Title: Enough
Rating: T
Spoilers: Only for season two
Disclaimer: Merlin is the property of BBC/Shine.
Summary: Scene extender for Ep. 208: Sins of the Father with some indirect (but important) references to Ep. 207: The Witchfinder
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One day after the meeting with Morgause in the wood, Arthur called for his servant. Outside the window of his chambers a pale sun faltered in the sky. Night was nearing.
Merlin, usually a mixture of bantering humor and clumsy tangles of movement, crept into the room quietly.
"Saddle my horse."
"Should I also-
"I'm going alone. Not that far. Do it now Merlin."
As he heard his servant's boots beat across the floor with clear intent, not their sometimes wandering or belligerent scuffle, Arthur turned. "And Merlin, thank you again. Morgause tried to trap me into her false vision. But now I know the truth. That was not-
The words hitched painfully. "Not my mother. It was just—evil magic."
Arthur returned his attention to the window, not catching his servant's look of wry pain and loneliness. As Merlin headed down the castle steps and walked out to the stables, he kept watch. Only when he saw his servant come out of the stables with his favored horse in tow, did Arthur move from the window.
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Many moments later Arthur came to a small pond of crystal blue-green water. It was bordered by shining brown and storming gray pebbles. Arthur gentled the horse to a stop and dismounted. The smoky brown stallion went to graze on the tall fields of grass as the prince headed to the pond's pebbled edge. The ride had been short, the pond less than a mile away from Camelot's gates.
The last time he had come here was when he was a child, wanting to run away. It was a silly boyish decision brought on because his father wouldn't allow him to join a hunting jaunt with his mates. Bandit presence was heavy in the wood then and with the prince so young there were many who would want to hurt him to exact revenge upon the king. Arthur had been youthfully oblivious to the danger, simply desiring to participate in the hunt.
That hot afternoon he fled to this very spot, making up grand plans in his immature mind. And then Sir Ector came, Sir Leon's father. Arthur had no choice but to return to Camelot; never again did he attempt to run away. His father's lecture made him feel ashamed. King Uther told him that as prince he had great duty but also grand privilege. It was foolish of him to forget that and if he ever tried to run away again Uther promised he'd spend a night in the cells. It was perhaps harsh intended punishment for a child, but what was even more damaging for Arthur was his father's stern look and voice of disappointment.
Now as an adult, another damaging moment was plaguing Arthur, brought on by Morgause's fake vision. He came too close to killing the king, his father. Even though Uther Pendragon was a very hard man to understand at times, Arthur respected and loved him. To what degree that love was returned, he wasn't always certain because Uther Pendragon was not a man of physical affection or emotion. It didn't matter. He was his father, and it was wrong to want to end his life. It was wrong for Morgause to try to trick him.
As Arthur gazed into the water his eyes burned with emotion that sought, but found no release. The king would forgive him and he'd be there in the morning. He'd be there the next day. And the next. But his mother? All he had of her was that vision Morgause showed him, and that wasn't even real.
Arthur's life was constantly in motion. Deep in his heart he ached to have no mother, but time was rarely granted to think about her. There was no reason to, not without any physical mementos. His father never talked about her without Arthur asking, and even then the king always kept it very generalized. He loved her more than any woman. She was exceptionally beautiful and kind. Now, about the northern borders…
The subject regularly was avoided before it could get too personal. It wasn't any wonder that none of her possessions were left.
Arthur started out life so innocently that it wasn't until he grew of age to make concrete realizations, he noticed how the other scribes and even his short lasting servant boys had a set of parents, had a mother who would kiss their cheek and fix them lunch. That was when he would figure out for the first time that something wasn't quite right. Something, someone, from his life was missing.
Even though Morgause created an illusion of his mother, one that sought to make him fatally betray his father, Arthur had felt less empty when that vision appeared. To feel her sweet arms and to hear her soft voice, to look into her kind eyes, it was a miraculous wonder.
It just wasn't real. Her hug was a façade, her eyes a mere dream, and her voice wrapping around him so kindly was all just whipped up spells and hexes that he foolishly fell for.
Something hot, wet, tickled his cheek now. It burned his skin, slid downward, falling off his chin. It's why he came here, because in the castle there were too many watching eyes. He had a role to fulfill there that allowed no weakness. As a boy Arthur learned quickly how to keep it all in check. It made him now have a strong negative attitude about tears. His servant sometimes weakly had them and he would sometimes tease him that he was a girl, but Merlin didn't seem to see tears the way Arthur did. Merlin grew up differently, with a mother who probably allowed them and comforted him. Arthur knew his life was very contrary to that. Grand expectation for him meant he would always have to display strength, no personal pain. Not having a mother meant he never had someone to tell him it was okay…
To cry.
