Disclaimer: IDOM
AN: :D Episode 2 just as wonderful as the last...
*SPOILER ALERT* I guess this makes my fic AU now that Lancelot's gone :( ... On the brighter side: Omigawsh, Dragoon's in the next episode! You all know how much I love Dragoon; you wouldn't BELIEVE how insanely I was laughing at that one tiny clip in the preview. I can't help but giggling my head off just thinking about Arthur and Dragoon working together. Honestly, those daydreams are going to pull me through next week. I think I have a bit of an obsession with that crazy old man... he's just delightful, isn't he? :P A heartfelt thanks to Colin Morgan for being so dang brilliant and incredibly hilarious. *END SPOILER ALERT*
And here we go:
Powerfully Modest, Modestly Powerful
Laughter sang through the clearing—light as a feather, musical as a bubbling stream, as beautiful as a newborn foal.
It was change.
It would have been painfully awkward had it not been for Merlin. He chattered nonstop, and he ultimately led the conversation, making sure that each person had something to say and a chance to say it. Merlin's impish smile lit up his whole face, and it never faded from his cerulean eyes, not even when a scowl replaced his grin as the Knights teased. Everyone present felt the warmth of Merlin's natural cheerfulness, and soon enough, it alone vanquished any remaining qualms. He even managed to erase any sense of the social and political barriers—memories of the Purge and the inevitable uncertainty on the Druids' part towards Arthur—that divided them by using and talking about his magic so openly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Eventually, Aislin was not concerned with hiding hers.
It was a fascinating experience. Arthur found himself enjoying hearing Aislin talk of her camp and of their simple way of life, and she, in turn, listened in rapture to Arthur and the Knights as they talked of Camelot and of themselves. She had a wonderfully dry sense of humor and a really brilliant way of viewing the world. Enya, too, was delightful to talk to. She was intensely curious, and Arthur admired her enthusiasm, her energy, and her spirit.
He couldn't stop himself from smiling—smiling as Gwen and Aislin giggled together, as Percival learned that Aislin had heard of his people and had relatives in the very same Druid camp that had been such a big part of his life, as Gwaine and Leon made Enya laugh and clap joyously, and especially as he and Merlin locked their blue eyes, sharing meaningful and indescribably loaded looks—looks that spoke volumes more than words could.
Once Lancelot and Elyan, who both had offered to go back to the lake, had returned with the remainder of the food and Merlin's bag of herbs, Aislin and Enya ate ravenously, and they questioned, told, and listened all the while.
When Merlin took Aislin aside to treat her wounds again and once they began talking about medicine, herbs, and healing, using words so large and complex that they should not have even been classified as part of the English language, Arthur and the Knights could hardly follow their conversation. Instead, they did what they were known for—being their unique (Arthur rolled his eyes at the thought) selves.
Arthur watched with an exasperated amusement as Gwaine tackled Elyan for a rude—though completely witty and true—comment and as they threw themselves haphazardly onto the ground, wrestling like pups of the same liter. Leon, Lancelot, and Percival, snickering and yelling, had to jump out of their way to avoid being trampled. Gwen immediately pursed her lips and went over, trying and miserably failing to make them act their own age. (1)
Arthur chuckled fondly and said with an incredulous interest to Enya, who had gotten bored—as do all children—with the young adults' conversation a little while ago and who was sitting was a few meters away from him, "They really act more like animals than normal human beings, don't they?"
She didn't make a sound, and Arthur turned to look at her. Enya was staring at her palm with a look of intense concentration—so intense that Arthur suspected that she was hardly registering the things around her. He felt he could almost sense the amount of energy she was attempting to summon. Smiling, interested to see what she would do, he waited silently.
Finally, she whispered, "Forbearne."
Instead of becoming inflamed as he expected, Arthur saw her eyes merely flicker weakly with gold. The air over her palm seemed to shimmer with slight heat, but in the blink of an eye, any sign of the magic was gone, leaving Enya with a horribly crestfallen face, small tears of frustration building up in her eyes.
