Well it would seem that I am about to embark on something rather ambitious. This story, to be comprised of many chapters, may well have been conceived in a triumph of optimism over experience (the number on unfinished stories to my name is a somewhat damning testament) but I shall persevere!
This story also marks my first foray into writing for the Merlin section of this website which features a truly impressive range of talent. I hope my own contribution will be well received.
In short this is a post-Series 5 story in line with series canon. While I think we all agree the writers could have done a few things better *cough* Morgana's death *cough*. I accept their overall vision and so shall do nothing to overtly tamper with the events seen on screen. The story will be Merlin and Morgana centric and it is my intention, in what will be a somewhat alien experience for me, for the story to eventually result in Mergana. But that is ways off yet so who knows what I'll do to the story by then!
For now though, sing, o Muse, of the sorrow of Merlin as he sits by Lake Avalon…
In the end Merlin wasn't sure how long he waited. It could have been a few minutes or it could have been days for all he knew. Not that that would have mattered. He'd waited years for his destiny to be fulfilled, concealed his gifts from those around him and waited for the time when he could be honest with Arthur, his master and best friend. That time had come at last but had left nothing but sorrow and emptiness behind it. Arthur knew Merlin had magic, that much was true, but now he was gone. Killed by Mordred at the climax of a prophecy Merlin had tried to so hard to counter. There was a glimmer of hope to Arthur's demise though as Arthur would now sleep on Avalon until his wounds were healed so that in Albion's darkest hour he could rise again in glory. For Merlin though this was of little comfort as Arthur's departure had left an emptiness in his life that Merlin had no idea how to cope with or to fill.
Merlin had an insane hope that Arthur's death was in fact Albion's darkest hour and so he waited on the grassy banks of the mist shrouded lake for the little boat he'd pushed Arthur out in to return to the shore. Arthur would no doubt berate Merlin for setting him adrift in a boat with no oars before they would go back to Camelot. Life could then run its happy course: Arthur would rule Camelot during a Golden Age with Gwen and Merlin's at undying support. Arthur and Gwen would go on to have children, Merlin might find someone too (as much as Arthur would scoff at the unlikelihood) and they could all grow old together. Arthur might even legalise magic now that he knew all about Merlin's gifts and everything the secret sorcerer had done for Camelot. It was a dream for an impossible world but Merlin would have given anything to have so much as a taste of that denied utopia.
Aside from his best friend's death, the worst part of the tragic events which had engulfed them all was that it wasn't supposed to have been this way. From his very first meeting with the Great Dragon, Kilgharrah, in that dark and lonely cave beneath Camelot, Merlin had been assured that his destiny was to protect Arthur until their destiny was fulfilled: magic restored to the land and Arthur the king of a unified Albion in what would be an unrivalled Golden Age. Merlin, not for the first time, contemplated the honesty of the dragon's promises. While he would always consider Kilgharrah a dear ally and friend, Merlin's faith in the ancient creature's prophecies had been forever eroded. Merlin had, in general, obeyed every command Kilgharrah had given him and where had his obedience lead him? Merlin would never know what would have happened if he'd tried to forge his own path but so much might have been different. Arthur, Morgana, Mordred; the names swam in his mind mocking him with their snuffed out lives that "destiny" had toyed with and destroyed.
"Was it destiny or the dragon?" Merlin bitterly wondered. He'd never know. When he'd said farewell to Kilgharrah there had been an unspoken pact between them that this would be the last time they'd see each other. The old dragon was dying and Merlin had no desire sully the end of the majestic creature's life by reopening old wounds and inflicting new ones. Confronting the dragon wouldn't achieve anything anyway as what had been done could not now be undone.
Merlin's life was already so full of regrets and, as he sat by Lake Avalon watching the sun climb into the sky, he began to look back. Somehow his thoughts always drew him back to that night in Camelot when Morgana had burst into Gaius's chambers, terrified and isolated in her well-founded fear that she had magic. It all seemed so distant and remote; many lifetimes gone by. It felt like something that had happened to a pair of strangers that Merlin had just happened to inadvertently witness. But the guilt and regret stirred up by merely the memory of that night was so very real. Merlin had had the chance then to reach out to Morgana, tell her about his own magic and try to ease her pain and loneliness. If Morgana had known about Merlin's magic she might not have turned on Camelot and joined Morgause knowing she had someone in Camelot to be there for her and share in her sufferings. Merlin could have protected her; taught her how to use her gifts for good and ultimately been the person she'd so desperately needed him to be that night. Instead though, Merlin had kept quiet. His lips stoppered by the dragon's words which played in his head over and over, like a bad minstrel who only knows one song, about the danger Morgana would one day pose Arthur. While Merlin had let Kilgharrah's incessant warnings burrow into his subconscious, Merlin was now convinced that the ancient dragon had been mistaken. Not telling Morgana about his magic had ironically helped to cement her as a threat to Arthur. So many lives had been lost on account of this particular mistake, not least Morgana and Arthur's.
