Disclaimer: Merlin is property of the BBC. I don't own anything herein, nor am I making any money from this work.
A/N: First in the Miracles Trilogy (though yes, it could turn into its own universe easily), prequel to "Not Without a Miracle." Goes AU after Series 4. Bits lifted from 4x13, 4x01, and 3x02 (in that order). S5 compliant through 5x08.
MIRACLES IN THE MAKING
"You have magic!"
"I was born with it."
Realization changed the lines of Agravaine's face, tilting his expression into wonder."So it's you. You are Emrys . . ."
"That is what the druids call me."
"And you've been at Court, all this time. At Arthur's side." Agravaine's laugh was disbelief tinged with admiration. "Oh, how you've managed to deceive him. Ha! I am impressed."
Merlin met the traitor's eyes squarely.
"Maybe we're not so different after all," Arthur's uncle mused.
There was a moment, as Arthur pulled the sword from the stone, in which Merlin accepted that he would never be free from secrets.
You're Emrys.
The people would – should – put their faith in a golden king, a leader they could see before them, whose skills were tangible and proven. Not a sorcerer, shrouded in secrets, hiding in the shadows. Such an unknown could never earn their trust.
And I've betrayed Arthur's.
He was even keeping secrets from Gaius, now.
Merlin stood behind Arthur, as ever; unnoticed and mostly forgotten. The sun filtered through thick green leaves, dappling the clearing in shadows. Sir Leon's cheer, taken up by the people, rang strong in his ears.
"Long live the King! Long live the King! Long live the King!"
From the ground, one hand clamped tightly to a seeping wound, Morgana reached out."Help me, Emrys. Please . . ."
Merlin's pity for her had long since spent itself. This battle, with the dead all around them, was her desire and her doing. But he could not forget the woman who cared enough about him to fight for his village, and the words burst free in a voice as old as he felt. "Is this really what you wanted, Morgana?!"
Camlann was the end of so many things, Merlin could scarcely bear to number them.
Oh, Arthur . . .
His brother, his friend, his king – The blow struck by Mordred had been deep with hate, and ultimately mortal. Merlin had followed Arthur's floating bier until he was chest-deep in the lake; setting it aflame had broken his heart.
Freya had promised to keep him until the world called for its King once more. Merlin's only solace was that Arthur rested now, and felt no pain.
Gwaine was struck down, and Kay, though Percival yet clung to life. Of Leon there was no sign, and Galahad, bandaged and limping, was still searching the field for him.
The city was razed, and the citadel a broken shell. Gwen had held the people together until Arthur's wound had proven too much and Merlin was forced to spirit him away; with her husband forever lost to her, the people scattered and divided, and Morgana closing in, Gwen had fled for her life.
So it was that Camelot was brought to ruin, all for one woman's vengeance against a man long dead.
"I should have listened to you. I never should have trusted Morgana." The wound in his back throbbed.
Kilgarrah blinked golden eyes."You did what you felt was right; and that shows great courage. But trust is a double-edged sword."
Merlin took a deep breath. "I thought – because she has magic, I thought . . . we were the same."
"In some ways, you are." Great wings shifted, mantled upon the dragon's back.
Once upon a time, they might have been. But the past was only memory now. He shook his head firmly. "No. I will never be like her."
"You have learnt an important lesson, Merlin. Your determination to see goodness in people will be your undoing. But I fear that your futures are now joined forever. She is the darkness to your light, the hatred to your love."
"Tell me, Emrys. Why is it you hate me so?" Morgana, sleek and elegant and overflowing with menace as she trailed her hands along the crystals glowing in the center of the cave.
Merlin slowly moved closer, keeping his eyes locked on her form as he descended the rough-hewn stone steps. White crystals sang in the back of his mind, his magic twisting within him at the call. "I do not hate you, Morgana. I hate what you are trying to do."
Her laughter rang hard against the stone, bitterly incredulous. "I am trying to free us all!"
"You are trying to destroy the only hope we have for peace!"
Merlin reached the flat center of the cave in time for her to push away in fury from the winding path her feet had taken through the crystals.
"Peace!" Morgana spat. "The great and powerful Emrys thinks that a Pendragon can give us peace!"
This Pendragon certainly cannot. An image shifted behind smooth quartz at the corner of his eye. Merlin pushed it away. "Arthur can, and he will." It was a fight to keep his voice even through the tightness of unshed tears; a fight that Merlin won, but just barely. If his tone wavered, it was only due to age.
Morgana circled him, forced within an arm's length by the confines of the cave and jagged rising stalagmites. But he did not reach out, and neither did she; the gap between them was too wide for that. "Arthur is as good as dead, Emrys. Or did you not see him struck down on the field?"
Grief rose thick in Merlin's throat. He couldn't look at her – couldn't see the satisfaction on the face of a woman who had once been thrown into desperate panic at the very thoughts that she now relished. "Arthur is the Once and Future King," he murmured. At his words, pictures sparked in the crystals nearest him, spreading in a wave throughout the cavern.
She didn't notice, and victory coated her laugh. "Fancy words, and nothing more."
For all you See, Morgana, you are so very blind.
He must have spoken the words aloud or mind-to-mind, for her face twisted into a scowl. "Not as blind as a man who cannot accept that the King of Camelot is dead."
Morgana knew nothing of Avalon. No matter what happened here, Merlin intended to keep it that way.
"Nothing to say?" A smirk curled red lips; her face was cast into shadow by the weak sunlight filtering through the cave entrance at her back.
A load heavier than the borrowed years upon his shoulders weighed down Merlin's heart. "It is far too late for words." Too late for the people, too late for Gauis and Arthur and Gwen, for Gwaine and Leon and Percival, for Mary from the kitchens, little Hector in the stables, Safir the cobbler. Too late for Camelot.
Through the darkness of the cave, resolute blue eyes met implacable green.
In all her hatred, Morgana stood tall, holding the shreds of her dignity close. "Not quite. Folge min bebod!"
"Tæfle!" Merlin roared, hand snapping up.
Amidst the crashing rebound of colliding spells, a clarion chime was struck on the edge of Merlin's hearing. It rang through his blood, utterly undeniable and completely distracting.
"Hleap on bæc!"
He barely twisted out of the way fast enough, and Morgana's spell caught his flank, blasting him sideways. An outthrust hand caught him before Merlin could impact the wall of the cave, his palm brushing against one pale crystal. He couldn't see beyond the vision clouding his sight, but threw a spell back regardless. "Ic þé wiþdrífe!"
His magic reared up, shoving the vision away, as Morgana loosed a scream.
Rage. Fear.
The ceiling above her collapsed in a thunder of tortured stone and the discordant chiming of crushed crystals. Merlin's magic twisted in something like pain, and he gasped a lungful of choking dust. He coughed harshly, one withered hand at his chest, grasping at his robes as he gasped for clear air.
It was long moments before the dust settled, odd shapes swirling through the dim glow illuminating the cave.
Merlin's breath caught. "Ic ábíetee pæt stánhol!"
The pile of rocks didn't shift.
For long hours, Merlin threw all of himself against the tons of stone blocking him from the rest of the world, steadfastly refusing to think of what lay at the bottom of the heap. But the battle was lost before he had even begun; he fought on two fronts to resist the call of the future within the crystals and to move a wall of crumbled stone. When exhaustion overtook him, Merlin slumped to the floor.
So, Morgana. It seems I was your doom after all. As you are mine.
He was trapped, in the birthplace of magic itself. And the visions dragged him into eternity.
Fin.