Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, Les Miserables, or the song "Bring Him Home," or any events, characters, or settings belonging to them. All rights belong to their respective creators.
For the record, I would have been content for this fic to linger as a mere idea and never get written, if it weren't for 1917farmgirl and her story Those Left Behind. This is all her fault. (Seriously, though, go read Those Left Behind; you'll cry no matter what fandom you're in.)
Bring Him Home
"God on high, hear my prayer
(In my need you have always been there):
He is young, he's afraid—
Let him rest,
Heaven blessed.
"Bring him home, bring him home.
Bring him home.
"He's like the son I might have known,
If God had granted me a son.
The summers die, one by one,
How soon they fly on and on—
And I am old, and will be gone.
"Bring him peace, bring him joy:
He is young, he is only a boy.
You can take, you can give—
Let him be, let him live.
If I die, let me die:
Let him live.
"Bring him home,
Bring him home.
"Bring him home."
-"Bring Him Home," from Les Miserables
Gaius really hadn't expected everything that had come with taking Merlin in. He hadn't expected him to have such a great destiny, nor one so entwined with the younger Pendragon's. Hadn't expected him to be so reckless and impetuous and so, so self-sacrificing. Hadn't expected someone so kind and compassionate, and hadn't expected a boy with that big of a heart to worry that he was a monster or some kind of mistake. Hadn't expected the boy to bear so many terrible burdens at such a young age. And he hadn't expected to love him so much that he felt each of Merlin's pains more keenly than his own, that his heart squeezed in sorrow for his boy daily and near stopped altogether at the mere thought of losing him.
He hadn't expected the boy to become the most precious thing in the world to him.
It broke his old heart that that precious boy—that wonderful, selfless, caring boy—was in danger of dying every day for the crime of being born. Because among all those wonderful traits that his dear boy possessed was nestled magic. Because magic was thought to be evil and Merlin—Merlin—would be thought the same if anybody ever discovered him.
And it made Gaius so afraid: every time Merlin left their shared chambers, he was gripped with an unrelenting fear so strong that so many mornings he wanted nothing more than to call his boy back and lock him away in that back room where he would be safe and nothing could ever hurt him. Some days, he overrode that urge with logic, but still other days—more often than not, if he were honest—the only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that the boy was so stubbornly determined to take care of everybody else that being hindered from doing so would only hurt him more than anything. (And if he knew his boy at all, it would be a hindrance only; it wouldn't stop him and would therefore cause him unnecessary hurt.)
He'd never tell his boy, but loving Merlin was the hardest and most painful thing he'd ever done.
He would tell him that it was the most worthwhile, though, and that Merlin was the best thing to ever happen to him.
And he would continue to pray fervently to any god he could think of, from any religion, for his boy. For him to be safe, and happy; to not have to be afraid; to have peace; to have so much more than what he did, and all that he deserved.
Over the years, those prayers for his boy had grown as he saw needs.
Within his first week in Camelot, Merlin had managed to cross paths with then-Prince Arthur twice, and both times had ended less than well for Merlin. But as he'd tended to the boy's wounds in that little back room, Merlin hadn't blamed Arthur, hadn't protested his own innocence, had instead asked Gaius if he was a monster. This boy who'd stood up to the prince he had every right to fear in defense of a servant, who'd laughed along with the children who pelted him with rotten vegetables in the stocks, who'd already shown himself to be compassionate and forgiving both to a fault and so special—this boy was afraid of what he was, what he might be. And Gaius had mourned in his heart that day, that one so young should already learn to hate and fear something inside of himself, something that was such a part of who he was; even as he hastened to correct the boy, to assure him that he was in no way a monster because of his magic, he was already sending a prayer heavenward that the boy would listen to him and believe what he was saying.
From that day, he prayed that the boy would find some rest from this internal torment; prayed that he would not have to fear himself as well as those around him. And he prayed, as he knew Hunith did, that the boy would find some purpose for his gifts, something worthwhile that he could give himself to, something that could give him the sense of home he had never truly had elsewhere.
And Merlin did.
Merlin found a home and a purpose in Arthur, in Camelot, in Gaius. Even while Gaius continued to worry and pray each day, his boy grew more comfortable with himself, more confident in his abilities and his destiny, more settled. He had good friends and a life he'd built for himself and he became the son Gaius had never had and had never known he needed.
But Gaius was growing older and a new worry added to his prayers for his boy: that someday all too soon, Gaius would be gone and his boy would be left alone in Camelot with the terrible burden of his secret. He would have his friends still, yes, but Gaius alone knew how much Merlin's secret weighed on the boy, how difficult it was for him not to be able to tell his friends; and a part of Gaius worried that that might never change.
So Gaius prayed all the more fervently for the peace Merlin believed Arthur would bring them, not just for the sake magical people or Camelot, though of course he cared for them, but for Merlin's sake. He prayed that the revelation of Merlin's magic when it came wouldn't destroy his relationships with the people who meant so much to him. He prayed—as he always had—that Merlin would know the peace and happiness of true and open friendship and an honest life, but now he added that his boy would be able to experience this while he was still young, before Gaius had to leave him without the little echo of it all that they'd been living in since Merlin had come to Camelot. He prayed that Destiny, who had taken so much from his boy already at such a young age, would give him this much at least: that she would let him be once his and Arthur's destinies were fulfilled and magic was once more free; that she would let him live, as he had never truly done since he'd first displayed magic as an infant, a full and free life.
He wanted so much for his boy: freedom and peace and joy, and he prayed for those things constantly. But some days it was all he could do to pray that his boy would just live. Because as much as he wanted those other things for his boy, that was the most important one: that he live. That he would come home safe from whatever mess he and Arthur had gotten into. That he wouldn't be executed for his magic or something else. That he wouldn't trip down a flight of stairs and break his neck in a random accident.
Some days he couldn't think as far as a peaceful, happy future, or even a present with less suffering, but just that his boy keep breathing.
He would give anything for his boy to live. Even his own life, should it come to that.
Gaius would be the first to admit that he had lived most of his life as a coward, only helping others to escape the Purge when he could do so without danger for himself, never openly standing up for anything that might cause him trouble, letting things that had turned his stomach happen for the sake of his own safety. But for Merlin he'd given in to the Aredian the Witchfinder and confessed to sorcery. For Merlin, he'd faced torture at the hands of the Catha and lasted longer than most.
For Merlin, he would do anything, regardless of personal cost; the safety of his boy was worth it a thousand times over.
So no matter what happened in their crazy lives, no matter what other things he might wish for his boy, his first and last prayer of every day would always be the same: bring him home.
And as he sat at the table in his too quiet chambers, looking at the cold bowl of Merlin's favorite stew and wondering where his boy was tonight, he sent that old, well-rehearsed prayer heavenward once more: bring him home.
Whether Arthur still lived or not, regardless of who knew he had magic, despite the losses his boy had faced too recently and how his heart was drawn continually to the shores of the lake of Avalon where he had last seen his king, whatever else his boy faced: bring him home.
I feel it necessary to add another disclaimer now that you've read it: I don't dislike Gaius in any way; the above disparaging remarks on his character are entirely his thoughts, though I can't say they're entirely wrong.
I have this head-canon that Merlin came back to Camelot after Camlann, but found it increasingly difficult to stay away from Avalon, so this is where that's set.
Thanks for reading through to the end! As always, reviews and critiques are much appreciated as I am always looking to improve; if flames exist, please let me know.
Have a magical day!
M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng