(Available for reading on AO3 and LJ as well /with some graphics/. Links on my profile!)
Title:: Like a Forever Wandering Bird
Author:: Aislin
Fandom:: Merlin (BBC)
Pairing:: Merlin's non-romantic relationships with various canon and original characters. Also M/A pre-slash; though it's more like a very obese interlude.
Rated:: PG-13
Length:: 4 chapters (75 000 words)
Genre:: Slice of Life, Angst/Drama, Gen, Friendship, Romance, Historical
Disclaimer:: I doesn't own anything from the show. If I did, the last 10 minutes of the final would certainly not happen the way they did.
Warnings:: post-series, immortal!Merlin, loneliness, depression, character death (not Merlin), some really slight slash, violence, implied rape of a side character
A/N:: I originally wanted to write a Merthur twoshot, the first part of which would've been this one. Then it just started to grow and grow like the untamed beast it is, and now it is one enormous monster that is expecting more siblings to come!
Long story short, I decided to set up a series called "feathers" that will feature all these loosely connected stories, all of which can be read as stand-alone. This is the first one, detailing Merlin's journey through the centuries.
Also, I'm greatly indebted to mollrach13 and pawpawpaku who were kind enough to beta-read my work and detect the horrible mistakes I committed against the English language – for that, I thank you, dears! You both helped me an awful lot! Any remaining mistakes are solely my own.
Summary::
Merlin is coping with living after the events of Camlann. With time, he realizes that the 'living' part is actually a lot more than what he'd bargained for.
{1st main story of feathers}
1.
That old thread, he lets go
.
After all the remaining tears dry, Merlin screams. The long, heart-wrenching roar that cuts into the air from the depths of his throat is full of raw emotions – pain, shock, wrath, agony, regret, terror, remorse and most of all, grief – and leaves the earth quaking and rumbling. The ground creaks and cracks, the sky turns pitch-black and thunder starts crashing. There is no flash of lighting though, not anymore. Everything is dark and black for Merlin.
He doesn't move an inch from the Lake of Avalon for two days. His stomach doesn't even growl anymore, like it understands that Merlin doesn't give a damn about such an irrelevant thing as hunger in a world where he is numb from the loss of his King, his other side. His Arthur.
On the third day, when his body is nearly collapsing from lack of food, Merlin finally looks for nourishment. It takes him exactly two minutes to see forwards and find a rabbit, half a minute to get it captured, and a further ten minutes to walk through the woods to it. When he is there he wants to kill it with the use of his magic so he can make it painless for the animal, but when he raises his hand and puts it above the rabbit's nervously stirring ears he can't quite find it in himself to go through with it. Merlin just stands there, looking at the little creature full life, and something pulls his heart right down to his stomach. A terrible feeling fills him, cold and ugly, and it dawns on Merlin that he can't be responsible for the death of a living thing, not now, not like this. Not when he is in such deep mourning with every cell of his body.
He sets the rabbit free, and it flees without so much as a glance back. Merlin cannot say he blames it.
So Merlin walks back to the lake, sits down on the grass in front of it and just looks at the Isle for as long as his body can take it; which is not a long time, to be honest, as Merlin hasn't afforded himself a wink of sleep for what feels like years. He doesn't want to sleep, fearing what his dreams might show him if he closes his eyes, but fatigue finally seems to overcome his stubborn determination. His head bobs, his eyelashes flutter, and his eyelids suddenly feel terribly heavy…
When he opens his eyes next time, he sees the grey of the sky before him. He lies on his back on the earth-smelling grass, and has to blink a couple of times to get rid of the cold pearls of liquid which are sitting softly on his lashes. The wet feeling won't go away, though, no matter how hard he rubs at his eyes.
Merlin sits up, looks at the Isle, and the remaining fragments of his dreams suddenly fill him. He laughs a choking, humourless laugh. The reason he didn't dare to let himself sleep before was because he was afraid of dreaming about the death of his other half. But he didn't dream about that after all; he dreamed about all of their happy times at Camelot, their banters, their adventures. Thank you, says a small voice in his head which is most definitely not his own. Thank you thank you thank you…
The sour laugh dies on his lips, and now Merlin is really choking from emotions.
He shouldn't have been afraid. Not when happy memories make his chest so tight from aching that compared to them, nightmares seem decidedly more bearable.
During one of his strongest moments Merlin captures another rabbit, and this time he doesn't let himself hesitate. After a softly whispered spell the animal closes its eyes and stills. Merlin doesn't give time for regret to come; he swiftly grabs the carcass and brings it back to the lake.
He cleans it adeptly like always, and then places the meat above his small fire. Once the food is ready and Merlin starts eating, his empty stomach lets out a final rumble, and Merlin unconsciously hums in pleasure.
The first few mouthfuls are wonderful. He swallows and swallows, and slowly feels his hunger subside. When he takes another bite after finishing half the rabbit however, he makes a grave mistake: he looks up, sets his eyes on the faraway Isle and absently lets the memory of Arthur enter his mind.
At that second something terrible swirls in him, wrenching his soul with ice-cold claws. The taste of the meat turns sour and bitter; his body tenses. He shivers, and then suddenly feels really sick. He stumbles into the woods and throws up in front of the nearest tree. The forest is quiet around him, and even if there are birds present they're all dead silent, making the ugly noise of Merlin's retching sound all the louder.
He still feels faintish by the time he gets back to his small camp. He can't even bear looking at the remains of his meal so he just quickly makes it vanish. He throws himself onto the grass then, and buries his sweaty head in his trembling hands.
He doesn't have tears for Arthur anymore (he was a sobbing wreck for the prat for days, god; he can almost hear what his friend would say to him about the matter), but then he thinks about the now lost meal Gaius had promised him at their final moments… and for the first time since Arthur's death, a few drops of tears manage to find their path to Merlin's cheek again.
It takes him a week to build up the willpower to leave the lake. It's not easy. He feels some strange, twisted connection to Arthur here, and by leaving, he feels like as if he's leaving part of himself behind, too. But maybe this is exactly the case – Arthur really has become part of him after all, just like Merlin himself was part of the King.
He walks to the lake for what is definitely going to be the last time for a long while, crouches down and lowers his right hand into the cool water. He never did this before, for it felt like picking on a fresh, bleeding wound, but he knows he can't leave without doing this. His eyes never leave the silhouette of the Isle of Avalon while his fingers rest on the rough stones beneath the water.
"I…" Merlin halts. He hasn't spoken for almost two weeks now; his voice is raspy from the lack of use. "I'm going to leave now, Arthur. For a long time, I think, but I will come back here someday, I swear. I swear, so… so don't you forget about coming back to this world, all right? Just so we're clear on that, I was promised of your return. Keep that in mind. Prat."
He caresses the smooth surface of the lake gently, and for a second, Merlin thinks he almost hears it whisper something back to him.
"Freya, dear Freya," he says then to the glistening water, "please take good care of him. I know he's unbearable, but please try to tolerate him for me."
