Hello! I won't keep you, but first: A huge Thank you goes out to Nooka who so very very kindly beta'd this chapter for me. THANK YOU!
And another Thank You goes out to Aseptic, who started beta-ing, but was unable to finish.
And a third thank you goes out to all of you! Thank you for showing up and (presumably) reading!
For a few moments there is only silence. The kind of silence that saturates Arthur's skin and chills his heart- the kind not even the wind dares break.
Even though Arthur knows how the village had once looked, he could not recreate it in his mind. Where the streets and buildings had been was impossible to tell as rubble overlaid the earth like a thick coating of snow. Charred and broken wood was everywhere, all sharp angles, sticking out like bones. Scraps of fabric, a blackened pot... evidence that this place had once been called home was scattered at their feet. Half of a burned house frame still stood stubbornly in the midst of the debris, a skeleton of what it used to be.
Arthur's stomach turns over.
Shock keeps them both in its frosted fingers, but not for long. Merlin jumps from his horse. He takes two stumbling steps forward into his new, refurbished village.
Arthur, from where he sits speechlessly on his own horse, can see his friend shaking. Merlin's unsteady hands rise to cover his mouth, his face, and finally, grip his hair like he might just rip himself in two.
Arthur, overcoming the stiffness of shock, scrambles down.
"Merlin." His horror-struck whisper is the only sound that breaks the eerie silence. He stretches out his hand to touch Merlin's shoulder. Even though this is... was Merlin's home, Arthur doesn't want to stay. He has a sudden desire to jump back on their horses and run as fast as they can in the other direction. It's his first instinct to get Merlin as far from this horror and devastation as he can, away, where he can't see such terrible things.
But before his hand can so much as brush Merlin's shirt, he lets out a breathy noise trapped between a sob and a gasp, and takes off. Arthur is left to play catch up.
Merlin's childhood crunches beneath his feet as he runs. He'd been born somewhere, underneath all this rubble... eaten and slept and worked and lived, perhaps in the very space Arthur was running through now.
Not only were the buildings that had made this village his home gone, but more importantly, so were the people. In a town this small, everyone knew everyone. Friends, neighbors, people you've grown up knowing. Smiling faces that tell you that you're home, with your own warm bed, hot meals, and the satisfaction of knowing that, yes, this is where you belong- that you are amongst people who love you and wish good things for you. This house, this town, these things are yours. And now that was gone for Merlin. He no longer has a home.
Arthur protests to this line of thought. Without question, Merlin does have a home. His home was in Camelot, in the castle with Arthur, where he belonged, of course. But the churning sickness in his stomach told him it wasn't quite the same.
This place is so devastatingly empty, and quiet as a grave. On Arthur's last visit, it had been brimming with love and laughter and labour; children and mothers and fathers.
It hadn't been fancy and it hadn't been much, but it had been healthy. It had been alive. It had been full of the humble, simple love of a close knit community. One where everyone pitched in and everyone looked out for each other, and everyone worked hard. Everyone shared joys... and losses.
And now it was gone.
His mother... his mother.
With little to distract him, Merlin reaches the far side of the village easily, and falls to his knees in front of a large, square, and raised mound of earth, about the size of Camelot's stables.
Arthur's stomach clenches in sudden nausea even though he's seen this before.
And judging by the look on Merlin's face, he has too.
It'sa mass grave.
Merlin is on his hands and knees, his head bent forward; making noises like he's suffocating, shaking his head back and forth, back and forth. More than anything Arthur wants to console him, kneel down next to him and somehow take away the pain. Only a few nights ago Merlin had been laughing by his side in the firelight; now he lays in pieces at Arthur's feet and he stands here like the world's most useless sack.
There's no doubt in his mind that this was done by Morgana's men. Only pillagers who follow the direction of a sorceress would be superstitious enough tobury the dead. Though the swirling sickness in his chest, a hot coal of anger burns.
Merlin shifts closer to the mound and, with his hands, starts digging, clawing at the earth like the home he once knew was still alive and functioning, just buried deep.
"Merlin." Arthur steps forward. His voice is firm, but his touch gentle. "Don't."
Merlin whips around, still on his knees, his face unfamiliar, twisted in its anguish. With a grunt, he shoves at Arthur's middle with all his strength. Arthur only stumbles back a step or two, but it hurts all the same.
He watches as Merlin rises to his feet and approaches, looking as if he would like to punch Arthur.
Arthur thinks he might let him.
