Fill In the Blanks Series: I Am Prepared to Pay Whatever Price is Necessary ("The Darkest Hour 1 & 2")
A/N – Another one, although there's much more 'filling in' this time – hope I haven't overstepped. I wrote this to help me make sense of Arthur's re/action in "Lancelot du Lac" because I'm still wrestling with that one despite series 4's happy Arwen ending. I must admit that in re-watching Gwen and Lancelot clips, I did not fully appreciate their bond (this, from an Arwen shipper), maybe that's why this ends as it does. Merlin, the series, belongs to Shine. The real magic of the show belongs to Colin, Bradley, Angel and Katie (and Santiago, among others) and they share it with us in every episode. Thank you for reading – hope you enjoy.
"I am prepared to pay whatever price is necessary."
"I know what you want."
"Do you? And are you willing to let me have it?"
"I am prepared to pay whatever price is necessary."
But he didn't did he?
Arthur's conscience was a battlefield of anger, guilt and self-loathing. He had promised to save Camelot, forfeit his life, but in the end, he was foiled and had failed. And in his stead, Lancelot had strode forward and done the thing he was not able to do, and by Merlin's account, had done so willingly – unarmed, arms outstretched, as he walked into the hellish abyss.
Lancelot had been prepared to pay whatever price was necessary. And then he did.
Lancelot had proven himself to be the better man.
And Gwen…
When he had ridden into the square with the Knights after returning from the Isle of the Blessed, she had dashed down the stairs, the anxiety on her face melting into unrestrained joy and relief when their eyes finally met. Before he had finished dismounting, Arthur felt her tight embrace, heard her tearfully whisper, "I feared the worst, I feared I had lost you". He had burrowed his face into her hair, inhaling her scent, planting a subtle kiss on her neck, before pulling away, unable to share in her joy, knowing it was to be short-lived.
"Arthur, what is it?" Gwen had asked, her hand going up to caress his cheek. Her eyes darted back and forth as she gazed into his, trying to discover why he was so reserved, before they widened in alarm.
"Please tell me you are not hurt?" She immediately pushed herself back at arms' length, her eyes roaming his body for a sign of injury.
Arthur had looked at Merlin then, and for a moment the friends held each other's gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. Grimacing slightly, Merlin had lowered his eyes, and shoulders down began walking towards the castle steps. The other knights, taking this as a sign, had began to disperse as well.
Gwen lowered her hands to her side, and after a few furtive glances at the actions around her, rested her sights on Arthur once more.
"Arthur…" A question.
"Guinevere, there's something I must tell you –"
"Where's Sir Lancelot?"
A dog barked in the distance.
Arthur averted his gaze, not quite ready to deliver news he knew would hurt her. The sun was shining brightly, and suddenly he had become aware of how hot and heavy his armour was. Taking a deep breath, he finally raised his eyes to meet hers. "He's gone, Gwen. Lancelot is dead."
Her eyes brimmed with tears. "Dead?"
Arthur gently placed his hands on her shoulders.
"Gone?" she had said, still disbelieving.
Arthur could only nod. He pulled her towards him, then, one hand around her waist, the other at the back of her head.
"Oh…" she said. Gwen let out a breath she did not realise she was holding. "No," she had whispered, as her body begin to tremble.
. - = + = - . - = + = - . - = + = - . - = + = - . - = + = - . - = + = - . - = + = - .
While it went without saying that a tribute had to be held to honour Lancelot, and that Arthur was the one to preside over it, the details were all uncertain. Lancelot had no family to stand for him, as they had been killed by bandits long ago. The Knights were his brothers, and Merlin the closest he had to family.
And then there was Gwen.
Arthur was sure of her feelings for him, and knew that she loved him and had, despite what he had said to Merlin so long ago, chosen to wait for him. But he would be a fool not to realise that Lancelot's death had affected Gwen. While she had gone about her duties the next day as usual, and exchanged the usual pleasantries with those about her, Arthur could plainly see that the light behind her eyes had dimmed – she was in mourning, yes, but something else was happening.