He crouches there for some moments before finally pulling his hand out of the water.
"Well then…" He sighs, stands up, and makes a last lingering glance at Avalon. The lake and Isle looks calm and peaceful to him in a way it never had before. "See you later."
Merlin visits his mother in Ealdor. The idea of going back to Camelot never even occurs in him. It's way too early; it would be much too painful.
When Hunith sees him for the first time, she drops everything she has in her hands. For a frozen moment they just stare at each other in silence, but then Hunith is running towards him, and he is running towards her without realizing it, and they share an embrace so full of love and longing that Merlin cannot remember how to breathe properly. He breaks down right in his mother's arms, and chokes a long couple of throaty sobs.
"My boy, my dear boy," Hunith whispers in a tight voice. She caresses Merlin's head and kisses his forehead. "Hush, love."
Merlin is not even remotely embarrassed by the fact that Hunith still treats him like he was an adolescent. It's been almost a year and a half since he last visited home and Merlin really feels like a weeping boy in this motherly embrace. He missed this house, he missed this safety place. He knows this is just what he needs right now.
They talk all night. Hunith was aware of the war of course (Arthur made sure to send word to every village), but she didn't know a thing about the on-going events. Guilt stirs in his chest while his mother shares all her worries and fears with him, and in return, Merlin too, tells her everything.
Had someone asked him before, he would have been convinced that he was not quite up to talking about the dreadful last days of the war, but once Merlin starts speaking something breaks loose in him. He just talks and talks and doesn't leave out anything, even though the mere mention of Camlann squeezes his heart to sharp aching: he tells Hunith everything about Morgana's final scheme, her robbing of his magic; the unexpected meeting with his late Father's spirit in the Crystal Cave, and how he helped Merlin find himself again (Hunith's eyes tear up upon hearing this, and she clutches her son's hand in her own so strong that her slim fingers almost turn white); he tells her about the war, about Mordred… and about Arthur.
Hunith is silent for most of the time, but when Merlin swallows and speaks about his sobbing, choked-out confess to Arthur, she gasps a little "oh, my boy", and places her right hand on Merlin's cheek. He leans into the warmth of the touch, gaining courage to continue. His words are messy; he stumbles on the syllables while breathing shakily, but never stops for long. It's hard talking about their very last journey, strained and horrible and beautiful as it was. Merlin feels like living it again; even with his eyes open he can see Arthur's face in front of himself clearly. He can see his friend's demonstration of his initial refusal, hurt and disappointment… and then the slightest expressions of dubious curiosity, the honest desire to understand and following that, the ever-waited acceptance.
When Arthur nodded to him as if to say 'go on, light that fire' and Merlin complied, he never felt himself so bare in front of another living soul. Casting this final layer off of himself – doing magic beside Arthur, knowing he was watching – made him so naked that he almost couldn't bear looking up into the King's eyes.
Now he feels bare again, but in front of his mother the feeling is not nearly as chest-tightening. It helps that Hunith doesn't stop stroking Merlin's hand encouragingly for a moment.
By the time he finishes, something dies in him again, leaving his body empty and numb. He just sits there in the ramshackle chair and listens to the sound of his mother wiping her eyes.
"You did everything in your power to save him, Merlin," says Hunith after a while. Her eyes are red, but her voice is strong. "You mustn't blame yourself."
At that moment it dawns on Merlin that he did exactly that without even realizing it; he really did blame himself. He opens his mouth, then nibs at his lower lip, and says nothing to the comment.
"Two sides of the same coin, you said so yourself", he says however in a voice that surprises him, being so raspy and heavy with emotions. "Tell me then… What am I supposed to do without my other half?" Merlin tries and fails to swallow down the hard lump from his throat.
"It is always terribly hard, mourning someone you loved," replies Hunith softly. "But you must always look forward. Arthur would want that too, I'm sure of it."
"Maybe."
They are sitting in silence for a while before Hunith declares that both of them are in need of some food now. They have a very late dinner (or is it a very early breakfast?), talk a bit more, and then Merlin goes straight for his old bedroom. The bed feels big and pleasingly warm after spending nearly two weeks lying under the sky. Hunith puts a blanket over him and kisses his forehead, and in that moment Merlin let's his childish desire out into the air.
"It's crazy, I know," he whispers with closed eyes, "but I almost wish I lost my magic again but have him back alive."
Soft hands caress his cheek again but Merlin does not open his eyes. He doesn't want to see the expression on Hunith's face. She doesn't say anything though; probably because there are no words that would make this whole situation right. She places another kiss on Merlin, and then blows out the candle.
"Sleep, love," Hunith says before leaving the room, and Merlin does just that.
Merlin spends two months in Ealdor. It feels like a hiding place for him, a sanctuary where he can forget and heal. And he really starts healing – slowly, terribly slowly, but at least he does – though he can never seem to forget. Every night Arthur's face is the last thing he sees before sleep enfolds him in her cool arms and Arthur's face is the first thing he sees when dawn caresses his cheeks with the warm rays of the morning sun.
Nevertheless, he pretends to forget. He doesn't bring up his King in any conversations with his mother, and even if she is aware, she lets it pass.
The villagers are good to him. It's been ten years since he left Ealdor but most of them still remember him kindly. He works hard, and helps Hunith and other villagers wherever and whenever he can. He doesn't use his magic, though, only at home, and only for little things. He hears word that that magic is no longer outlawed in the kingdom, and he's happy for it, he really is. But he doesn't want to bring attention to himself, not when he's not planning on returning to Camelot just yet.
Gaius is the only one he informs of his whereabouts. He doesn't want to at first, but Hunith insists. When a couple of farmers leave for Camelot at the end of the first week Merlin spends here, Hunith sees about that Merlin sends a letter to his old mentor with them.
Merlin knows that it was wrong of him not to let Gaius know he was alive right away, but he was scared – he still is. Gaius would have wanted to come to him, or worse yet, would have wanted Merlin to go back to Camelot… and he couldn't bear that. Merlin would have to talk about Camlann all over again, and Gaius would be really nice to him. And then there would be Gwen, sweet, dear Gwen whom Merlin had let down. How was he to look into her eyes and tell her that he failed to save her husband?
So no, he most definitely does not want to go back. He lets Gaius know that he is alive (he doesn't use the word 'alright' as it would be a lie), and he stresses that he is not quite ready to face anyone from Camelot. Gaius' reply comes with the returning married couple to Ealdor: he writes that Merlin is a stubborn fool for not writing to him sooner as he was sick from worrying. But he understands, and he will be waiting for him to go back.
Two months passes and then Merlin feels ready to move. Not to Camelot, of course – he's sure he won't be back in the town for a very long time – but to somewhere, where ever his feet take him.
Hunith doesn't seem surprised when one evening Merlin tells her that he's leaving at first light. She only asks him to be careful, to walk with open eyes, and to never forget where he came from. Merlin promises all that sincerely.
The sun breaks and Merlin is ready. He stands in the doorway with a small pack on his back and his mother's arms all around him.