Arthur felt a slight jolt of his heart, and his memory reached back—back to the days when he first began learning the art of the sword. He remembered that stubborn frustration, that sadness when he failed…his father's disappointed eyes...his instructor's forced patience…the tears thickening in his throat. He had hated failure; he still did. And that is why he pushed so hard—pushed through the blood, sweat, and tears—so he could say that he succeeded in overcoming each challenge, so that he could prove to himself and everyone around him that he would not give in to failure. He would succeed, and he would never quit. Everyday, he woke to train. At the end of each day, he fell into bed with a groan, sore muscles screaming in protest, only to awake far too early to repeat the same brutal cycle. Once, he was just a novice, struggling to keep his arm from trembling as he swung and lunged with the heavy, wooden practice weapon. Now look at him—he was one of the best swordsmen in Camelot.
"Practice makes perfect, Enya," Arthur said.
The girl gasped and stiffened, her light grey eyes flying up to meet Arthur's. Biting her lip and clenching at her ruined clothes, she suddenly forced her eyes down and away.
He frowned, puzzled and worried. What was it that he had done? Why was she acting this—? Arthur cringed at the instinctual fear and horror he had seen briefly in her wide eyes before she hid them from him, and a flash of anger rippled through his body. It wasn't what he had done; it was what Uther had done.
He had stolen their identity, forcing them to live as shells…hardly allowing them to reach ever higher. He crushed their dreams, their hopes, their futures. He had ripped the pride of being who they were away from them. He made them afraid to be magic.
And magic is such an incredible gift! Arthur thought. It was beautiful and remarkable, different and useful. It was glorious and fascinating… and it helped weave and hold the very fabric of the world together…
It hurt to know that the reason that she—and all the rest, even Merlin—hid was because of his father. They hid because of the lies that his father fed Camelot, because of the discrimination that his father had begun, because of the hatred they all knew Camelot felt towards them. Because of his father, Arthur, too, was feared….perhaps even more than the rest.
He was sick of fear.
He didn't want this. He didn't want to see Enya cowering away from him, her whole body tense with anxiety and anticipation for what he might do, for what he might say. He didn't want the Druids to run anymore. He didn't want Aislin to fear for her daughter's life. He didn't want Merlin to think he was nothing more than a servant hiding in the shadows. He didn't want any more children to grow up alone and lost. On the flip side, he didn't want the disease of ignorance to spread any further among the people of the non-magical community. He didn't want Camelot to hate their brothers and sisters. He didn't want to see any more inhumane punishments distributed to such incredible human beings. He didn't want mistrust running rampant.
Again, the strong conviction hit him: he would rectify the sins and the mistakes of his father. None of them deserved anything less.
"Go on! Try again, Enya," Arthur said, forcing away his darker thoughts and smiling lightheartedly. "You gain strength each and every time you try, and the more you try, the quicker you are to overcoming the challenge and the stronger you are when you have to face the next one."
Enya's eyes flickered to something behind him, and he turned to see Merlin and Aislin watching the interaction with a mixture of surprise, seriousness, and pride. Merlin had that wise glint in his eye, and he was watching Enya curiously, a thoughtful crease in between his eyebrows.
"It's alright, Enya," Aislin said. "You have nothing to fear from Prince Arthur. He, Emrys, and I want to see you try. You were so close."
"You can't expect to get a spell right on the first try," Merlin added with his goofy smile, shooting Arthur a sly look. "I couldn't even begin to count how many long nights I spent trying to get one spell to work."
"Even you, Emrys?" Enya asked with surprise, obviously thinking that the mighty Emrys was just pulling her leg.
Merlin chuckled. "Especially me….though, not so much anymore. As Arthur quite wisely said, 'Practice makes perfect.'"
Enya smiled fleetingly, and she uncurled her delicate fingers, bringing her palm up once again. Seeing that now all present were watching her expectantly, she shifted uncomfortably and then focused on her hand for a moment before saying the spell again, more forcibly than before.
Aislin smiled as the gold filled her daughter's irises, glowing brighter than they had earlier. Arthur thought he saw more than simple heat waves rise from the girl's palm, but after a short moment, Enya exhaled heavily and released the magic. Her hand fell dejectedly to the side, and she hid her eyes as she sighed, drawing her knees to her chest.