This only added to his own inner turmoil. He felt he had come up short, had come up lacking, and as guilty as he felt for feeling it, deep down he resented that once again, it was Lancelot who had acted most nobly, done the right thing, proven himself most honourable. Gwen's obvious despair about his death was not unexpected, but it hurt Arthur as well. Yet whenever he allowed his conscience to give voice to those deep feelings of resentment and yes, jealousy, he was filled with such an overpowering sense of self-loathing that he had to squeeze his eyes shut to make it go away.
Looking out his window, he watched the funeral pyre being constructed in the square. Red capes milled about, mixing with the less vibrant clothing of the citizenry. Even though the actual ceremony was only for noble and honoured guests, it was apparent that Lancelot was beloved by all, and many were coming beforehand to be present, and to show their respect and thanks.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Arthur?" Merlin quietly inquired, interrupting Arthur's thoughts.
"Send me back in time," Arthur offered, without much mirth. A young maid was placing posies on a growing pile of flowers
Merlin said nothing. Arthur had no idea how fervently Merlin wished he could do the same. He made busy work of straightening the sheets on Arthur's bed. "How are you feeling?" he asked, tentatively.
Arthur sighed without turning. "How do you think I'm feeling, Merlin?"
"I don't know."
When he finally did turn to face him, Merlin saw that Arthur's face betrayed a mix of emotions.
"This isn't your fault, you know." Merlin guessed.
"Isn't it though?" Merlin saw he was right. "It was my responsibility and I failed."
"Failed to what? The dorocha are dispersed, the sundered veil is restored and Camelot and its people are safe once more. There is no failure in that, Arthur."
"Ah, but you forget, all of that is because of Lancelot, not me. And I failed to bring his home."
"He made his choice," Merlin countered in a low voice. "And we must respect the choices of men when they do the honourable thing."
"I know that, Merlin. I know that." Arthur looked out the window at the preparations once more. "We didn't even have a body to bring home. It would be pathetic if it wasn't so pitiful."
"You need to see Gwen."
"I can't look at her, Merlin."
"You can't look at her – why not?"
"Because I failed her too."
Merlin regarded him warily.
"She loved him…once".
"She loves you now, Arthur, everyone can see it."
Arthur turned, his fists clenched. "I know that!" He checked himself. "I know that."
"You need to talk to Gwen," Merlin insisted.
Arthur did not respond immediately. Instead, he walked over to his wardrobe and began taking out his ceremonial garb. "That will be all Merlin," he said dismissively. Merlin remained for a beat, then made his retreat. When he reached the door, he paused for a moment more.
"Thank you, Merlin. I mean that."
Merlin nodded before exiting, closing the door behind him.
. - = + = - . - = + = - . - = + = - . - = + = - . - = + = - . - = + = - . - = + = - .
Everyone hushed when the doors opened. Arthur closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then began the long walk to the front of the chamber. To his right, his Knights, to his left, assorted nobles. And at the end, closest to his right side when he would have to turn and face them all, Guinevere. As he walked, Arthur kept a solemn, almost stern face. He made a point to make eye contact with a few men as he made his way forward, at first some of his lesser Knights, then a nobleman whose name escaped him. But he could not look at those closest to him: the Knights who had journeyed with him; the woman whose love went with him as well. Reaching the front, he turned to face them. He knew it was important to show strength and certainty, so he cleared his voice, and spoke in a strong voice.
"I want to pay tribute to Sir Lancelot. We owe him a great debt."
The words, unrehearsed, flowed out him easily. He spoke of how he first met Lancelot. How his desire to serve overruled all else, even his regard for his own life. He spoke of his piety and loyalty, how he chose to leave Camelot, but promised to return if needed. Then he spoke of his sacrifice, how he willingly and bravely walked into the abyss, forfeiting his life to save them all.
It's not just his deed that we'll never forget – it's his courage, his compassion, his unselfish heart."