"Be back, my son," Hunith says into his scarf while Merlin hugs her back earnestly. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
With that, Merlin departs for south.
After four years of wandering around the surrounding kingdoms, one day Merlin feels his magic picking inside his body. It's not a pleasant feeling; the tingling sensation makes him worried and concerned. It whispers to him for two days constantly, and then on the third night, Merlin sees a dream. He is no seer, never was, but when he rouses in the middle of the night; the last fragment of his dream being Gaius' dead still face, he knows the time has come to go back to Camelot. The bond he shares with his old mentor must still be intact for he knows without doubt that this may be the very last chance he gets to visit Gaius.
So he does exactly that.
After he leaves Caerleon, it takes him plenty days of riding to reach the borders of Camelot. While he crosses the familiar forest, the old fear stirs in him again, but Merlin wills it away. He can't postpone this for any longer. Not when his magic tells him that Gaius is gravely ill.
When he enters the lower town, Merlin holds his head high up, his movements are swift and strong. People start noticing him and he can even tell the exact moment some of them recognise him but Merlin pays attention to no one. He heads for the castle and announces himself to the guards.
He leaves his horse to one of the stable-hands and then patiently waits in the courtyard. His heart leaps when he spots Leon and Percival at a corner of the yard. The knights are in some deep discussion when Leon absent-mindedly lifts his eyes and looks around. He gazes past Merlin, but then realization dawns on his face and he quickly looks back at him. His eyes widen as he gasps something. Percival snaps his head up too, and looks at the newcomer as if seeing a ghost.
"Merlin!" shouts Percival, and in an instant both of them are standing right in front of Merlin. He lifts his arms like he is going for a hug, but then stops and settles for a strong handshake. "Merlin, you look…"
"Different?" asks Merlin with a smile. He knows he has changed, he still finds it strange looking at a mirror. It's not his face that changed much (on the contrary: he hardly looks a day older from when he left), but the way he holds himself, the look in eyes, the set of his mouth. He stands tall in his long, sea-blue tunic, and anyone can see from his posture than Merlin is someone who has power and is well aware of it. Gone is the bowing, lowly manservant… his appearance does nothing now to hide the fact that he is a powerful, proud sorcerer. Oddly enough, the knights don't seem a bit surprised or intimidated by this.
"That too," answers Percival grinning. "But great. I wanted to say, you look great."
Leon takes his eyes away from the long, snow-white staff Merlin holds (a gift from a group of druids he spent a year with – it helps him channel his powers) and looks into the warlock's eyes. "I'm glad you are here, old friend. We feared we might never see you again."
"I'm sorry," says Merlin, and even if they know this is not exactly the truth, they let it go. "I came for Gaius."
He watched the smile slowly disappear from their lips. They don't ask how he knows about the physician, and Merlin is grateful for that.
"He's in his chambers. Marco – his apprentice – is taking care of him." Percival makes a gesture towards the gates of the castle. "I don't suppose you need guiding there, but maybe you won't mind if I walk with you? I would like to talk with you for a bit. Haven't seen you for ages after all." The man smiles then and Merlin knows that Percival won't attack him with uncomfortable questions.
"Of course I don't mind it," he says returning the smile. "I have a couple of questions myself."
"I'll go and tell the Queen about your arrival, then," says Leon. He clasps Merlin's shoulder before leaving. "It's great to see you again, Merlin."
Warmth fills the warlock's chest; something he just realizes he had missed.
Merlin will never forget the look on Gaius' face from the moment he enters the physician's rooms. The old man gasps and actually moans, and despite lying motionlessly a moment before, he now struggles weakly out of bed towards Merlin. He lifts his arms up and Merlin finds himself in his hug in a blink of time.
"Merlin!" breathes Gaius, and Merlin winces at the frailness of the old man's broken voice. "Oh, Merlin, my boy, you came back!"
Guilt and shame wash through Merlin at this display of undiminished love. "Gaius," he says softly, hugging the man back. "Yes. Yes, I came back."
"Master Gaius! Master, you must lie back," says an unfamiliar voice then and that's when Merlin realizes that they're not alone in the room. An unruly mop of light brown hair appears in his sight. "I know you are happy for Merlin, but please, don't strain yourself!"
Merlin looks at the speaking man. He's younger than Merlin – twenty-three, maybe a bit more – but a good deal shorter. He has a strong built, oval face, earnest expression and sincerely concerned green eyes. Marco, probably. Merlin only talked with Percival for a few couple of minutes but the knight was clearly fond of the new physician apprentice.
Seeing how he truly worries about Gaius, Merlin himself takes a fast liking to the man… even if there is a short pang of unreasonable jealousy in his chest, which he hastily wills away.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," insists Gaius, but he coughs so hard afterwards that Merlin unconsciously bites on his lip.
"Come on, sit down at least," he suggests softly while directing the old man back to his bed. "We can talk there." He puts his arm around Gaius' shoulders and leaves it there even after settling down.
Marco steps in front of them after that and makes a deep bow to Merlin. The gesture hardly comes as a surprise now (he got used to people bowing to him in these last few years) but Merlin finds it strange to experience this at Camelot. He never was anything but a servant here, and no one can deny now that he is definitely no such thing anymore.
"I'm Marco, sire," says the brunet respectfully, and he lifts his eyes to look at Merlin solemnly. "I've heard much about you from everyone around the castle. I'm honoured to be finally able to meet you."
"Er, thank you. I understand you're Gaius' new right-hand man?" Oh, that didn't come out as neutral as he intended. Merlin quickly cleans his throat. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Percival was singing praises about you."
Marco flushes, and bows his head again. "I've been learning about herbs and cures for as long as I remember. My own father was a physician-of-sort, you see, and when I arrived at Camelot three years ago, Master Gaius took me under his wing. I'm working very hard to become a reliable physician, and there are no words to describe how grateful and indebted I am to him." The blushes an even deeper red when he realizes how he started rambling. "I'm sorry for boring you, sire! It's just, when I'm nervous…
"No, I'm glad you told me this," Merlin says quickly, and smiles reassuringly at the younger man. "I can see that you are a hardworking lad. I'm pretty sure you are much better suited for being a physician than I ever was." From the corner of his eyes he can see the look Gaius gives him and for some reason it makes something stir uncomfortably in his chest. He kicks himself mentally. He didn't mean to compare himself with Marco, the least from this aspect. "But of course, destiny never meant healing for me, not like this at any rate."
He is relieved to see that Marco's expression softens after that, and he shyly returns Merlin's smile. "Thank you. I-I'll leave you two to yourselves now. I'm sure you have much to catch up on." With a final wave to Gaius and a bow to Merlin's direction, Marco leaves the room.
"He really is a good lad," says Gaius in a soft voice. Merlin looks at his mentor. "But don't think for a second that I brought him here to replace you, because there is not a soul who can do that. He knows this too, that's why he feels insecure in your presence."
