Merlin/Magnus fanfiction

Merlin walked slowly along the lake's shore, taking in the surroundings he knew so well. How could he not? He'd spent hours here every day for over a hundred years. In his time, he had seen Camelot's golden age, all too brief, come to an end with the deaths of Arthur and his queen Guinevere.

Arthur.

After Camlann he hadn't wanted to go back to Camelot. Initially, he thought he'd never again see the sand coloured walls and castle which had been his home for so long. He passed an agonising six months in solitude and a black depression, barely surviving and not particularly caring if he did or didn't.

And then those months came to an end. Merlin could remember perfectly the way Avalon had looked, shrouded in mists, that final day before his return to Camelot. He had nothing to fear regarding his once hidden talents, Gwen had lifted the ban on magic almost immediately after Arthur's death. More importantly, she had welcomed Merlin with open arms. He could see that she was still grieving for Arthur, yet she never pushed him to talk, even when he broke down sobbing like a child that first night back. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. But at least this time, Merlin had a friend who understood. After months on his own, friendships, even old ones, seemed impossible to comprehend. Gwen made it seem not so, and Merlin was reminded of why he had come back.

When she had died, there was no one left to remember with. Gaius and Hunith were many years dead, Leon and Percival had both passed on some time beforehand in border skirmishes.

So, when Queen Guinevere was buried, Merlin vowed that not only would he not forget his friends, or his enemies, but that the world wouldn't either. He travelled back to Avalon, built a two-bedroom cottage in the woods (he was always ready to help a needy traveller) and commenced writing down the adventures, battles and relationships he and his friends (for they had all been that once, with the exception, maybe, of Uther) had known.

It was shortly after publication that Merlin was walking on this particular day, which happened to be the 200th anniversary of the Battle of Camlann, though no one alive would know it but himself. Once again he had had to resort to hiding his magic, the over pious warlords who succeeded Gwen had branded it evil and ungodly, the frivolous work of a queen without a king. And it was dying out. There were now very few executions, in part because of the fear people had of their rulers, but primarily because there were simply none with a strong enough gift to use it. Occasionally this grieved Merlin, generally he was glad enough that fewer people were in danger. He found that he cared less than he might have in Uther's day, his magic had all been for Arthur and until the Once and Future King returned, he would use it very sparingly unless he found another valid cause.

Merlin was just pondering this when the sound of muffled crying broke into his thoughts. He knew it well enough. Looking up sharply from where he stood watching the silvery ripples of the lake, he scanned the area. He was about to dismiss it as his mind playing tricks on him, when he spotted a small boy of about ten huddled, shivering and soaked on the opposite shore. Merlin began walking quickly around towards him, breaking into a jog. He came to a halt just behind the boy, who peered up at him with dark suspicious eyes.

"What's wrong?" Merlin asked him anxiously. "Are you hurt? Here," Not giving the boy a chance to reply, he pulled off his worn brown jacket and draped it across his thin shoulders, sitting down next to him.

"No." He shook his head fiercely, dragging one hand across his eyes. "I'm fine." He made to hand Merlin's coat back to him, but Merlin pushed his hand down. "No," he said. "You keep it, you're freezing. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to jump into a lake in winter?" he concluded, elbowing the boy and trying to lighten his tone.

The child stared at him, not sure whether he was joking or not. Merlin turned his head to face the lake.

"I'm lost. That's all."

"Oh, well I can help you then! I know the area well." Merlin jumped up with some of the enthusiasm he had had when he was the age he still looked. "Where's your home?"

But instead of looking gleeful, the little boy's face dulled. Merlin paused and after a moment's silence asked tentatively, "Don't you have a home to go to?"

"I did."

"Where are your parents?"

The boy hesitated before saying. "They don't want me."

"I can't imagine that."

"They don't." he insisted angrily. "Anyway, they're dead."

Merlin didn't push him.

"It's my fault." The child continued after a moment. "It's my fault."

"No."

"It is. My mother-" tears had begun to flow freely down his face though this time he made no move to stop them. "My mother couldn't handle what I am. What that meant she'd done. And Father, no he's not Father now, he never was, he hated me for what I'd done to her. He called me not human, he tried-" he broke off with a little sob. Unable to continue, he pointed at the lake.

Merlin sat listening, too shocked to speak. What could this child have done to merit such a punishment, even from the strictest of parents? Uther, certainly had been over-harsh, locking Morgana in the dungeons briefly, and rarely acknowledging Arthur's achievements, but his children had known that he loved them.

Well Arthur had known. Morgana had lost sight of it, and sometimes Merlin wondered if he really begrudged her it. Surely he had played his own part in her destiny. He should have helped her when he'd had the chance.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. This was all long past, and this child needed his help now. Not sensing Merlin's wandering mind, the boy continued to talk.

"She was just hanging there in the barn." He whispered, speaking of his mother. "The priests said that she would go to hell for dying at her own hand. I don't want her to go to hell. Will she?" He looked up at Merlin through his black hair which was hanging in his eyes.

"No." he assured him quickly.

"My father was a demon. That was why she did it. It's why I am the way I am. That's why Father tried to drown me. He said I was-I'm not a monster, am I?"

Merlin put his arm around the boy.

"Don't ever think that."

"Maybe I am. Monsters kill people. I killed my father. Not my real father. I don't think you can kill demons. But I didn't mean to. I was frightened and angry and confused and it just happened. One moment there was Father, and the next he was just smoke. Smoke and ashes."

Merlin froze. So this child was magic, a warlock like himself. He had heard, in recent years, of cases like this, magical children born to one human parent and one demon. This, he thought to himself bitterly, This is what my work, and Kilgharrah's and Gwen's has come to. Magic born by corrupt means. Children not protected by their parents, as I was by Mother, but feared by them, even to this point. He felt a cold anger, with the recent Kings, with himself, for not doing something sooner. Well, with any luck, the views on magic in his stories could have an effect on people's thinking, and he could start here, now, with this child. Do what he felt he should have done with Morgana. What he had tried to do with Freya, before she died too young. He vowed silently to himself that this boy, in his care now, would never be ashamed of or afraid of himself and his gifts again.

Very slowly, so as not to frighten the boy, Merlin put out one hand and allowed vivid colours to spiral out gently against the misty sky. His new ward watched, fascinated.

"You're- you're-"

"Yes." Merlin confirmed. "What's your name?"

"Magnus."

"Well Magnus," Merlin smiled. "I'm Merlin. And I'm going to look after you now."

So from that day forward, Merlin had another use for his magic. He continued to go down to the lake every day and wait and watch once he had set Magnus some task or another that would teach him to control his magic. And Magnus had a home, and more than that, a family.

It was also because of Merlin that Magnus had an instinctive trust for people with black hair and blue eyes.