But that is not what Merlin does. Eyes swimming, fists clenched, he starts making noises, the most haunting grunts, the otherworldly moan of one steeped in agony.
It takes a moment before something clicks in Arthur's brain and it hits him... in the absence of paper and ink, Merlin is actually attempting to speak.
He holds out his hands, helpless. "Merlin... Merlin I- I'm sorry... I don't understand..."
Merlin stabs one accusing finger at Arthur. "Oo!" And even on this one syllable his voice breaks.
His eyes are red and brimming.
He points just as angrily to his own head.
Arthur.
His head.
The wreckage.
"No!" Arthur protests, taking a step forward, mouth dry, "Merlin- Merlin, I swear to you I did not know!"
Merlin nods obstinately, eyes hard.
Arthur feels sick. "No, Merlin, I promise. I promise you. Ealdor is outside of Camelot's border- I didn't- I swear I had no idea."
Merlin comes forward, seizes Arthur's shoulders, and stares at him with wide eyes and quivering lips.
He crumples to the ground. Hands over his face, sobs rack his small body.
Arthur kneels. He hesitates, then tugs Merlin to his chest.
"I'm sorry," he manages a broken whisper, "I'm so so-"
But Merlin pushes him away, turns his back, cries into the dirt of his mother's grave.
Arthur, heart aching, lets him be.
888
It was late summer, when talk began to kick up like dead leaves. Trouble was stirring, rumours of a great darkness gathering in the east. A terrible, hateful power, born of the old religion, that had but one goal: to take vengeance on those who had once repressed them. To destroy Camelot.
Even Merlin, who spoke to no one and was spoken to by no one, was not deaf to the dark news. More and more often he heard a name he never thought he'd hear again, whispered either in fear or excited anticipation, the one who was going to bring justice to Albion, restore its balance, bring peace, and most importantly magic.
Morgana.
Branded as both a traitor and a witch, she now vowed to destroy the very place she had once called home. Each time he caught hushed talk of her army, the numbers seemed to double.
And Merlin knew from experience that where Morgana was, Arthur was not far behind. So it shouldn't have hurt as much as it did when Arthur's name was finally tossed out.
Merlin heard almost all of the news through Boan, at dinner. Whether he was complaining about a crop damaging storm or the neighbors (three miles away and still not far enough) Merlin was close at hand, refilling the wine or scooping out second helpings. He usually let such blatherings just wash over him as they only affected him in so much as they affected Boan's temper, but his temper was always so poor that it didn't really matter anyway. He did his work; kept his head down and mouth shut. All three were key to survival here.
But that night, that night something slipped from Boan's lips that pulled Merlin from his own little world.
"...and I don't care!" Boan was saying, "I don't care what King Arthur says, Camelot's soldiers aren't welcome here. They're as good as invaders!" He banged his fist on the table for emphasis. Merlin's chest constricted tightly- suddenly it was very difficult to draw breath.
King Arthur?
Boan kept on, but Merlin didn't hear. He clutched meekly at the wine jug, the colour dripping slowly from his face. Arthur? Camelot? Here?
"The sooner he figures it out, the better. I for one am not going to tolerate-"
"Did you say Camelot?" His tongue moves of its own accord. He hadn't meant to ask, hadn't meant to say anything, but it came out, anyway.
The room went silent. The scraping of chairs and utensils ceased as every head turned to look at Merlin.
"What did you say, slave?" He asked in a low, cold voice. While it managed to send shivers down Merlin's spine, did not manage to shut him up.
"C-Camelot." He continued, unable to shut up, no matter how much he wanted to. "You said Camelot. Are there Camelot forces here?"
At the other end of the table Ellyn gave a nasty cackle. "That's right. He's from Camelot. Misses his home. Fancy the soldiers are coming for a filthy little slave like you?"
"Shut up!" Boan roared at her.
"What's going on? Does it have to do with Morgana?"
"How dare you!"
Standing up from the table, Boan advanced on him, his dinner knife clutched tightly in his right hand, its flat edge still shining with grease from supper.
Backing away, Merlin desperately tried to close his mouth, but it was as if lightning had shot through him at the mention of Arthur's name and he found it difficult to stop himself babbling. "Is she close? Are the Camelot ar-"
But he swallowed the end of his question as Boan drew himself up directly in front of Merlin. His wide girth brushed uncomfortably against Merlin's thin frame. He looked away, face arranged into a tight grimace, ready for his punishment, shrinking back into the wall behind him, wishing he could sink right into it.