"I'm not jealous of him," Merlin replies in a light voice, and he is happy that he can say that now without lying. "I'm glad he is here with you. I'd have hated for you to be all by yourself."
The look Gaius gives him makes him abruptly realize what he's gotten himself into. The smile slowly fades away from his face. "Look, Gaius, I'm sorry I was never here for you in the last four years. I know it was terrible of me to…"
"Stop." Gaius shakes his head, his white-grey hair flutters with the motion. "You don't have to apologize for that; I understand why you have found it hard to come back to Camelot. What I don't understand is why you were so desperate not to keep in touch with either me or you mother. It certainly would not have killed you to let us know once in a while how you were doing."
Shame roses colour on Merlin's cheeks as he lowers his eyes. "I'm sorry, I truly am. I…" He struggles with words for he is well aware that nothing he might say can make what he did right. He finally shakes his head resignedly. "You don't know what it was like for me. I tried to send word to you a couple of times, honestly, but when I got to it I just… had this awful feeling in my chest, like something was clenching at me. And dropping only a few words of "hey, I'm still alive, don't worry about me" seemed so inappropriate that I'd forgo sending a letter altogether." Merlin knows it is not enough, it will never be enough, but thankfully Gaius takes pity on him.
"I'm happy you are here now," he says, and Merlin fills with love for the old man. "I missed you."
"I missed you, too," he says sincerely.
Merlin talks about the experiences he gained during his travels to every corner of the five kingdoms for hours, and in return, Gaius tells him about the more significant happenings of the last four years in and around Camelot. Merlin learns that the Queen allowed magic back to the kingdom right after the war ended, opened a special training course for youngsters with magical abilities so they can practise their art safe in the town and pronounced new laws defining the rights, obligations and restrictions of magic users. Seems like Gwen realized the truth about Merlin on the day of the final battle (Merlin blinks and blinks when Gaius tells him this, and then he breaks into a blinding grin) with a long and earnest speech that made people cry and cheer loudly afterwards. She also revealed the role Merlin played in the life of Camelot, and encouraged people to welcome the newly arrived druids, warlocks, sorcerers and sorceresses to the town with open hearts. Two years ago she appointed the once druid chieftain Iseldir as her Advisor in Magical Affairs, a position Iseldir now holds with respect. Sorcerers are still executed once in a while, Gaius explains, only never for the practise of magic, but for using their power against others with ill intent.
Merlin is shocked and grief-sickened to learn that Gwaine was killed nearly the same time Arthur was – Gwaine, who was his best friend among the knights, whom he has always considered something akin to a brother. Merlin hasn't thought about Morgana for ages but right now he thinks he shouldn't have let her die so easily; he should have made it as slow and painful as it was within his powers. Morgana took his best friend away just like she and Mordred took Arthur away from him.
But there is no place for revenge now. The time for that has been long gone… Merlin closes his eyes, thinks about Gwaine, and mourns in silence for a long minute before asking Gaius new questions.
They talk for hours and hours, and Merlin doesn't even notice the pass of time until Marco comes back with an apologetic expression on his face and a bowl of soup (made from herbs, judging from the scent) for Gaius.
"Sir Leon is waiting for you, sire," he says to Merlin while placing the bowl on the dining table. "He's just outside the door."
"Thank you." Merlin squeezes Gaius' shoulder softly before standing up from the bed.
"I suspect the Queen would like to see you," says Gaius, and looks up to Merlin. "You can come back here for the night when you are finished, if you want to. Your old room is just as you have left it."
Merlin swallows, since the meaning of the last sentence does not escape his notice, but he allows a soft smile onto his face. "Thank you, Gaius, I will. There is no way I'd leave out a chance to be lulled to sleep by your snoring again!
Gaius laughs at that, and Merlin thinks he never saw such a joyful expression on the wrinkled face before. Marco looks like he's a bit bewildered from the intimate air between his master and Merlin, but he only smiles and says nothing, just tends to Gaius as soon as the old man starts having a heavy cough-attack.
Leon turns to Merlin as the warlock closes the door behind himself. "The Queen has been asking about you all day, but she understands that your main concern for the moment is Gaius. Nevertheless, Her Majesty would like to see you before you retire if you are not feeling too exhausted after your journey."
"No, I will meet her," says Merlin firmly. The meeting with Gwen is what he fears the most, for it will definitely involve talking about Arthur, but he doesn't want to postpone it for any longer. He wants to be beside Gaius with his head clear and his heart light, not with constant worries clouding his mind. "Tell her that I will join her shortly."
"She will be pleased." Leon smiles, and Merlin notices the warm spots of shine that always seem appear in the knight's eyes whenever he talks about the Queen. "You can find Her Majesty in the throne room."
"Thank you, Leon."
Leon nods and leaves, but Merlin keeps lingering by the door. Fortunately, he doesn't have to wait for long: roughly five minutes later Marco steps out of the room and lets out a surprised 'eep' when Merlin grabs his arm.
"L-Lord Merlin!" the apprentice stutters caught off-guard. Merlin rolls his eyes at the unwelcomed title, but drops his hand and makes a calming gesture. "What do you… I mean, how can I be at your service?"
"Marco, I need you to tell me about Gaius," the warlock says sternly. "The truth, please. Is he gravely ill?"
Marco worries his lower lip with his teeth but after a moment or so, he nods reluctantly. "I'm afraid he is, sire. There was an epidemic sickness in Camelot last year which Master Gaius, too, has caught. We managed to extinguish the disease, thank the gods, with the help of some local druids but Master has been feeling unwell ever since."
"Is there no cure to help him? Have you tried everything?" Merlin knows he shouldn't ask this, he shouldn't doubt the young man's ability and determination to heal, but it is Gaius they are talking about, and for Gaius Merlin can't hold back the question.
"I tried everything in my power." Marco slowly shakes his head, and when he looks at Merlin again, the green of his eyes are immensely dark and sad. "He is old, my lord; he celebrated his seventieth birthday last summer. He is wasting away, and there is nothing that can cure what comes with old age."
Merlin doesn't trust his voice; he only nods. Marco looks at him sympathetically, then tentatively squeezes his shoulder and leaves quietly.
Merlin closes his eyes, pictures Gaius' old, wrinkled face in front of himself, and for a moment, he feels early grief inside his chest so heavy that he has to brace himself against the doorframe. The wall in cold and brusque-smelling where he presses his forehead against it, the wood of the frame is rough under his fingers. Merlin lets his imagination go wild, he wonders and fantasies about his magic helping…
There is nothing that can cure what comes with old age.
Merlin opens his eyes and sighs. He pulls himself together, and a minute later he declares himself ready to face the Queen.
Queen Guinevere Pendragon of Camelot greets Merlin in the throne room but quickly moves them into her private chambers. She smiles brilliantly at Merlin, and drops all formalities once they are alone to themselves.
"Oh, Merlin, you have no idea how happy I am to see you," she says for what must be the fifth time. "And you look absolutely stunning. What would I give to have Uther see you now, for what your worth!"