Arthur paused and closed his eyes. A series of moments played themselves out behind his closed lids – a battle with sticks, another with swords; night-time rescues and raids under the cover of darkness; a round table and sworn oath; a rise to a challenge, a promise fulfilled.
"He is the most noble knight I'll ever know. He gave his life or all of us."
Later, as they stood outside the pyre, all Knights in attendance for a final tribute, Arthur was struck by the inadequacy of it all. There wasn't even a body to honour. All he had left to place upon the pyre was his cape and sword – both left behind, Merlin said, when Lancelot walked unarmed into the veil. So it all came down to this – fire and steel. The cloak would be consumed, the wood burn itself to ash and all that would remain would be the remnants of the fire and the steel that, like Lancelot's honour, survives the crucible only to be stronger and more resilient. Gwen stood some distance behind them all. He had made it known that she had special dispensation to attend, but all knew she would have to keep her distance and remain outside this final circle of masculine eulogy.
It was if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for release and Arthur felt that this was the one thing he could give them, closure to this catharsis. Sensing Merlin approaching, Arthur reached out his hand to grasp the torch. Without pausing he cast the torch onto the pyre, setting it ablaze.
All remained for a while, and then there was an award moment when no one dared to move away first. Finally, Gwaine turned and nodded to Elyan and within a few moments, the square began to empty.
Gwen had been waiting the others to disperse so that she could draw nearer, and was relieved when they finally did. She loved Lancelot – once. It was a different kind of love than the one she had for Arthur, a greener, more breathless one that sparked and glimmered like a struck flint stone. When he had left her, leaving a message that they could not be, she was hurt in a way she had never felt before. It had hardened her a bit, made her more guarded of her feelings and her place.
Yet still.
She cared for Lancelot, deeply, and was filled with despair at his death – not because she felt that same passion once more, but because she was filled with a paralysing sense of regret and guilt. She owed Lancelot her life once before, and now she owed him her life once again because through his sacrifice, she still had her Arthur. She remembered his words from another time when he was willing to die for her: "Live for me, or everything that I am has been for nothing." Andwhen she had asked Lancelot to watch over Arthur, she knew he would, and when he promised to do so with his life, she believed that he would fight with him, for him, to the bitter end, if need be.
But this?
This was unfathomable. It was something for which she felt a heavy yet illogical responsibility. And the loss of her first love, combined with the unspoken, horrendous, guilt-ridden relief she felt that he had gone in Arthur's stead, were irreconcilable. She felt physically ill. Arthur had barely spoken to her since he told her Lancelot had died – it was Merlin who had filled in the details. She had wanted to go to him and soothe him – give comfort and care during a time she knew Arthur needed her. She could only guess at the guilt that he felt – a guilt born of his greatness as a leader and future king – that he had not been the one to offer his life. But she was unable to overcome her own sorrow, and had remained distant, aloof even. Now, the enormity of what she had a part in had overcome her.
She felt Arthur draw near and take her hand in his. They stood there for a while as the fire blazed, side by side, united in their obvious grief and unspoken contrition. Arthur's face beset with grim purpose, his jaw clenched, hers a mask of desolation, tears coursing down her cheeks.
"He didn't sacrifice himself for Camelot." Her voice was choked with tears. Arthur nodded knowingly. 'Because he sacrificed himself for me' Arthur thought.
"I asked him to look after you and he promised me with his life." It took a moment for the words to sink in. 'He sacrificed himself for me,' Arthur thought once more, 'for you.' Somehow their hands had become disjoined, and he was conscious of the loss of her touch.
Unable to hold back her tears any more, Gwen began to weep quietly. "He was true to his word." She bowed her head, her hand now on her stomach. With an anguished intake of breath, Gwen swallowed a sob, holding her breath to somehow maintain her composure.
Gwen's words were a revelation, serving only to further highlight the depth of Lancelot's feelings for her, and his fidelity to Arthur.
Giving placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, Arthur turned and left. Gwen needed time alone to work through her feelings. Arthur knew he needed time alone to wrestle with his.