But Boan didn't hit him. His sweaty hand grabbed Merlin's cheeks and turned his face toward him. Merlin kept his eyes averted.
"Look at me," he growled in a stinking breath and when Merlin didn't, Boan gave him a rough shake that bounced Merlin's head off the wall. "Look at me!"
Reluctantly, Merlin did.
"You," his voice was low and unsteady in his anger, "you... you shut your mouth. You shut it or I will shut it for you."
There was a glint of silver and a low thunk as the Boan embedded the knife into the wall, only inches from Merlin's left ear.
Merlin nodded, tight lipped.
And leaving the knife there in the wall, Boan returned to his dinner.
Hours later as Merlin tossed and turned sleeplessly, there was still a tugging in his chest, as if someone was trying to sew his heart back into place. He ached. It seemed that, no matter how hard he tried to accept his new life, his past wouldn't let him. Why did Camelot have to follow him like this? Why did it have to make it so much harder than it had to be?
Even if Camelot was close by, it wouldn't matter. He'd learned from experience that he couldn't escape from this place. Camelot Knights would have to come right up to Boan's door and knock on it for them to do him any good. All their presence did was make daily life harder, knowing they were so close and yet not close enough.
For the first time ever, Merlin found himself agreeing with Boan. Why couldn't they just go back to Camelot where they belonged?
888
The ride back to Camelot is a lot more quiet than the first half of the journey, even by measure of traveling with a mute companion. Arthur tries several times to coax any sort of reaction out of Merlin, with no luck.
His smile does little to veil the desperate edge to his voice each time he tries his hand at a little conversation, whether it be light and joking, or whether he is trying to be heartfelt and comforting. He wants to connect with Merlin by any means necessary. He even relates the experience to his own losses of his mother and his father. It doesn't matter. Merlin never looks up.
He doesn't bother to fight Arthur on the cooking anymore, but sits against a tree and stares off into nothing as Arthur slowly and meticulously ruins their supper.
Food, on the other hand, seems to finally lose it's appeal to Merlin as he can hardly be bothered to eat it anymore. Arthur would have blamed his own cooking, had he not found out about Merlin's decline in taste. When a bowl finally wound up in Merlin's hands, he'd simply stare at it detachedly, his ravenous appetite suddenly apathetic. He probably wouldn't have bothered to eat at all if Arthur hadn't threatened to pour it down Merlin's unwilling throat.
But as bad it as it is to travel by day with this broken, despondent Merlin, it is better than the nights.
The sobs always begin as soon as Arthur lays his head down for the night. As quiet as they are, each one seems to echo endless in Arthur's head.
The last thing he wants to do is sit there and listen to them, but his options are quite limited. Plugging his ears, he's discovered, while muffling the noise, did very little to stop the haunting replays from bouncing around in his skull.
What's worse is that Merlin refuses to be comforted by words or actions. For three nights now, Arthur had tentatively crawled over to him, ready to offer his hand, his shoulder, his ear. Ready to hold or stroke or pat or... anything. He would have ventured out into the woods and brought Merlin a twelve point buck if he thought it would help.
But he is inconsolable. Each time Arthur touches him, he pulls away. One night, Arthur had gone so far as to lay his jacket over a shivering Merlin. He woke up to find it back over his own shoulders. It would be infuriating, if it weren't so heartbreaking.
Arthur does his best to not let the sting of rejection get to him. After all, Merlin isn't in his right mind. He is... confused. Agitated. Not thinking straight.
But it would be okay. It had to be okay. Arthur has to convince himself it would be okay or he'd never make it to the end of this forsaken trip.
He'd get Merlin back to Camelot... back to Gaius. Gaius would know what to do.
Arthur can't pretend this isn't a huge setback for Merlin. The Knights, Gaius and (Arthur liked to think) in large part himself, had set Merlin down the road to recovery. They'd got him speaking, got him to smile, got him to laugh, even. He basically had the run of the castle. Merlin woke up when he wanted, ate when he wanted, relaxed when he wanted... not even the King would deny him.
Then this... learning of not only his home town's destruction, but the brutal murder of his mother. Merlin, despite his new freedom, still had his magic locked away, leaving him defenceless and vulnerable. Arthur could feel all the work they had done crashing down around his ears.
Most worrying of all, Merlin reminded Arthur of a turtle. His turtle, which he had found in a creek as a young boy and unwittingly taken home as a pet. For days Arthur had stood stock-still in front of it, brandishing a leaf of lettuce and trying to force it to eat. But every time it poked itself out and saw Arthur's giant head bearing down, it quickly withdrew.