Merlin thinks about mentioning that the previous King (well, his ghost, to be completely honest) has already seen him for what he is worth and was not the least delighted… but decides to not say anything.
Gwen takes his hand in her owns and looks at him solemnly, with only a slight smile playing on her lips. "First and foremost, I want to say thank you, Merlin. I had long talks with Gaius after the war ended, and now I am well aware of all the things you did for Camelot and its inhabitants throughout the years. I'm only sorry for not getting to hear them from your own mouth, but I understand the reasons you had behind your silence. Thank you, Merlin. We are forever indebted to you."
The sudden embarrassment he feels takes Merlin by surprise. "I… You don't have to thank me for that. I only did what I felt was right."
"Yet you never took any credit for your selfless and no doubt heroic actions. No, you deserve the thanks, Merlin, and you deserve even more. But that is all I can give you." The woman holds his hand tight and warm, and the warlock feel his embarrassment fading away.
"You already gave me everything I ever wanted when you let magic be part of the kingdom again," Merlin says. "Your people are happy, and Camelot was never more peaceful. You perfected what has started eight years ago, and it is I who is grateful for that beyond measure."
Gwen just smiles at him, but this smile isn't nearly as bright as it was a moment before. Although Merlin did not say it out loud directly, Arthur's name lingers in the air between them heavy and undeniably. Merlin knows it has to be done, he has to get over it, but this knowledge doesn't make it the least bit easier.
It is the Queen who breaks the ice while releasing Merlin's hand.
"Arthur would be proud of what has become of his kingdom. Every night before I sleep I think through the events of the days, wondering what he would do, what he would say. I think he would be proud of what I have become, and I know for sure that he would be proud of what you have become."
Merlin opens his mouth but the words are stuck in his throat. He closes his eyes for a moment to pull himself together. "Arthur was a wise king and a great man. Had he the time, he would have made this land flourish. Not that you are doing a bad job of it," he adds softly, trying to lighten the conversation.
Gwen naturally takes no offence. "He was thinking about lifting the ban, you know," she says suddenly, to which Merlin snaps his eyes at her. "During the last months, after that peculiar sorceress… Dolma, I think her name was," Gwen stops for a moment, lets the name sink in, and she only continues when Merlin's cheeks heat up at the memory, "broke Morgana's enchantment on me. We talked about it for days. I believe that he would have done it soon, had Morgana not declared war on us shortly after."
Merlin is not sure what to say to that, so instead he chooses to remain silent. He is shocked to learn about this; he was sure that there was nothing he didn't know about Arthur (as he once said it to Gaius, he knew the King better than himself), and yet here is he, presented with the fact that his friend never even mentioned this to him. As it turns out, he rather consulted with his wife over the matter, and Merlin feels ashamed because at that, a now long-lost jealousy of Gwen sparks in his chest.
The Queen fortunately doesn't seem to notice his distress. "Have you seen the phoenix emblem yet?"
Merlin blinks. "What?"
"The phoenix emblem. I take it as a no." Gwen smiles, walks to her cupboards and points at the large tapestry on the wall above them, which Merlin only just notices. "The golden dragon of the Pendragons is still the main symbol of Camelot of course, but we invented this one to be used as a secondary emblem across the whole kingdom."
The wide, orange-coloured tapestry portrays a huge, stylised flame, to the side of which a phoenix nestling is leaning into. The design is simple and beautiful, and Merlin can't seem to take his eyes off the image as Gwen resumes talking. "The flame represents magic which can be an instrument for both good and bad. There is a phoenix to which the using of fire is as natural as breathing, but we don't have to fear it just because it is the offspring of flames. If the phoenix doesn't feel threatened, it won't use its fire against us; on the contrary, actually."
Merlin keeps watching the tapestry awed while his magic tingles under his skin with warmth.
"The phoenix also stands for new starts, as it is the symbol of rebirth." Gwen looks back at Merlin and smiles. "A fitting emblem, is it not? It was Arthur's creation." Now Merlin snaps his head back to the Queen, whose smile widens at the motion. "Oh yes, it really is his. I have found his scratches in one of the drawers of his desk months after his death. He never showed them to me, I doubt he was ever going to, but that's how I know for sure that he was seriously thinking about the matter of magic."
Merlin looks back at the tapestry completely shocked, and he can't help feeling that the flames are starting to dance gently around the sleeping phoenix baby. He licks his lips and pictures Arthur bending over his desk, making hasty doodles about whatever comes to his mind while thinking of magic… maybe even as Merlin stands only a short few feet away from him. The mental image makes his heart throb and ache with the desire to be by Arthur's side again so much that he has to swallow a couple of times to get rid of the lumpy feeling in his throat.
He doesn't notice Gwen approaching until the woman stands right in front of him and takes his hands one more time.
"Merlin, I know it is terribly hard for you what I am going to ask, but I need to know. Please, would you tell me about how my husband died? I have been living with doubts and what-ifs for as long as I became Queen Regent. I want to learn about his death so I can finally put my grief and regrets behind and look only into the future. He would want that, too."
Merlin lowers his head and does not look at Gwen until he is sure that his pain won't show in his eyes. "Yes," he says then in a soft almost-whisper, "I tell you about his death."
And he does that. They sit down at the table next to each other, and they hold hands for the whole time while Merlin speaks. He feels her fingers trembling in his palm, and he knows that he's not doing much better, either; that he draws just as much courage from Gwen to be able to speak as she does from him to be able to listen. He knows that she's hurting the same way Merlin himself does.
Merlin leaves out nothing, not even those little details which he never bothered sharing with his mother. He talks about how he felt, about how Arthur looked, about how gentle the grass and black the night was – and he can see that Gwen is grateful for the details. She doesn't seem affronted by the fact that Arthur never even mentioned her during his last days; she just drinks in the long wanted words and by the time Merlin finishes, small streaks of newly-shed tears are shining brilliantly on her cheeks.
Merlin blinks, and hastily rubs at his own wet eyelids. He finds himself in Gwen's arms in no time, and he hugs the frail women back earnestly.
"Thank you," says the Queen quietly, and Merlin can do nothing but nod. "Thank you."
Arthur's presence lingers heavily in the air around them, and they share the warm embrace for as long as they both find their much needed solace in each other.
It is late night by the time Merlin returns to Gaius. The old man is sleeping soundly, so he does his best to approach his old room without raising any noise. He sees Marco sleeping in a bed near Gaius', and Merlin can't help but feel pleased that his mentor's new protégé has probably never stepped into his room.
It's sad and joyful and nostalgic all at once to lie down on his old bed again and watch the familiar creaks on the ceiling. For a moment, he lets himself think about what would have happened if he came back here sooner… but after a few minutes of daydreaming he realizes that he wouldn't have been happy here. He still half expects to hear Arthur's irritated 'MERLIN!' shout at any moment, and it's enough to have his chest tighten. He can make it through here for a few weeks, maybe even a bit longer, but he will never be able to live inside the castle once again. Not without Arthur. Never without Arthur.
