Disclaimer: "Merlin" is the BBC's, as far as it goes.
Between the Veil
'When the time is right the truth will be known. Until then you must keep your talents hidden. It's better for everyone.'
The smoke from Will's funeral pyre stings her eyes, sends false tears dripping from her lashes. She's grateful. She wishes that she could feel the expected, true sadness, not this numb joy. Merlin stands beside her, his head bowed. He feels the sadness, she knows. But she can only rejoice that her son's secret is safe.
She feels like a harp set deep in a cave, the strings so tightly strung that the slightest breath of wind coaxes a murmur of music.
She doesn't regret it, doesn't wish it had never happened. If she weeps into her pillow during the grey stillness between sleeping and waking, it is not over the night that the man – that the being in a man's body – visited her. She closes her eyes, remembering the fiery passion of that night, the magic burning in the man's hands as he touched her. The shifting gold of his eyes, the shadow-dark hair falling long and sleek over his shoulders like the mane of a wild beast. And in the morning when she awoke, nothing but a rumpled pillow beside her.
No, she doesn't regret it.
The rest of the mourners have turned away, leaving only the two of them beside the blazing pyre. She touches Merlin's arm. 'You'd better be going.'
He stares at the flames, the smoke wreathing away into the damp air. 'I don't have to go.'
'Yes, you do.'
He finally looks at her. 'If anything were to happen to you–'
'I know where to find you.' She takes his hands. 'You have to go, Merlin. You belong at Arthur's side.' She smiles. Her son. She can feel the wild, fey power burning inside him – his father's power. It is as though she sees him with two different pairs of eyes. The eyes inside her mind see his potential, his greatness. He is untamed, unconfined by the laws that bind men. He stands with a foot in this world and a foot in the world beyond the veil. He rides magic like a bird on the wind; he is Merlin the King Maker, Merlin the Prophet, Merlin the Enchanter. Some part of her soul remembers that tempest of a night and whispers a name from the other side.
Myrddin.
Then she blinks and sees him with the eyes inside her head: a bony young man with a serious face and ears that stick out at the sides. She wants to see his smile, impish and innocent at the same time.
Something trembles inside her and she feels true tears rise up at the back of her throat. When the time is right, the truth will be known. Until then… until then everyone must keep their secrets.
The bit about the harp is from Mary Stewart's books. "Myrddin" is the Welsh form of Merlin.