Eventually it died.
Arthur feels as though he was ten years old again, armed with nothing but lettuce. Merlin is withdrawing, and he doesn't know what to do about it.
Arthur is just scared that he might decide to stay that way.
888
Despite the fact that Merlin was well into his second year of slavery, he knew the least about the boy closest to his age, Boan's son, Hadrian.
Merlin supposed that part of why he remained such a mystery was because they were hardly ever in the same room together. Hadrian worked out in the fields with his father, and although Merlin sometimes made an appearance there too, Hadrian liked to keep a good distance from Merlin, unlike his father, who always enjoyed keeping a close eye. When Merlin was working in the house, Hadrian stayed out of the room. In fact, the only time Merlin really ever saw him was when he was serving him dinner.
But the matter remained that Hadrian would simply not speak to Merlin. In all of Merlin's time there Hadrian had not uttered a single word in his direction. Indeed, for the first three weeks Merlin had thought him dumb until he witnessed Hadrian conversing with his Mother. (Merlin had been lighting the fire at the time, nearly fell in with shock...)
But this strange unwillingness to talk to him was the very reason that Merlin liked Hadrian best. You can't give out orders if you won't talk. Hadrian had never asked him to so much as fetch his shoes. This gave Merlin the impression that he could be a potential ally, right from the start.
However, true to his form, any conversation Merlin tried to start with him was distinctly one way, and he soon gave up not even a week into his plan.
There was more to this man than met the eye, however. Hadrian hated his father. Even though he had absolutely no proof, Merlin was almost certain of it. It couldn't be all in his imagination, it just couldn't. Hadrian's disapproving facade whenever he caught sight of Merlin receiving a punishment, his annoyed huffs when rough orders were barked, and the cold eye he so often settled upon his own father... No. Hadrian didn't approve of Merlin's enslavement, he couldn't. He was almost sure of it, and to ease his sore conscience he pretended that Merlin did not exist.
But even though Hadrian seemed to hate his father, even though Merlin had seen him several times staring out the window, as if wishing he was far away, (an activity he often engaged him himself) he obeyed every word out of his father's mouth, to the letter. He was practically a better slave than Merlin. Boan and Hadrian had a confusing relationship, to say the least; to be so irreversibly attached to one you regarded so poorly. Merlin often wondered if Hadrian spent each night as Merlin did in the winter- curled up with his fingers in his ears, trying to ignore the sounds from the next room over. Merlin thought he must... he slept too close to not, and it would explain some of the animosity between them.
Up to then Merlin had been content of staying out of it. What did it matter to him as long as no orders came his way? And if Hadrien really did hate his father? Well, all the more they had in common.
Up until then, he had been okay with their unspoken agreement that Merlin was invisible. There was no point in denying that Hadrian had a lot of his father in him, and Merlin was afraid of coaxing that part out of him, should he try and befriend the man. Yet this was a risk he was willing to take, having gained sufficient motivation.
He was tired of getting second hand information, tired of relying on gossip from fellow slaves with no evidence or proof. If the Camelot army was traipsing around nearby, Merlin needed to know about it.
So he decided he'd have to ask Hadrian, to try to talk to him once more.
He got his chance sooner than he'd expected. He was mucking out the stables only a few days after his decision when Hadrian came in for a horse.
Per his normal routine, he was sure to not look at Merlin as he secured it's lead, but Merlin stopped. Holding his shovel nervously in sweaty hands, he had to swallow a lump in his throat before calling out.
"Hadrian." His voice was rusty from non-use.
If Hadrian was startled, he did not show it. He did not stop, did not even pause, but went straight to the saddle and began fiddling with the girth.
"Hadrian." Still nothing, but Merlin was not disheartened. "Okay," he continued anyway, "just hear me out. All I need to know is if there Camelot soldiers in the area, Hadrian, please. You have to help me. Please understand, this could be my last chance my last chance to go home... to see my mother again. I know you don't like having me around, but you know that I don't enjoy being here. I used to live in Camelot... if it's in trouble... If there's anything... anything... I'm not looking for much, just some information, please."
He quieted after that little speech, and silence fell. Each second that passed seemed to stretch into eternity. The suspense was horrible. Hadrian did not turn around.
"Please, Hadrian," Merlin asked once more in a cracking voice, "You don't have to say anything... just shake or nod your head... this could be my last chance... you could be my last chance..."