Merlin sighs as he closes his eyes. The last thing that comes to his mind before dozing off is the sad thought that the next time he leaves this place – this home – it will be because death takes away someone deeply dear to him again.
It is a long wait and at the same time, a terribly short one. One and a half months after Merlin arrives at Camelot, Gaius silently passes away.
The warlock had been aware of where this was going ever since he first dreamt of Gaius' illness in Caerleon but the actual event still comes to him as a shock. When the sobbing Marco informs him one evening that Gaius will not make it through the night, Merlin turns rigid in his chair and he needs Leon to get him out of the room where they were talking because Merlin wouldn't be able to move on his own. His body refuses to do what he wants, but when he sits down beside his beloved mentor's deathbed, all the shock and terror leave his mind. Merlin is calm and collected during the whole night: he smiles while he pets Gaius' hand, and he even cracks a few terrible jokes which leave the old man laughing and coughing at the same time. When Gaius finally closes his eyes for the last time, there is a smile on his lips and a peaceful expression on his face.
Merlin doesn't move an inch from him for the rest of the night. He watches over the dead man until the sun breaks, and even when the others come to him at the morning, he insists on being present while they prepare Gaius' body for the funeral.
They bury Gaius at the side of the citadel, near to where the marvel memorial of King Arthur towers above the other headstones. Merlin is standing right behind the Queen (a place which is traditionally held by those who were closest to the deceased), a few steps before Marco. The warlock glances at Arthur's monument only for once, and then turns his attention back to Gaius' resting place. Nearly every habitant of Camelot comes to the funeral since they all knew Gaius in one way or another; the physician never denied anything from those who needed his help, a fact which is known to everyone in the town. People keep bringing flowers to the parted as a way of showing their gratitude and respect, and Merlin can smell the sweet scent of spring in the air all through the ceremony.
When Geoffrey of Monmouth closes the huge book he was reading from as a sign of the funeral ending, Merlin breathes a long sigh, and turns his back to the new grave. He hasn't shed any tears today, he just feels extremely worn-out and empty.
The feeling intensifies when he goes back to the chambers he shared with his almost-father for a near decade. Every corner, every phial, every scratch on the dining table bring thousands of memories back forth in him, and Merlin feels suffocated in the rooms which up till that point had been always cosy and familiar to him.
It is the final sign – the final sign that he must leave. Within the castle, this room, he can't even breathe.
He asks for audience in front of the Queen that afternoon, and it doesn't surprise him that from the look of the people around the court, everyone was expecting this. They knew that he came especially for Gaius, and it certainly doesn't take a genius to realize the extent of his stay.
Gwen's eyes are still a bit red, and she examines Merlin with a sad yet calm look on her face. "You aren't going to change your mind and stay no matter what I say, are you?"
Merlin hasn't even said anything, but seems like there is no need to. He shakes his head slowly. "I'm sorry."
"No. Don't be sorry. I understand." Gwen steps in front of the man and gives him a final, tight hug. "But never forget that you will always have a home within these walls, Merlin. You are always welcome."
"I know." Merlin wishes he could say more, wishes he could make her understand just how very grateful he is. But he can't do it, not with him being this empty. "Thank you, my lady."
"Gwen," the Queen corrects him half laughing, half crying.
Merlin shares her trembling laugh. "Gwen."
When the warlock leaves Gwen's chambers, he runs into the Advisor in Magical Affairs in one of the upper corridors. The druid halts when he sees Merlin; he looks at the warlock intensely before bowing his head so deep that his back nearly bends into half. "My lord Emrys."
"Iseldir," Merlin says with a slight bow of his own. He's met with Iseldir a couple of times during his stay at the castle, but they never had anything more than a couple of small talks. Merlin hopes this will be no different, either.
But then for the first time, he notices the phoenix emblem that is embroidered to the druid's chest in brilliant colours, and can't help feeling touched when his mind immediately drifts to Arthur with pride and longing.
"I understand you are departing this afternoon," Iseldir says in a humble voice. "I am sad that we cannot enjoy your presence for any longer."
"I'm leaving in an hour, actually." He tries to make his voice light, but he knows from Iseldir's face that he doesn't succeed. "The Queen doesn't need me here, but I need to go on travelling around the world. I have to broaden my horizon so that I can be of use when the time comes for Arthur to…" Merlin stops himself and bites at his lip, but Iseldir doesn't seem the least bit surprised.
"I know that your role in shaping this land is far from being over. There is more ahead of you, Emrys, a lot more than you could possibly have any way of knowing… But be rest assured that your efforts and sacrifices will all pay off eventually. Just make it sure never to lose yourself along the way."
Merlin frowns and opens his mouth, but the druid advisor holds his hand up.
"It was a privilege to know you, my lord. May the gods grant you the strength to be able to bear what Fate has designed for you, and may you find your way in life wherever she guides you." With a last bow to Merlin's direction, Iseldir hurries away and disappears in one corner of the corridor, leaving a dumbfounded sorcerer in his wake.
Merlin visits his two remaining friends among the knights.
He finds Percival in the gallery, sitting and speaking to the nervously fidgeting Marco. They seem relaxed around each other and neither of them notices the approaching Merlin who slows his steps.
"… doubt yourself. Gaius believed in you, just like everyone else in the castle does," Percival is saying quietly. "You are ready; you have been for a long time."
"I don't feel ready. Master had so much knowledge! There was nothing he didn't know at least a few things about. I on the other hand…" Marco shakes his head and worries his lower lip. "People will come to me for help from now on, and I'm not sure that I won't fail them."
"You won't, Marco," Percival says firmly. "You've met Merlin, right? Seen how great and strong he is, how everyone looks at him and bows instinctively? Well, not so long ago he was a meek young man just like you are – but he learnt that he can't hide his talent and must always do what he does best. Now everyone looks up to him. You, too, should do what you are best at. Heal people, and people will love and respect you in return."
Merlin draws back to the shadows of the archway, and tactically makes the decision to wait a few moments before revealing himself. His face feels warm, and he does everything he can to make it cool down. He hasn't felt this embarrassed in a while. He never even noticed what Percival was saying, that people think of him with such awe. People do that at other kingdoms, true – but this is Camelot.
When he finally steps out under the archway and heads for the men, Merlin makes it as noisy as he can so Percival and Marco notices him right away. The younger man blushes instantly a deep red shade but Percival doesn't bat an eyelid. "Merlin," he greets him with a smile.
The warlock doesn't beat around the bushes. "I came to say farewell."
The knight's smile fades, but he doesn't seem surprised. "Yes, we all thought that you would leave after…" He breaks off, and Merlin is grateful to him for not saying it out aloud. It's a fresh wound that is still aching. "Where will you go?"
"I'm not sure," he answers honestly. "I've spent the last years wandering around the kingdoms. I've already explored Essetir, Powys and Caerleon… I'm thinking of traveling to Elmet now, maybe Northumbria."
