Disclaimers: Not mine, but BBC's
A/N: SPOILERS, SPOILERS, SPOILERS! Those of you who do not want to know anything of future episodes, stop NOW!
For those of you who already know or don't care about ep. 13, this is what my ficlet is based on: the enigmatic words by the BBC that has been released about episode 4x13 so far: Only Merlin can restore his (Arthur's, ed.) faith, and only an extraordinary act can prove to the King that he was born to rule.
Well, this is my take on how the scene might run.
An extraordinary act
It was one of those days. Nay, it was worse than one of those days. The King would sit in a corner, brooding, the life extinct in his henceforth so alive crystal blue eyes. King Arthur was a broken man and there was nothing Merlin could do to liven him up. He had lost his kingdom, squandered his father's inheritance, let down his people, been beaten by a bitter tyrant with magic powers. It was the end.
The young lanky man who so faithfully followed him as his squire slumped down and leaned against the hard, cold, humid wall in the cave they had sought refuge in. His long, bony hand that irregular or non-existent meals had made even bonier was run through his raven hair, somewhat longer than it had been in the old days compliments to the men's involuntary exile. A deep sigh escaped his throat as he fixed a troubled set of dark blue eyes on his master and friend. Arthur Pendragon, the king fabled to become the Once and Future King of Albion, was in deep crisis.
Merlin felt it in his bones; the King had lost hope. All hope. Lost faith that Camelot would ever be retaken, his people ever be rescued from the cruel vengeance of the bitter witch.
In so many ways, Merlin thought with regret, this only strengthened Arthur's somewhat one-sided view on magic being the root of all evil. The food Merlin so arduously had gathered and prepared stood untouched in front of the blonde man, who concentrated on one thing and one thing only: How to wrap his legs and arms closer to his body in the futile attempt to disappear into the rock wall.
Merlin winced, his heart bleeding for this great man, who had so much potential, but who was about to lose everything.
If he did not get a grip.
If he did not find and use his last reserves.
If he did not realise that the one last option open to him...
… sat there right in front of him.
"Arthur," the warlock said gently. The King stirred, but did not react otherwise.
"Arthur, you really need to eat. If you don't eat, you'll just lose all your strength and fade away."
A shrug.
"What's the point?" came the broken voice. Right now, Merlin realised in panic, he looks exactly like his father when he broke down.
"The point is to remain strong so that you can fight back! We will conquer back Camelot! I know we will!"
Merlin spoke passionately, stirringly. But it had no effect.
"There is nothing left," said the lifeless voice, completely devoid of fire or zest – or anything, "we have tried everything. Morgana is too strong. She has magic and no qualms of using it."
The fair king drew his legs even tighter to his chest. He had been like this, defeatist for months. But this was a new low. The final low.
Merlin bit his lips. Unbeknownst to the king, they had magic too. Yet, would it break Arthur's last will to live if he discovered that his best friend and servant had it too?
Eventually, the troubled royal fell asleep. His head nodded to connect with his chest and pressed his chin against the worn and ragged chain mail. A soft snoring made it through his nostrils, making them flare uneasily. The sound was somehow calming and within a few minutes, Merlin slept too.
A sense of dread and foreboding woke up the sorcerer with a start. Blinking, he sat up and instantly saw what had alerted him: Arthur had cut his wrist and the blood was flowing freely from the wound.
"NO!" he wailed, getting to his feet impressively fast and throwing himself at the defeated man opposite him. Already weak from blood loss, Arthur bashed ineffectively at him like a wild kitten as the manservant wrapped his own neckerchief round the gash, successfully stopping the blood.
"You will not die, Arthur Pendragon," Merlin cried, "I forbid it!"
"Merlin," the young king sighed, his head lulling, "everything is lost. Don't you understand?"
His young serving boy put his arms round the bulkier man and forced him down on the cave floor, making sure that his legs were elevated. This would make the blood flow to where it was needed: his head. After a few minutes, Arthur blinked, looking considerably more aware than he had before.
"Are you clear in your head now?" Merlin asked, his voice firm and unforgiven. Arthur nodded. "Then listen to me. Under no circumstances will I let you choose the coward's way out of this."
Arthur blinked even harder, his expression now somewhat miffed at Merlin's choice of words, "Hang on .. it is the knight's honourable ..."
"Don't give me that crap," Merlin interrupted him mercilessly, "it is cowardly, regardless of traditions and senseless rules. Instead, you should get a frigging grip and find a way to fight back – and have Morgana thrown off that throne of yours."
Eyes confused, mouth half open in distress and bewilderment.
"But … we have tried everything."
"Begging your pardon, Sire, but we have not," Merlin said, letting his friend go now that he saw the colour returning to the king's smooth face. As he moved aside to let the royal up, he discreetly kicked away the dagger that Arthur had used for suicide weapon. His long sword, fortunately, was over by the other wall.
Feeling awfully light headed, Arthur moved to sit by the wall again, looking at his servant with wonder at the new side of Merlin. His curiosity was mildly aroused.
"What do you mean? What haven't we tried?"
"Magic."
Arthur hissed. The word had come like a whiplash in his face. "Do not talk to me of magic," he snarled.
"It is the only way to beat Morgana."
Arthur said nothing and Merlin approached him, his expression like steel.
"You know it is. You said it yourself: We have tried everything. Everything but magic. So Arthur, this is the moment of truth: Do you hate magic so much that you would rather leave Camelot and her people subjected to Morgana's atrocities than use the one weapon you know can destroy her?"
Arthur was huffing now, every sinew in him screaming in protest against the hated means that Merlin was throwing in his face.
"That is not a fair question..."
"There is no fair or unfair here, Arthur Pendragon. There is only how."
Merlin paused, letting his words sink in, very much aware that this was now or never.
Then Arthur's tense shoulders fell, his eyes lost their panicky shine and he said: "The question is academic at best, Merlin. We do not have magic anyway."
This was it! Merlin felt it in every fibre of his being, in every molecule of the air. It would be now. Or not to come ever. Feeling the ambience of history in the cave quiver with intensity, he reached out his hand.
"I beg to differ," he whispered, his voice almost breaking with emotion. Arthur stared at him, mouth open and eyes wide open, about to ask the obvious question when it happened.
A flame popped up in Merlin's hand, its source unseen. Arthur emitted a small gasp. Then he chuckled. And then his smile faltered and tears came to his eyes.
Merlin closed his hand, but let the flame hover between them both.
"We have the power to beat her, Arthur. You just give the word – and I'll make sure she'll regret the day she took Camelot."
The beginning look of betrayal in Arthur's eyes changed quickly into one of hope – and then back to confusion. And then back to hope.
Merlin let out of tiny sigh of relief, tears glittering in the corners of his eyes.
"All I have ever wanted was to keep you alive and help you save Camelot. How could I do that if you sent me to the gallows?" Merlin said in a low voice, thus explaining why he hadn't told his king about his powers before, "I will always be your friend, Arthur Pendragon, and I will always be there for you. If you let me."
Merlin stopped talking and sat back. He had done his best. His powers were finally out in the open and it was now up to Destiny to decide. Hadn't it always been?
In front of him sat the young king, looking intently at his friend, not saying a peep.
Finally, after ten minutes of complete silence, Arthur leaned forward and said:
"Can I see that again?"
THE END
LOL – how did you like that? Verisimilitude okay?