The girth was secure, the horse bridled. Hadrian took the reigns and paused. Merlin's heart soared in anticipation.
Hadrian took a deep breath as if to speak, and looked over his shoulder, looked over at Merlin, and fixed him with a hard stare. Merlin leaned forward eyes wide, eager. He was not going to miss a single word, not a single helpful word. There'd been precious few in the last two years.
But then he turned and exited, the horse's swishing tail a mocking laugh.
Merlin's heart plummeted.
He should have known better, he thought as he continued his mucking with renewed ferocity, he should have known better than to ask for help.
He was alone here, a lesson he'd do well to accept.
888
Arthur's feet have barely touched Camelot ground before a dark blur flies past him so fast he swears he could feel his hair ruffle.
It heads straight for Merlin. After three days of deep silence and thick tension, with nothing but his own confused thoughts to keep himself occupied with, Arthur is more stressed than he realises. When he whips around with his hand on his hilt, only to find Merlin wrapped, not in the hands of an ill-wisher but in the arms of a friend, he's embarrassed, though he'd never say as much.
It's Gwen, back again in Camelot, returned, Arthur reasons, probably not long after his and Merlin's own departure.
The sight of her thick, swinging curls inevitably brings back memories of why they bounced away in the first place, and his stomach clenches uncomfortably.
Her arms were wrapped around a stiff and blank- faced Merlin with all the fierceness of a mother bear. Even though it had been quite some time since Arthur had heard her voice, the endless chatter streaming from her mouth now puts him at ease. Merlin is back and Gwen is back and it was almost like the days when his father was alive and all was right with his world.
Well. Relatively speaking.
"Merlin!" She is nearly breathless with excitement. "Merlin, I can't believe it! I can't believe it's you, I can't believe you're alive!"
Though she is clearly squeezing him rather... rather more bracingly than Arthur's approach, Merlin stands quietly, a cooperative doll.
Gwen pulls back, but only to kiss Merlin's cheeks and forehead. "Oh, Merlin," only her thick voice gives away how close she really is to tears. "I'm just so glad you're back... when Elyan told me you were alive...you could have knocked me over with a feather, and of course we came as fast as we could, but you weren't here and Gwaine said you'd gone to see your mother and you'd be back soon but really you were gone so much longer than you should have been, and of course I was so worried and..." trailing off, her eyes seem to finally take in the dilapidated state Merlin has come back in.
She takes in his slumped form. His entire body is drooped and tired and fading... and if he stands out here in the sun long enough, Arthur suspects he might just melt away.
Her eyes rove over him, and then she turns to look at Arthur and the two horses that make up their entourage, as if she is looking for someone.
Stable Hands are already beginning to swarm around them as she chances a small, questioning glance back at Arthur. He gives an imperceivable shake of his head.
Turning back, Gwen pursed her lips. "Right," she says, and she takes a step back to run a hand through Merlin's long and shaggy hair. "Right. Well, Merlin," she forces a smile and it nearly cracks her face in two. "Clearly, Arthur still doesn't know how to clean up properly. Look at the state of your hair." She takes a piece between her thumb and finger to examine.
Arthur hears the tone of her voice and he knows she was teasing. He knows she is just trying to lighten the dark look on Merlin's face.
But it hurts anyway.
Gwen takes Merlin by the hand and gently pulls him toward the castle. "Come on then," she says, "let's get you cleaned up."
888
"There we are!" Gwen exclaims as she finally finds the scissors she's been looking for. She snips them a few times in her hand, experimentally.
Merlin watches from the center of the room, in the chair he has been instructed to sit in. His eyes follow Gwen as she comes over to face him and bends down, her hands on her knees, to look him in the face.
"You are going to look very handsome when I'm done with you." She promises, a giant smile on her face.
She vanishes from sight, and then two warm, soft hands are drifting gently though Merlin's hair, nuzzling against his scalp, fluffing out his overgrown locks. Merlin lets his heavy eyelids fall shut as that familiarly exuberant voice washes over him, a reminder of happy things with a promise of more to come. And Merlin loves the sound of it. Because it's not faked, it's not forced... it's just... Gwen. How he'd missed her...
"...not that you're not already handsome," Gwen is saying now, "but you know, I just don't think long hair really suits you, Merlin." She takes a strand between her thumb and forefinger and stretches it out, tsking when it almost draws level with his chin.
"They hide those lovely cheekbones of y- oh! Merlin! You scared me!"