Her mother was at her side in an instant, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing her close. Enya looked up at her, cheeks burning with embarrassment at having failed the spell in front of her audience, and snuggled closer. "It's hard," she murmured. Her eyes were sorrowful, but Arthur was shocked to see that they were dry.
Aislin nodded sympathetically. "It's never easy, dear. You shouldn't beat yourself up about this. Your magic only began to show a month ago, and it is still developing. It'll take some time before you can command higher magic."
Enya nodded resignedly. It was the nod of a child trying to understand why patience was necessary….and it was the nod of a child who had heard this once too many times.
"Do you know—" Merlin suddenly said quietly, crouching before Enya "—why we can summon fire, essentially create it…but cannot do the same with the other elements?"
Enya looked confused and shook her head, and every pair of eyes was now trained curiously on Merlin. Even the Knights stopped their rough-housing to listen.
"We can make water come to us," Merlin said, demonstrating by waving his hand. Water from the nearest water-skin, the one Leon was beginning to take a sip from, rushed out of the skin in a thin stream to Merlin, and it compiled into a ball, floating and rotating over the palm of his hand.
"Merlin!" Leon groaned indignantly, shaking the now dry and empty skin.
Merlin sent a wide smile in his direction before continuing, "We can manipulate it, make it change forms…" With a flash of gold, the ball of water solidified into ice. He weighed it in his hand, and then he blew lightly on it, and slowly, the ball of ice began to disintegrate. Little snowflakes began to dance around Enya, glittering in the sunlight before melting away on the breeze or collecting in Enya's hair or her hand, which she was reaching out joyfully in an attempt to catch some. "…but we cannot create water ourselves. I tried once to turn a bucket of sand into water during the famine of Camelot years ago. Needless to say, I failed. It isn't possible. We must take it from another source—a natural source, a water source."
He pressed his hands to the earth. "We can control the earth. We can dig through it with magic, sift through its secrets, cause it to split and move…" He lifted his hands, and Arthur watched with hardly concealed amazement as a small green bud poked its head from the soil, reaching towards the sky and unfolding bright pink petals. Smiling lightly, he plucked it and handed it to Enya, who delightfully fingered at the soft, waxy petals and gently inhaled its fragrance. "…and we can make things grow. But, again, we cannot physically bring earth into the world. It is already here, and it cannot be recreated.
"And neither can air. We can make air move. We can calm it and rile it; some can even make wind storms so powerful that they toss men around as if they were nothing more than sheet of parchment." Merlin's eyes once again became golden and a strong wind, stronger than the breeze that had accompanied them all day, whisked through the clearing, pushing against them eagerly, before subsiding as Merlin waved his hand.
"But fire," Merlin said. A small flame sparked into being on his hand. "Fire is different. Men and beasts walk the earth; fish swim the seas; birds command the sky… No mortal creature exists solely in fire. Fire, despite being one of the four natural elements, is not as natural as the others. It is something of its own, and it, in a way, stands alone from the others…and with them at the same time."
The fire died on his palm, and he gestured to the circle of Camelot's Knights. "One reason we can create fire is because they can. Without using any magic at all, Arthur could strike a campfire nearly as easily as I could with magic. Humans are meant to make fire. Even though we do not need it to physically breathe and live, we do need it for survival…My magic and Arthur's flint are only different means to the same end."
Eyes shining, Merlin took Enya's hand and turned the palm up. "What do you think of when incanting the spell?"
Enya blinked hard, as though she had just wakened from sleep…or most likely, from the spell of incredulity and awe. Arthur could understand. He too had been completely captivated by Merlin's lesson, and from the looks of the rest of the Knights, Gwen, and Aislin, they had as well.
"Erm—" Enya muttered.
"Do you think of the color? The image?" Merlin prompted gently.
Enya nodded, smiling as he guessed correctly.
Merlin returned her smile. "This is the problem. Fire is more than color. Tell me, Enya, what else is fire?"
After a moment of thinking, Enya said, "…warmth. It is warm, and it cooks food—which makes you warm too. The people that surround it make you feel warm inside."
Merlin smiled. "And?"
"It—it smells nice. It sounds like music when it pops and crackles, and it helps me sleep. It reminds me of home."