"That's wonderful. You'll know Albion better than your palm. Maybe you can come back later and help the good old Geoffrey make a new map of the land." Percival laughs, but when Merlin's face twitches and his eyes lower, the grin disappears from the knight's face. "Hey…"
"I want to learn," Merlin says quickly, breaking off Percival. "I want to learn about languages, about history, about cultures. I want to develop my skills so that I can be of help to those needing it and I… I also want to cross the ocean. See what the world beyond Albion is like."
The unsaid "I won't be coming back here, not now, not ever. I'm sorry" hangs in the air above them maddening and heavy but to Merlin's relief, none of the men address it. It's not that he doesn't like it here but he doesn't belong here anymore. He has always belonged by Arthur's side and now that he is nowhere to be found, Merlin keeps wandering around – like a bird that has lost its home and now cannot settle down anywhere for long.
He may be welcome here, but Camelot will never be his home again. What could he even do? Be a Court Sorcerer and serve the Queen? Merlin loves Gwen, but she will never be his Queen. The only ruler Merlin will ever serve is Arthur and Arthur alone.
Percival only shares one glance with Marco before giving a reassuring smile to Merlin.
"I wish you luck in whatever you do, my friend," he says finally. He clasps the warlock's hand and shakes it tightly.
"And I wish the same for you," Merlin says, and then slowly turns his eyes to Marco, "and for you, too. Gaius was the wisest man I've ever met, so if he chose you, he had a good reason for it. Follow his steps but find you own path, and you will have nothing to worry about."
Marco flushes but smiles back at Merlin, and the two shake hands.
Leon squeezes his shoulder so hard that Merlin thinks he'll have bruises on it for days. Nevertheless, he returns the knight's grin earnestly.
"You are a wonder, Merlin, a right wonder," he says upon finally releasing the sorcerer's abused shoulder. "I remember the lanky boy who threw himself in front of a dagger to protect a prince whom he'd despised back in those days… and now look at that boy! I bet you never thought about where that act will put you nearly fifteen years from then on?"
"You can imagine."
They talk short, and when a servant comes to them and informs Merlin that his horse is ready, Leon grabs Merlin's hand and clutches it hard. "Fare well, old friend."
"You, too." The warlock looks intensely into Leon's eyes and adds, "And take care of her, too. She needs you."
The knight doesn't have to ask who he is talking about. "I always take it to my heart to see to her well-being," he states. "My fellow knights and I are always by her side. She is not alone."
"I know. But she needs more than a loyal subject, more than a fierce protector. You are her friend – and more…"
"I–" Leon looks flustered; an expression Merlin has never before seen on his friend's face. "I don't…"
"I'm not saying. Just… take good care of her."
They stare at each other in silence for a long minute before Leon bows his head before stating in a strong voice: "I will."
"Good."
When Merlin stands on the courtyard of the castle for the last time, he looks up at the enormous building to where the Queen stands on the balcony with her guards, and feels peaceful. It wasn't wrong of him not coming back sooner but he was right to do it now. He could bid farewell to the life he had here with ease in his heart, and for the first time in years, Merlin feels content.
He holds his long staff up and then stabs it to the ground, which starts rumbling in response. Merlin's eyes turn gold as he starts murmuring, to which shining magical circles begins to flash through the earth, the yard, the citadel. For a moment, all what people can see is a blinding flash of brilliant light – and by the time the magic fades away, Merlin is nowhere to be seen.
Let earth be fertile, let people be strong in soul, let the citadel stand tall for years to come – let this land flourish!
The warlock rides away from the kingdom of Camelot, and never looks back.
Iseldir's parting words come back to Merlin for the first time five years later, at a little village bordering the kingdom of Gododdin. Merlin (after demonstrating a little bit of convenient magic) gets to spend some nights at the village leader's home, where a hazel-haired daughter takes a quick shining to him. Merlin coughs and clears his throat, and tries his best to ignore the meaningful glances he receives from the girl across the fire, but he can't refuse talking with her unless he wants to anger the leader. Nevertheless, he focuses his attention on the wonderful smell of meat that comes from the direction of the kitchen, so when the girl gasps loudly, it takes him a couple of minutes to work out that the reason of her shock is something he said.
"I'm… Sorry, what's the matter?"
"Your age," she says with wide eyes. Oh, yes, she was asking about how old Merlin was. "You can't possibly be nearing forty; you hardly look older then my brother, and he's in his late twenties!"
"Er…" Merlin blinks. People often told him he looked younger than what his age suggested, but he has never received such a shocked response before. Well, truth to be told, his age didn't come up often during the last few years. "I guess I'm fortunate?"
The girl shakes her head, beautiful hair flying everywhere. "No, that's not just fortunate. You could easily deny ten years and nobody would suspect a thing!" Suddenly, her face lights up and she grins at Merlin knowingly. "Oh, I figured it out. You put a glamour on yourself, right? Or you actually have a spell which stops you from aging? How are you doing it? Can you do it for me, too? I'd…"
"Whoa, hey, stop!" Merlin says quickly. All of a sudden, he feels distressed and puzzled, and he wants nothing more than to get out of here, even if he has to spend the night out in the storm. "I didn't put any spell on myself to change my look. I never do." Except when he turns himself into an old man, but that's just different. And he hasn't even done that since the war.
The girl fortunately leaves it at that, and spends the rest of the evening eyeing Merlin meaningfully.
Merlin however cannot seem to forget her words. Why would she think that he makes himself look younger by magic? Does he really look that young? The following day he searches frantically for a mirror and when he finds one, he stares at it for what feels like hours.
God, he hadn't taken a good look at himself for ages – since he left Camelot for the first time, to be precise. He never really cared. But now he has to admit that he doesn't look a day older from what he remembers.
That's when Iseldir's words are starting to come back to him.
This little incident starts a whole new series of uncomfortable events for Merlin. Whenever someone comments on his looks, instead of shrugging lightly Merlin stiffens nervously every time. He feels sick around mirrors (and no, he's not afraid of glimpsing his face like the what-was-his-name guy from the market said to him one time; he just doesn't feel comfortable around those items anymore), and he does his best to avoid his age coming up in conversations. He knows that something is wrong, he can feel it, but he's not ready to dig into the matter. Weeks fly by, then months and years, too, and one day Merlin abruptly realizes that he's well past forty-five.
An emotion fills him which he hasn't experienced in years: fear. He's afraid of what this means, about why age seemingly ignores touching him, but he knows that he has to find answers, and he has to find them soon. He thinks of going back to Ealdor, to his mother… he hasn't seen Hunith for six or seven years now, after all. But if he goes back, she will see that Merlin still hasn't aged physically from when he was twenty-eight, and that will scare her just as much as it scares Merlin.
The desire to call for Kilgharrah has never been this strong since that fateful day at the kingdom of Camelot. The dragon would know what is happening to Merlin. Yes, he would speak rubbish in riddles, but he would know. But he is gone, and because he is gone, Merlin is left with nobody to turn to.