For, quick as a flash, Merlin's hand had shot out and captured Gwen's, tugging to bring it eye-level with his face. Gently, he turns it, and when he sees what he's looking for his lips twitch slightly.
Almost triumphantly, Merlin raises up her hand as if to show her, tapping at the small gold band wrapped around her ring finger.
Behind him, Gwen blushes.
"Yes, alright, I got married... don't be so surprised." She has a piece of his hair between her fingers, but it slides away as Merlin leans across the table, suddenly eager for his quill and parchment.
She leans over his shoulder, frowning as she tries to decipher his messy scrawl as it works its way across the paper.
He's not good enough for you.
"Merlin!" She laughs. He can hear the warmth in her voice, and it seeps into his bones. "That's sweet... but he's wonderful, he really is. He was one of the first people I met when I moved to Cyfinwich."
Merlin settles back into the chair, ready to listen to her story as the scissors in Gwen's hand are finally put to use and the first lock of Merlin's hair floats to the ground.
"I had just moved in. I had this shabby little house on the edge of town... a little run down, but it was cheap and it had everything I needed.
"The only problem was that I was running low on money, and I was having trouble finding a job. I was knocking on all these doors, asking everyone around... but no luck. I got a few doors slammed in my face, and I was feeling a bit lonely, just wondering around the market, very homesick and very upset, worrying that I made a huge mistake in coming here and perhaps I should just go home after all, when something caught my eye.
"There was a man, a blacksmith. He was working on this set of keys. The sun was just start to set behind him, and the light was filtering past him... and you could see the sweat glistening on his skin... and... and his shirt was low cut, and when he moved in just the right way..." she gave a shaky sigh, her hands pausing, just for a second, in Merlin's hair.
"But," she continues in a stronger, more straightforward tone, "that's not what really caught my eye."
Her hands begin to move once more. Gwen's voice is slowly rising to fill not only the emptiness in the room but also, just maybe, some of the emptiness in Merlin, too.
"What really caught my attention was the fact that he was using double-chambered forge bellows instead of double-acting bellows. I mean, I know the double-chamber is cheaper, but is the disrupted air stream really worth it?"
She shakes her head. "My poor father... he'd been spinning in his grave if he knew. When he was a blacksmith, he never cut any corners. He was- well. Anyway, I took it upon myself to let him know he was making a huge mistake. Once a blacksmith's daughter, always a blacksmith's daughter, I suppose." She chuckles to herself.
"So when I pointed it out, in my most polite voice of course, he wasn't very grateful, no... started going on about how I didn't know anything about forging and how I was only a women and how if I could do a better job than him he'd give me the whole bloody shop. So naturally, I did just that: I shooed him out of my way and started on my own set of keys. You should have seen his face when I finished. I mean they may have looked pretty similar, but any halfway decent blacksmith would have been able to see that mine were better. But instead of thanking me, he got all red and embarrassed, gasping like a fish out of water. Then he just turned around, marched inside and slammed the door in my face.
"You can imagine how incensed I was, but I mean there was nothing else for it. I didn't expect to lay claim to a shop that was offered in a bet in the middle of an argument, but a thank you would have been nice at least. They were fabulous keys if I do say so myself... But after that, I just wandered on home.
"Then guess who showed up on my doorstep the next morning, looking all abashed (as he should, of course) with his hat in his hands... and flowers no less. Said he was sorry, that he hadn't meant to let his temper get the better of him and that he was actually really thankful for the advice since he'd just inherited this forge from an estranged Uncle and he didn't even really know anything about being a blacksmith except for what he'd researched himself, and would I like to come and work for him at his shop.
"I didn't have any better offers, well I didn't have any other offers at all, so I said yes. And it turned out that he's really sweet. Very considerate... He gave me more than a reasonable rate, and days off whenever I needed. He had a few other... misconceptions about what woman could and could not do, but I took great pleasure in proving all of those wrong.
"You know, now that I think on it, he's a bit like Arthur... prideful, but willing to admit when he was wrong, after he calmed down a bit... hot-headed, you know? And don't you remember how Arthur used to think women couldn't fight until he was beaten by a woman in tournament? Well I suppose it's a bit like that, isn't it? They're both very aware of how much women can do now. After all, he could barely run the shop before I came along.
"I taught him some and he taught me some... and together we made it work. You'd like him, Merlin. He's an honest man; a hard worker. And he's good to me. Buys me nice dresses and things. Never rude or unkind... never lays a hand on me. He's good to me. A bit quick-tempered, but I love that about him. I love him, and he treats me like a princess."