"Good, Enya," Merlin praised. "But you must remember also that it is destruction, and that it can be very dangerous. Sometimes, you cannot trust fire; it can be deceptive. It can burn homes to the ground, uncontrollable and untamable. People could get hurt; people can die. Like magic, like a sword, like a person, there is both a potential for good and evil in fire. It will be hard to control if you think that is only good."
Merlin's eyes danced about her face. "Try again, Enya. This time, do not only think of its shape and its color and its light as it dances among the glowing embers and as it flickers in the night. Think of how it can warm and how it can burn as well. Think of everything that fire is, and it will be." He sat back with a smile, signifying that he was done speaking.
Enya stared at Merlin, and then flicked around the group. The soft grey eyes closed, and taking a deep breath, she prepared herself. The watchers waited, hardly daring to breathe. Time seemed to hang by a thread, and everything slowed, the moment seeming to be frozen forever.
"Forbearne," she said, eyes flashing open, now consumed with gold….
And a small flame, no bigger than an acorn, flared to life. It throbbed and pulsed gently in her hand, wavering in the slight breeze, but it did not falter.
Enya stared at the little fire in absolute amazement, and then a wide, an ecstatic grin blossomed across her face. "I—I did it," she breathed.
There was pandemonium as the Knights began to clap and call out their congratulations and praises. Aislin laughed and hugged her, whispering privately into her ear.
Merlin did not speak, but Arthur could see his joy and approval in his stormy blue eyes. When Enya looked to him, his small smile broadened radiantly, and he nodded. Enya looked even more overjoyed at the slight nod from Merlin.
He really is something, Arthur thought, shaking his head at Merlin. Will there ever be a day when he doesn't surprise me? To his shock, he found himself hoping that that day would never come.
Arthur wanted more than anything to talk to Merlin about what he had said, to talk to Merlin alone about it all, but that wasn't possible…not at this moment.
"I knew you could do it, Enya," Merlin and Arthur said simultaneously. They threw each other strange looks—the looks only they reserved for each other.
Enya beamed. "Thank you, Emrys."
Merlin blushed. "It was nothing. I'm glad it helped."
"That was far more than nothing, Merlin," Elyan said.
"It was definitely something," Gwen agreed.
Arthur and the rest nodded, giving Merlin looks of appreciation and smiles.
"You were never formally taught, Emrys?"
Merlin shook his head modestly at Aislin. "No," he muttered. "I'm self-taught."
"That's not completely true," Lancelot pointed out. "The Dragon has helped you in the past, and Gaius…"
"Mostly self-taught then," Merlin specified with a grin.
Aislin blinked in surprise, studying Merlin. "That—that is incredible," she finally said weakly. "You are a remarkable person, Emrys."
"Powerfully modest, modestly powerful," Arthur said under his breath.
Aislin looked at the Prince, her eyes shining. "Exactly."
~…~
Arthur looked to the sky, sighing again. He had taken up Merlin's offer to escort both Aislin and Enya back to their camp. He felt honor bound—they were two women traveling alone, and more importantly, they were his friends. He desperately wanted to continue making contact with the Druids, and he wanted to speak to the magical community. There were many reasons why he couldn't—he knew—but that didn't mean he had to like them.
Merlin, first of all, was cautious. Brilliant and logical, but extremely cautious. "One step at a time, Arthur," he whispered into his ear. Arthur saw the wisdom in this statement, and Merlin smiled patiently at the look on his face. "There will be a next time."
"You really don't think it's a good idea?" Arthur asked.
Merlin shook his head. "Not yet. But it will be, in time. Their word will be enough for now."
Merlin swayed the stubborn Prince. The young warlock knew what he was talking about, and Arthur knew that they both wanted to make sure that they didn't take things too quickly and ruin what that they had begun. Merlin was right. They had quite a bit of time ahead of them, and they weren't wasting it by waiting.
Gwen and Aislin too offered the Prince more immediate reasons. "It is nearly an hour until dusk, Arthur," Gwen pointed out.