Your role in shaping of this land is far from being over, is what Iseldir said to him. There is more ahead of you, Emrys, a lot more that you could possibly have a way of knowing. It's funny – ridiculous, even – that Merlin can quote those words like he's just heard them yesterday, but it's as if they are a spell: he can never forget them.
There are nights when the answer forms in his head on its own and Merlin can almost say it out loud, but he stops himself by biting at his tongue every time. There's no way that the answer is THAT… And even if it is, Merlin definitely does not want to know about it.
When his fiftieth birthday comes and passes, Merlin stops telling people the truth. If someone asks him about his age, he shrugs and tells them that he's thirty.
As the time goes by, he starts to feel tired in this young body. He does something then which he never did since the time of Camelot: he transforms himself into his old form. He realizes that it is much easier to be an old man. Everyone looks at him kinder, no one pays that much attention to him. He feels the troubles of his age like this, and for once, he's grateful for that.
Merlin has been staying in a small town of Rheged for nearly ten years now. He's fluent in the Cumbric language, and spends his days telling tales and stories to the children at the marketplace. Children love him, just like the grown-ups do. He cracks jokes and does small charms like summoning butterflies and making tiny rainbows to keep the children laughing.
One day a girl named Taira steps in front of him. "My grandmother died," she says nonchalantly.
Merlin is surprised at the little girl's indifferent tone. He knits his brows and says, "I'm sorry."
"I'm not," Taira answers slowly. "I didn't like her. She slapped me often." Merlin is not sure what should he say to this, but he doesn't have to open his mouth after all because the child keeps on talking. "But I like you, master Merlin. You're nice and funny."
"That's… Well, thank you," Merlin says, perplexed. "You're a very nice girl too, Taira."
"But you must be around the age of my grandmother," the girl continues without batting an eyelid. "You look very old. Will you die, too?"
Merlin feels like as if he was slapped. He struggles with keeping his face straight, his voice light. "Everyone dies someday, Taira. You have to accept that."
"I don't want you to die." Her lower lip trembles, and she looks terribly sad. Merlin doesn't have the heart to tell her that he's almost at the point where he wishes he'd die. Instead, he strokes the lovely brown curls and flashes a reassuring smile at the girl.
"Don't be afraid, little one. I think I'll still be around for a while."
Oh, how he wishes that it would be a lie.
When he declares himself too old to be alive without raising suspicion, Merlin reverts back to his young form and leaves Rheged under the favour of the night. He rides and rides for days without even thinking about where he is going, and when he opens his eyes one day, he's right at the border of Ealdor.
The village is much smaller now, with hardly any people left living there – and none of those that are still around know him. Merlin poses as his own son and tells the leader that he wishes to visit the old house where a woman named Hunith once lived.
He does not expect the man to correct him saying 'why, Hunith still lives there' – he really doesn't, so Merlin is at loss to understand why the man saying nothing like that cuts into him like a knife.
The house is all ruined and dusty; Merlin can't even step inside without the need to cough. The leader tells him that they're tearing it down in a month. Since fewer and fewer families live in the village, they haven't needed the ground of the house up till now, but they're going over it now. Merlin says he doesn't mind. It's not like he could say anything else.
The man points him to where Hunith was buried, and so Merlin spends the rest of the afternoon sitting in front of her cold grave. He feels terrible for not being here for her – hell, he was there for Gaius! He takes comfort only in the thought that his mother would've not minded it. Passing away would have been even more painful for her had she known that Merlin is doomed to stay in this world for… well, he still doesn't know for exactly how long. Some days he thinks he's better off not knowing.
He leaves Ealdor at dawn next morning and rides into the heart of Essetir. He spends a few years there as a common farmer, managing a quiet life and building up the courage to visit the place that enters his dreams all the more often as time wears on – Avalon.
The return to the Lake of Avalon is anything but easy. He almost turns back at some points, but the closer he gets to there, the harder it pulls at his heart. He almost feels like as if he's heading to a meeting with an old friend, and knowing what lies there behind the ever-blue of the lake, Merlin thinks he might just be doing right that.
When he gets there, even the air smells different. He takes a deep breath and takes in the sight of the faraway island.
Merlin can't move his legs for his life. He stands there, rigid, with his heart beating like crazy and his blood drumming loudly in his ears. After what feels like hours, he finally walks to the shore, sits down and relaxes.
"Well, Arthur… here I am." The breathy whisper of his voice surprises even Merlin. He clears his throat. "But for why, I don't know. It's not as if you're coming back before long, from the look of it. Sometimes, I think I was just part of a joke which I took far too seriously."
The mirror-like surface of the water is smooth and calm, the heavy mist surrounds the Isle like a protecting blanket. Merlin tries to see past it, maybe getting a glimpse of a blond man standing on the opposite shore… but who is he kidding, there's nothing there, nothing at all.
Merlin swallows hard, and shifts to sit cross-legged on the cool grass.
"You have been gone so long," he continues quietly. Some parts of him feel silly for talking to a lake which is obviously not responding to him, but it makes Merlin feel better, and he takes comfort in believing that Arthur maybe really can hear him somewhere. "It feels like it all happened a lifetime ago. Gods, it did happen a lifetime ago."
"I'm old, and I think every one of our friends have passed away by now. The last time I heard about Camelot, it was dying. I'm not sure how many more years the kingdom will stand, but I know that I cannot protect it; I cannot will it to keep on standing. One of these days, Camelot will fall for good, and then your land will be gone. And with it, I'll be gone too."
Merlin breathes a long sigh, and glazes at the gleaming lake absently. There is a light breeze in the air which caresses his face as though it was a soft hand, and Merlin leans into it with his eyes closed.
"I'm staying around for some time, but soon I will leave. It doesn't look like I'm dying any time soon, so I guess I have to find something to do with myself. But don't worry about me, I'll manage. Just keep on sitting there, my lord, and be busy resting your royal arse." Merlin almost laughs out at that, but reverting back to their old bantering is not nearly as much fun as it was when Merlin was still getting some kind of response.
He builds a big fire, makes a simple doss for himself with magic, and spends the night by the lake. Next morning, he turns back to the Isle and whispers a few parting words before leaving.
When Camelot falls, Merlin feels it. He's far, far away from the once glorious kingdom, but he has no doubts as to where the heart-wrenching feeling in his chest comes from. It only lasts for a second, but the realization of what that means takes a few minutes to sink in.
Once it does, Merlin's face turns sorrowful. He grieves the place which he used to call his home, and he grieves all what went away arm-in-arm with it.
Doubt and fear take root in his mind after that, feelings which he finds endlessly terrifying. After all, if Arthur did not rise again when his kingdom needed him the most, just when will he do?
And what if he won't rise at all…?
Merlin pushes the thoughts away. There's no use of thinking like this. Kilgharrah had never lied to him – so if he said that Arthur will come back at some time, Merlin has to keep on believing.
If not for anything else, simply because there is nothing else he can do.
