen better days since before either of us were born."
The warlock makes sure Gwen is meeting his gaze when he continues.
"And you will be a wonderful mother. I'm sure of it." He grins at her. "After all, you have plenty of experience, that with mothering me and the knights around."
With an expression of mock indignation, Gwen slaps his hands away.
"I do not!" She retorts, a small smile growing in her lips, much to Merlin's relief, who hated to see his friend so melancholic.
The warlock just laughs back.
Gwen's expression suddenly changes, going from grudgingly amused to utterly surprised.
"Merlin," she breathes, hands flying to her abdomen. For one terrible, heartstopping seconds the warlock fears she will say there is something wrong.
"I think I just felt the baby move."
She smiles a dazzling smile, all the lines of grief and worry that accumulated around her eyes and mouth are suddenly gone, and she is a young and carefree girl once again.
The queen snatches Merlin's hand and places it on her belly, over her elegant dress.
"Do you feel it?" She asks in an amazed whisper.
By the Gods, he does. The warlock feels so absolutely privileged and honored to have the opportunity to share this moment with Gwen, he knows there are tears pooling in his eyes, but he doesn't even care.
"Gwen- Gwen," his voice is heavy with emotion. "Can I?" He only looks at her, and he doesn't know how, but she knows what he means instantly.
"Of course, Merlin."
So he reaches towards her with his magic, hugging her with it, trying to touch the little thing pulsing with life just below their fingers.
When that small being seems not only to recognize his presence, but to nudge back instinctually, almost like in greeting, Merlin is from that moment on, completely smitten.
"Oh, Gwen. She's beautiful."
Next chapter:
Merlin leaves the safety of Camelot to do what he never dared before: practice magic out in the open. Albion is full of surprises, and the young warlock might get more than he bargained for.