That was far from the only role Merlin had had in Morgana's fall into darkness though. He'd poisoned her after all. Poisoned her because the dragon had told him what to do and Merlin, like any good servant, had done just that; he had killed his friend. The memory would never leave him. Morgana's accusing eyes had filled with terror and askance as she desperately fought for every ragged breath; each desperate gasp more frantic and laboured than the last. Merlin had held her then, held her so close and wept. Morgana had struggled against his embrace at first but in the end the hatred she must have felt at being held by her murderer was swept away by that most primal fear of dying alone. Maybe Merlin hadn't had a choice but then it was so easy to think that way when you hadn't even considered the alternatives.
Then, just a matter of hours ago, Merlin had killed Morgana again. He wondered if the fact he'd looked into her eyes this time made it easier for both of them but he doubted it. He'd seen the same terror consume her all over again as the imposing persona of the last High Priestess melted away leaving behind the same scared, young woman he had poisoned. This time though Merlin had killed her with far less remorse, his face masked with grim purpose. Morgana's green eyes, awash with pain, regret and dread had met his stoical blue ones and Merlin had not so much as flinched. What did that say about the person he'd become? He remembered the almost nonchalant way he'd informed Morgana of the power of his dragon forged blade, all while she gasped in agony as said blade pierced her body.
Merlin had killed her to save Arthur and knew that, in the end, his struggle with Morgana could have only ended with one of them dead. But it still felt so hollow and unnecessary. Where was Merlin's promise of "another way" that he had offered Morgana back in the vaults of Camelot when her treachery had first become apparent during King Cenred's assault on Camelot? When Morgana had been unmoved by his words, Merlin had accepted Morgana's seemingly predetermined role in his life as his nemesis, "the darkness to your light, the hatred to your love," as the Great Dragon had so poetically intoned, and abandoned all attempts to win her round. Merlin was sickened with the realisation of just how easily he had given up on his friend.
Eventually, motivated by the need to do something other than continue to wallow in the misery that had wrapped itself around him like a shroud, Merlin stood up from where he had been gazing out at Avalon. The flattened patch of grass where he had been sitting would be the only testament to the goodbye that had taken place here and in time that too would fade. Merlin tearfully bid farewell to the best friend he'd ever have and left Arthur to his slumber. All Merlin could do now was hope that if Arthur did rise again he'd still be around to see his return.
Arthur could sleep in tranquil peace now but for Merlin, the day's heartache was still not over. He had another friend to bid farewell to. Despite all the evil she had done, Merlin knew Morgana was entitled to a proper burial. Merlin would take her body to be buried next to her father. Not Uther of course. For one, burying Camelot's most hated enemy in its hallowed crypts would be seen as utterly abhorrent and secondly because Merlin knew Morgana would have hated the thought of resting for all eternity next to a man she'd vehemently hated and eventually helped to kill. Instead, Merlin resolved to bury his fallen friend next to Gorlois, the man who to her dying day Morgana had loved with all her heart and wished, against all reason, that he had been her true father.
Merlin wondered what might have been if Gorlois hadn't died when Morgana was young. If she'd discovered her magic in his care and not Uther's would she have found it easier to come to terms with her gifts? Merlin had never known Gorlois but from the wistful affection in Morgana's voice whenever she had spoken of him Merlin knew the two of them had been so very close. Surely he'd have been there for his daughter when she needed him irrespective of his loyalty to Uther. Ultimately such wonderings were meaningless. Gorlois had died long before Merlin had even come to Camelot and the young warlock felt selfishly relieved that that at least was an aspect of Morgana's fall he was utterly guiltless in.
Even after her death though, it seemed as if destiny was finding new ways to keep Merlin from Morgana. It was strange really; he'd gotten so used to opposing and thwarting her schemes that he could almost consider himself an expert on the matter but now, when he was trying to do something for her, he found himself unable to succeed. Maybe their destined opposition endured beyond the mortal coil for while Merlin searched all throughout the woods around Lake Avalon he could not locate where he had slain Morgana. The woods swarmed around him, seeming darker and more impenetrable than ever before as if they sought to obstruct Merlin in a cruel jape. Merlin cursed himself for failing to leave some sort of magical reminder for Morgana's resting place. An easily cast homing ward could have led him right back to where their final confrontation had occurred but, in his desperation to get the dying Arthur to Avalon, Merlin had not paused even to do that. He had barely said goodbye to her and now he knew he would never be able to. Merlin searched in vain and eventually, as the sun set for the first time on a world without Arthur, Merlin abandoned his search and began to make the long and lonely journey back to Camelot.
Thanks for reading. Reviews are always appreciated.