Gaius didn't say a word to Merlin when the boy stumbled through his door, merely took him in his arms and cried with him. It was a terrible sight, to see the kind old physician in tears; it was a terrible sight, indeed, to return to a Camelot in mourning, as if a dark cloud had been cast over the place.
There were no words to be exchanged, not yet. A profound silence reigned in Camelot: a cloud of it, hovering uncertainly over those turrets that usually seemed so bright and welcoming, and yet now were dull and grey. It could not be denied that this was a somewhat fitting backdrop to the funerals that now had to take place: so many funerals, of knights, of the citizens who had been so determined to fight – of some who should never have lost their lives on the battlefield.
They were buried in a field just beyond Camelot that was turned into a cemetery, and soon it was filled with beautifully inscribed headstones, dotted with little stone crosses – crosses for those men whose bodies could not be identified, men that nobody knew, men unaccounted for: the people whose identity would ever be a mystery, men who would forever lie buried with "Unknown" the only word on their graves.
Merlin did not have eyes for these unknown graves, nor for the majority of the known ones. Every morning he would amble windingly to the one grave that he felt he could not escape: that with the inscription Ganieda, loyal friend and beloved sister.
Yet he stood almost absently at it, and though he laid flowers on it, renewing each day the ones that he had placed the day before, he scarcely thought any more about this death that had so afflicted him. No, when the shock of it had worn off, the only thing that came to mind was the man without a headstone here. Arthur, loyal friend and beloved king...
A few days later Camelot was once again stricken by a great blow: a party of knights patrolling the forest between Camelot and Camlann had found the body of another knight, and when they had turned it over, they found it to be that of Sir Gwaine.
His funeral was conducted with great care and much mourning from the people. Sir Gwaine had been not only one of the best knights of the Round Table, but also an excellent friend to many – indeed, a good deal of his drinking-friends from the Rising Sun were at the fore of those paying their respects to this remarkable man. It was well-known in Camelot that among Gwaine's greatest friends was Merlin: the two had perhaps been unlikely friends, but bound by that close bond that comes with an unusual meeting followed by numerous adventures together. Yet when glances turned to this poor boy, dressed as ever in inaptly bright colours yet with a face so miserable it seemed to darken every shade of his apparel, it was widely noticed that Merlin did not seem to show a hint of emotion beyond the expression that had graced his face since his return to Camelot.
The funeral was over, and the people were snaking back into the city; among the people there walked Guinevere, a remarkable sight amongst the commoners, reduced to their level by the sad unity that bound all of the citizens, peasants and nobles alike, and at her side was Gaius, perhaps her most valuable guide in these times, and one of her greatest friends.
'I worry about Merlin,' she whispered to him, as they entered the city by its western gate.
Gaius was aroused from his thoughts by this address; he acknowledged the monarch with a respectful nod – he did not trust himself to bow, for though it did not much occur to him when so many other things filled his turbulent mind, he knew that he was getting old – and then said: 'As do I, my lady.'
'I want to say that I understand what so grieves him,' Guinevere said: and tears came to her eyes as she recalled her own terrible sadness at the passing of Arthur – her husband! 'Yet I do not believe that any other can truly know what thoughts traverse his mind. He and Arthur were friends,' and she left off here, leaving unsaid what she could scarcely put into words.
A long time ago now, it seemed, Merlin had offered an awkward handshake through the armhole of a wooden pillory to a pretty maid with a basket and a tattered yellow dress. Hard to believe, then, that these two would come to be so prominent in the history of Camelot, and yet, though one became a Queen and the other a humble servant, retain a close friendship that had seen them through thick and thin. They might have been Queen Guinevere and, as of very recently, Sir Merlin, but to all who knew them well they were but Gwen and Merlin, and that did not change even as everything else seemed to alter following the great and terrible battle.
Gwen and Merlin were friends, and now, with the King's death, if anything, they were drawn closer. Gwen relied on Merlin's advice and support to keep up her duties as the sole monarch of Camelot. Merlin relied on that charming smile, that relentless kindness just to get him through the day. And it was perhaps due to this friendship chiefly, above everything else that had happened, that led Gwen to say one day that she would, without any discussion or further thought, lift the ban on magic that had, according to some, crippled Albion for the past thirty years or so.
The announcement would be made in a few days' time, once all concerning the dead from the battle had been dealt with and cleared up. Merlin and Gaius were both told beforehand of it; it pleased them, of course, but they found themselves unable to react properly, and had to hug Gwen tightly as an expression of their thanks, for their tongues were quite tied. This decision would be a major event, perhaps, in Camelot's history: yet so soon after the Battle of Camlann, everything, no matter how significant, seemed far overshadowed, and a little superficial. Perhaps nothing would have a great deal of significance anymore. It was hard to tell, and not one of the citizens of Camelot wished at that time to look to the future.