It was the tears that were so alien, so foreign to his mind. They had so much heat, so much weight from being pushed back for so many days, so many years at a time. It hurt to have her there and now have her gone. It hurt so deeply in his soul because even without ever knowing her, he loved her. And he wished now, wished so hard he could see her, the real her, even if for just a few moments.
Perhaps she wouldn't have had to die, if it wasn't for his existence now. His mother died after his birth, as if it was her life for his. That act, no matter its intentionality, affected him. Arthur regularly protected those in his care. He looked out for Merlin because first and foremost it was his duty, but yes on the side, because he actually liked Merlin. He was a decent servant and a fine person, if a bit weak, almost hapless in a battle, and definitely clumsy. He saved Guinevere because he loved her and because it didn't matter she was a servant. Her life was valuable. All lives Arthur believed were of worth. When the curse started after he foolishly killed the unicorn, he ached at seeing his people, the people of Camelot who he loved dearly, suffering.
Perhaps the fiercely protective instinct was all because his mother lost her life to have him, and he didn't want any more lives to be lost because of him, because he didn't do enough. Now, if he could save her, he would. If he could bring her back, he wouldn't hesitate for a moment, no matter how perilous the journey, no matter if the sacrifice was his.
Morgause gave him a memory, but of all the gifts he had received in his life gratefully, hers he wanted to thrust away. Because it was a lie. He was no closer to his mother now than before. Beyond tiny generalized aspects, she remained a mystery.
A rustle in the brush cut through Arthur's thoughts.
Always aware of his surroundings, he heard it clearly. Eyes alert, he spied a shuffle of movement in the bushes. It made him wipe away the tears furiously and hold at the hilt of his sword. It could just be a Camelot resident, on some type of errand, and if it was he'd make clear that he'd like to be left alone. But it was also possible it was a threat.
The bush parted way entirely and as someone stepped through it, Arthur relaxed slightly, moving his hand away from his sword's hilt. He took in the lavender dress and midnight curls, flowers strung through them. As her expression bordered between curiosity and care, he felt his bottom lip tremble. Sometimes her piercing, but giving looks overwhelmed him.
"My Lord?"
A long ragged sigh drained out from his mouth. The hot wetness hadn't been totally wiped from his face. He could feel it remain stubbornly there.
"Arthur?"
She spoke his name without any titles, perhaps the one his mother chose first. Maybe she spoke it when he was born, before she breathed her last.
His emotions felt like they were being sunk under weights of shame and pain. Dropping his head, he tried to resist, especially in the company of another. It was wrong, disgraceful. That's what he had been taught, that kings do not cry around their subjects and so princes shouldn't either. She was more than a subject though, the woman watching him now. Her eyes were so kind, so gentle and giving like his mother's had been. They broke down the barriers and walls. They dug into and underneath the weights locking in his emotions.
It was like how soil reacted to a heavy rain shower, the punishing water causing it to crack and muddy. That was how Arthur's control over his emotions felt. Trying to fight the muck, he couldn't stop the sobs from quaking out. Like the ground splitting apart under a storming rainy deluge, his strength trembled underneath the fighting tears.
He felt it, her touch, tentative at first, because of his status maybe, because of their not always side by side history. The tentativeness soon fled and her arms encircled him entirely, rocking him softly into her calm soothing. Words came out of her mouth that he only half heard, feeling more her embrace than what she said. He dimly recalled that she probably understood his pain in some ways very well. It wasn't so long ago that her father was executed for magical crimes that he never committed. The man had been innocent, unfairly judged and sentenced by his father.
As she generously worked to soothe him, Arthur clutched the material of Guinevere's dress, twisting it into his shaking fingers. Her hands circled over his back warmly as through blurry wet eyes he watched the ripples that cut through the pond's peace every few seconds. Long moments passed before he felt her stir. Arthur sat up straight as they parted, still a bit uncomfortable with his weakened display, so used to clenching his emotions inside. He attempted to push away his tears, but her voice stilled him.
"It's alright." She said it with equal care and firmness, not allowing him to feel any sort of awkwardness for such a human action and response. Gently her fingers lifted away the tears, but did not scrape at them furiously like he had wanted to.