Aislin nodded. "Our camp is not terribly far from here, but it is far enough that you would not reach Camelot until too late to visit with your father." At Arthur's surprised glance, she smiled. "I know how much he means to you, and you cannot know how long you have to spend with him."
Arthur flinched. He knew that his father was unwell—to the point of no return. However, he was still in denial. He would not admit to himself that his father was, in reality, dying. He knew that putting off that realization for longer would only turn to stab him deeper, but he was still holding on to his last shred of hope.
Gwen put his hand over his. "Aislin is right. You should spend time with him," she said sadly. "He hasn't seen you since you left to fight the Gvarath. Not only do you need him, but he needs you."
Merlin nodded to these statements, watching the Prince with sorrowful eyes—as if he himself were taking a part of the Prince's pain.
"I feel as though I'd be abandoning you," Arthur admitted.
Aislin shook her head. "By simply accepting magic, Prince Arthur…no, you are not abandoning us. And you never will. I will spread word—the Druids will stand with you."
It was a hopeful farewell, full of promises that this would not be the last time that they saw each other. With some hugs, some more 'thank-you's, some supplies, and a protection charm from a thoughtful Merlin having been given, the Druids and the Camelotians went their separate ways, and perhaps the most striking thing happened. They all turned back to look at the opposite party, smiles on their faces and hands thrown up into the air in a last wave.
"Merlin, could we go on a picnic every weekend with you?" Gwaine asked jokingly as they turned away.
Elyan jested in mock surprise, "That was a picnic?"
"Just stick with me and Arthur, Gwaine," Merlin said, looking back at him, with a smile. "You'll never get bored. I'm sure your thirst for magical adventure will be sated without having to wait through each week for a picnic."
"Yeah. That'll probably happen as soon as his thirst for ale is sated," Leon quipped. Percival guffawed.
Arthur, sensibly not wanting to be a part of whatever was going to follow, nudged his horse up to ride alongside Merlin's.
"You know," Arthur began, "I don't think I ever thanked you for today. Thank you."
"You did earlier," Merlin said. "Just not aloud."
Arthur's eyes slid to his younger companion. "You did well back there," he said slowly. Merlin didn't respond. "They really trust you…and because of you, they trust me too."
"Is that another thank you?" Merlin teased.
Arthur shrugged. "Perhaps."
"Well, then perhaps I should say one of my own."
Arthur blinked. "Why are you thanking me?"
Merlin smiled. "For everything that you said today."
"I meant it. Every word."
"I know you did. That's why I was thanking you, you clotpole," Merlin said exasperatedly.
Arthur swallowed. It was the perfect time to say it, the perfect opportunity to tell Merlin what he thought and what he wanted for their future….but he couldn't. No, not yet. There were some things that still needed to change, things that still needed to be fully realized. They were small, subtle things, but they needed to be changed and realized nevertheless.
He wouldn't have realized the irony: Merlin had thought something quite similar hours beforehand…when Arthur was still unaware of the young man's true identity.
Yes, Destiny was playing her cards again.
Instead, he saw that Merlin had opened up another opportunity. He scowled at his friend, though he knew that the young raven-haired sorcerer could see right through it as he smugly beamed at him…challenging him to retort…
"We'll see who the clotpole is after this!"
Ignoring the cries from the Knights and the "Not again!" from Gwen, Arthur spurred his horse, and almost immediately, he heard Merlin's horse's hooves on his tail, the young man cursing and shooting colorful and fond insults loudly behind him.
~…~
The people thought that Uther Pendragon was mentally broken, that he was lost and weak. They thought that his mind had gone and that it would never return.
Those religious folk might have seen something different in Uther's pale green eyes. They might have seen a man meditating and searching…searching for something so deep within that it only appeared that he was broken.
The religious folk were more correct than the people—for Uther Pendragon was not completely floundering and drowning in a vast pit of darkness…betrayal, misery, and pain. The world thought he was blind to them, but in truth, he saw everything.
He was searching, watching, waiting for something. He was trying to find some missing key, some missing link. He was so deeply searching that it did appear as though he was lost within himself.