It was less the story and more Gwen's tone, honest and open, that convinces Merlin that she really does love him. He doesn't doubt her husband's love for her... surely nobody who does meet her could avoid falling in love with someone so beautiful, inside and out. For a few seconds there is silence, broken only by the metallic scraping of the scissors, as Merlin processes everything that Gwen said.
Moving to Cyfinwich by herself, helping to run a forgery, just as her father once did, falling in love, getting married... compared to what he'd been up to for the past years, it seemed like a whimsical fairy tale, a happy life he dared not even wish for.
And yet... and yet... something is bugging him, even so.
'He treats me like a princess.'She'd said.
He reaches for his paper.
But you could have been a real princess.
She puts the scissors down, and her fingers run through his hair for a moment. The touch feels heavenly- intimate, yet kind, not pushing, not asking for anything. Friendship, caring, in its truest form.
"I'm not sure what you mean, Merlin. Here." Those fingers disappear for a moment, only to return in front of his face this time clutching a mirror.
"What do you think?"
Merlin takes it and gives a glance and wan smile that's definitely more for Gwen than it is for him before putting it face down, back on the table. He reaches for his paper again.
Why did you say no when Arthur proposed?
Gwen blushes. "Don't be silly, Merlin. Arthur didn't propose to me."
Merlin turns around in his chair, fixing Gwen with a dubious look, one that told her he clearly didn't believe her for a second.
She grimaces and moves over to the bed where she sinks with a flap of her skirt and a deep sigh.
"Alright, fine, he did propose."
Merlin flashes a triumphant grin. He scribbles another sentence underneath the first before bringing it over to her.
What happened? I thought you liked him?
"I did like him, Merlin," she says, placing the paper on the bed next to her, "It's not so simple."
Merlin holds out his hands, motioning expectantly. After all, someone had to catch him up on all he missed.
Gwen sighs again and flops back on the bed.
"Alright. We were together for a while, and I thought I had seen every side of him, but after you... left, he... changed." The mattress shifts slightly as Merlin sits next to her, and after a moment she continues.
"He was... different. Still prideful, still driven, but somehow his attitude had changed. He wasn't as...cheerful, he wasn't as happy. He never smiled or joked around... I don't think he ever got over losing you. He didn't seem to really care about anything anymore, he just... he kept everyone at an arm's length; like after you were gone he didn't trust anyone not to just up and leave him.
"Then, of course, his Father died. He didn't talk to anyone for days, not even me. He was inconsolable. After he got coronated, there was a lot of pressure on him to settle down and pick a queen. Things between us hadn't been the same for a long time, and honestly, I was expecting him to break it off, choose a proper lady, a duchess or something, you know, but he didn't. He proposed to me, but... he wasn't the same man that I had fallen in love with. He was emptier, like he was only proposing because he was expected to. He hadn't been the Arthur I knew for a while and I... I couldn't do it.
"Course it didn't take long before the whole Kingdom found out that the King had proposed to a servant girl and she had said no. Well, you can imagine all the ridicule I got, a crazy servant girl turning down a King. I didn't care, though. I wasn't going to marry him just because he's King. I couldn't do that to him... and I couldn't do that to myself. I left soon after that. Not because of what people were saying about me, mind you, but because I just couldn't stand being around Arthur. It felt like I was the third person to leave him, and I couldn't stand knowing that I had disappointed him like that, and then see him everyday. It was heart-wrenching. Plus how could I get over him if I was constantly around him? It was hard, but I'd do it again. I love Cyfinwich; I love my life there and I love my husband."
There's a gentle floomph and Merlin is laying by her side, a contemplative look on his face.
Gwen smiles and reaches over to touch his cheek, as if with one simple touch she could erase from his mind and body all the horrors he had been through.
She sits up, and Merlin follows.
"Never mind Arthur for now." She says seriously, "I'm just glad you're back, Merlin. You've been through so much... I just want you to know I'm here for you, if you ever need me. And I- I'm so sorry, Merlin. For everything, everything, I'm so sorry."
She embraces him then, tight against her chest, and the tears that dampen her dress come from more than one set of eyes.
888
Merlin's blood boiled sluggishly, thick and hot like mud.
His jaw ached, tired from grinding his teeth.
An anger was living in his chest, and everyday it grew. Everyday it curled a little tighter; a little closer to springing, to striking.
Everyday, the man he'd served so loyally, the man he'd painstakingly pushed toward glory, the man whose destiny was entwined with his own, the man he'd risked life and limb for, his best friend, the hope and promise of a better future- not for him but for generations to come...was defamed at the table.