His eyes must have turned questioning, because she faced him now, revealing what she learned. "Merlin told me. Not all of it, just that Morgause showed you a false vision of –your mother. That it made you upset." She faltered a bit. "I wish, I don't know, that I could have been there. Maybe, help you somehow."
"You're here now."
She smiled softly.
Arthur noticed interestingly now how the curls surrounding her face were the polar opposite of his mother's ivory golden ones. These were almost as black as midnight. The kindness though, the deep sense of caring, that had the same weight.
"I'm so tired of this." He whispered hoarsely, feeling Guinevere's soft hand brush across his knee, stay there supportively.
"I'm tired of missing my mother."
He rarely had time to think about it, but underneath it lurked. He missed her. He missed not getting to know, to feel, the mother that he never met.
"I've rarely heard you speak of her."
"I know so little. My father says little. I don't have anything of her. No pictures. No clothing. No parchments. No jewelry. No tokens. No memories.
Nothing."
His lips trembled, pain melding into anger. Against his knees Arthur's hands fisted. The only peace they found was the way her hands stayed over them, rubbing circles that massaged away some of the tension. "I hate Morgause for doing this. For trying to turn me against my own father. For showing me something that wasn't real. She deceived me into believing that was my mother. And it hurts because - - I wanted it to be her. She hugged me Guinevere. My mother hugged me. I never felt her arms before. It was so warm like the sun shining on a cold autumn day and - -I-I could smell her. She smelled like the Brambles in the wood."
His voice kept hitching, the lie Morgause showed him slapping his heart viciously. "I miss her, but she was never really there."
The wood was quiet, only slight rustles of the tree branches affected by the wind overhead. But then Arthur felt Guinevere's soft hand clutch his as she countered his words. "Don't say it wasn't real. Perhaps it was, in your heart. I have dreams about my father. Those are real to me. I can still feel his presence sometimes, inside me, in my heart."
Arthur shook his head, lifting it slightly. The guilt edged at him, what he allowed that day, as he caught now the sliding pain in her voice. She was wrong though, wrong about his mother. "No. You knew your father. What Morgause showed me, that was fake."
Guinevere was not letting go so easily, insisting as she touched her heart and then his for a quick moment before shyly bringing it away. "It was in your heart Arthur. No matter what sorcery Morgause used, deep inside you know the truth. That your mother loved you. She would only want good for you. That she was as beautiful as you envisioned her to be. That's not fake."
"You're saying that it wasn't a lie?" Arthur asked the question shakily, not knowing anymore with certainty where reality lived.
He watched her softly shake her head, felt her hands caress his cheeks. "What Morgause showed you, that was her cruel deception. But what you feel of your mother in your heart Arthur, that is real."
Love. So much of it was in Guinevere's eyes now. And so much pain. For both of them. Arthur moved up over the grass, suddenly deciding it was time to make up for it. There was no way to reverse what he did, or did not do then. There was no way he could ever fully make amends. He just needed her to hear. He held strongly at her hands, cleared his hoarse voice.
"I should have done more. Your father - -
Her expression lost its strength. Her lips trembled. Arthur protectively held her cheeks, soothing the reddening skin. She was faltering under his reminder, but he couldn't just allow her to comfort him and not return it. "He was an innocent man."
She nodded her head, saying nothing, but he could tell it pushed her far. Caringly Arthur wrapped his arms around her like she had done for him. Painfully he whispered, feeling her body's slight tremor. "I can't ask for your forgiveness. But you should know. I'm sorry Guinevere."
He felt her hold him as tightly, taking in from his support now. He had reminded her of a terrible time, but he also finally said what she deserved and needed to hear.
He was still deeply tired and hurt by the events of yesterday, but he had her comfort now. And she hopefully felt his. This pain, loss of the mother he never even really knew, it wouldn't fully leave. It would always live there, lurking beneath the duty and the bravado. Just now he knew that his heart wasn't lying to him. Morgause had no control over that. His mother, he had one little piece of her.
And that piece he got back,
From the woman who he now tenderly held in his arms. Needing.
As much as perhaps she needed him.
The pain's weight would never fully dissolve, but now with Guinevere, a living soul that his heart beat strongly for, it was lessened.
That was something.
For the moment,
Enough.
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Hope to be back with more stories: auction fics, continuations of multi parters soon. The inspiration drive has fully kicked in! Blame it on LJ's downtime and the promo, can't wait for season 4!