He knew that he was dying—there was not much for him to live for. Sometimes, when Arthur appeared, Uther felt a flash of warmth. He saw his son living, smiling, breathing. He saw him kissing Gwen, who loved him just as unconditionally as her loved her, and he saw him laughing with Merlin, the serving boy who Uther knew was Arthur's most loyal and trusted friend. He saw his son's tears and heard his words…through glazed eyes.
Some part of Uther wanted to be part of that once again, to feel the love and warmth of his friends and family around him, but the more he searched, the more he knew and accepted that his time had been spent.
He knew that there were things he needed to finish; his work, his purpose for life was not yet fulfilled, so he searched. He realized his mistakes—his horrid, most horrible mistakes—and his soul was wild and frenzied, and to obtain the peace he wanted, to be with Igraine once again… he needed to search. Through his memories, through his experience, through others' memories and experiences….he searched. He needed to find a way to calm the storm within himself and to find the peace he so craved. The final peace. The final end.
He didn't want to die with his soul in chaos. He had always been a man who wanted order—and he would do what it took to get it.
He had never been as close as he had been when Arthur came to see him, just mere days ago. He had replayed his son's words multiple times. "Father…" Arthur had put his head in his hands. "You probably think I'm foolish for not deciding to send others out in my stead…there's a reason. I can't—I can't pretend to be what you have been, Father. I can't do what you do. My flesh and blood may've been born to be King, but my spirit wasn't. I can't sit here any longer. I need to be out there. I need to ride, and I need to fight. I need to be free to be my own man. I need to make myself a King out of what I am and not what you are." Arthur had choked here, and Uther wished that he could reach out and comfort his son. "I hope you approve. I hope you understand."
The King, who refused to show any outward, personal, emotion, had allowed himself to cry. He did not remember the last time he had cried. Tears had slid down his cheek uninhibited, and he had smiled—for the first time since Morgana had fled.
And then, there was something else—something that struck Uther similarly and differently at the same time.
"Merlin and I both feel the storm clouds gathering," Arthur had said.
A new dawn was on the horizon. Uther was not part of that new dawn, but Arthur and Merlin were.
Uther had not slept; he had not eaten since that time. And now with a strange feeling of delight, he felt his search coming to an end—he would have his peace.
Suddenly, he was shaken slightly out of his mediation by loud hoof beats over cobblestone. Awakening even more from his self-induced search, the King leaned slightly over in his stiff wooden chair to peer out of the window.
Two horsemen were racing into the courtyard. Uther heard a laugh, and he registered that it was his son. Arthur swung down from his horse, joking with the second horseman—Gaius' boy—he recognized. Even from above, he could sense that bond—that brotherly affection that he had only just discovered through his search…
And suddenly, with that image of Arthur—Arthur pulling his arm around the lanky, tousle-haired young man, Arthur smiling broader than he had seen in quite a long time—the last piece of the puzzle clicked.
King Uther Pendragon was awake, and he was going to right his wrongs before his death. There were things he needed to say, things he needed to confess and proclaim and share… before he was gone.
"Guards," he called softly, his voice hoarse and weak.
After a moment, a Camelot guard opened the chamber door, a look of incredulity on his face. "M—my Lord?" he asked, eyes wide.
"Send for Gaius, please," Uther said.
The guard blinked, and if it was even possible, the eyes opened wider… perhaps it was in shock that the King was verbalizing or perhaps it was because Uther had said, "please."
It didn't matter to Uther. The guard was on his way to Gaius, and if he knew anything, the rest of those whom he wished to speak to would follow—his son, his caretaker, and yes, even that seemingly idiotic manservant.
Uther smiled peacefully. It was time.
AN: (1) There is actually the most adorable pic out there of them wrestling between scenes in their armor and scarlet cloaks. Colin did not participate, unfortunately, but he's certainly grinning his head off. ;) Very precious moment.
Sorry if none of you agree about how I had Merlin teach Enya, but that is how I view magic. I had fun thinking of it (I spent a lot of swim practice thinking about that part :P) but strangely enough, I had the most fun writing from Uther's POV. Yes, he is a bit OOC, but seeing as no one can really understand what the man is going through, I believe we can use our imaginations a bit and make him as OOC in his condition as we want. :)
Now, I'm off to rewatch 4x2... :D And laugh again at that preview for next week...