Boan was neither a fan of Arthur's, nor a friend of Camelot's, and he didn't have any reservations about explaining his views.
Every night.
As Merlin served him food and wine, he listened as his home, listened as the thing he most desired in the world was desanctified, cut down and spat on.
Every night.
It burdened his soul to the point where he could take no more.
"Their King is nothing more but a boy playing dress up. He puts on his father's crown and thinks himself tall! He'll get what he deserves all right, sending his guards over here, turning our village upside down looking for this witch, spreading his own problems around as if we haven't enough of them ourselves! He never should have let her out of his sight!"
As he filled Boan's cup Merlin tried to keep his hands from shaking, jaw closed tight. He'd never been great at holding his tongue in anger; Arthur had complained about his big mouth enough times for him to know. He'd had the weight of the whip hanging over his head to help keep his head cool, but even that seemed to shrink when compared to the grievances spoken against his homeland.
"He should have killed her when he had the chance, but no! He let her go instead, showing her mercy," he scoffed. "Soft! That's what he is! I hear they're related, ain't they? Half his blood sister, is she? That's no excuse, no excuse at all! He's a coward! He's weak! And he'll run Camelot into the bloody gr-"
"You're wrong!" It was not a calm comment, not a planned statement. It came from inside him like projectile vomit... impossible to swallow back. The wine jug was no longer in his hands but he could not remember putting it down.
Boan's eyes grew so wide, Merlin feared they were in danger of popping out of his skull.
"What? What did you say to me?" Boan stands up from the table so fast he jarrs it, sending plates and food bits diving to the floor.
He's going to get it. He's going to get it. He's going to get it so bad.
He backs up to the wall, but his mouth doesn't come with him.
"You're wrong!" He screamed it, screamed it from his bones even as he moved back, away from Boan's coiled fists. "Arthur is the Once and Future King! He's going to unite the lands of Albion!"
Boan advanced on him, and Merlin's voice began to falter.
"He- he will be remembered forever because of his mercy and fairness and goodness, and it's people like you, evil and stupid and cruel who- who-"
"I've had enough of this!" Boan roared, grabbing Merlin by his collar, "Enough of your thieving and lying, and enough of that tongue of yours!"
With one strong hand, he hauls Merlin over to the table, and with one great swipe of the other arm, everything not already on the floor quickly finds its way there.
His head was pressed against the tabletop as, for the second time, he's bent over it's edge.
Hadrian and Ellyn both watch, still in their respective chairs though both had the intelligence to scoot back a few feet. Ellyn looked on with her usual cold indifference, Hadrian, a tight lipped silence.
Merlin lay still. He did not struggle as both wrists were pulled behind his back. His heart slammed in his chest, beating against his ribs like it, too, wanted out. He could feel a coldness in his gut like a block of ice, even as beads of perspiration began to form on his forehead and under his clothes.
Never before in all his years had he been in so much trouble, so alone, and so utterly defenceless.
He felt almost detached, from his body, from his situation, from the world. He barely noticed the rope encircling his wrists in a deadly tight embrace. And he watched, from someone else's eyes as Boan, one hand still pressing on Merlin's face, scrambled down on the floor for something. Somewhere a door clicked shut, and Merlin couldn't help but wonder which member of his audience had fled.
Then Boan straightened up, the butcher's knife he clutched in his fat fist glinted in the light of the candles. It was fatally sharp. Merlin would know... he had whetted it.
He eyed its edge, detached. He wondered which limb was going to come off, a finger, an ear, a hand... or perhaps even his entire head.
If he was to die tonight, then so be it. He hadn't been afraid to die for Arthur while he was in Camelot, and he wasn't afraid now. It was oddly fitting, really.
His destiny, coming to light at last.
But Boan didn't reach for his neck.
His hand instead reached for his mouth, pulled at his jaw, the knife still posed in his other hand.
And then it clicked.
His tongue. Boan was going to cut out his tongue.
His jaw instantly tightened. Panic began to set in, suddenly everything was too real and too bright, and happening much much too quickly. He started to struggle, trying vainly to rise from the table, to untie his wrists, to get free.
His tongue, his tongue, his tongue, please no, no, no, he was going to cut off his tongue, he was going to cut off his tongue. No, no, no, please, no, no, please... How could this have happened? How could he have ended up here, on this dirty table, about to have his face mutilated by a madman and, he'd really rather just be killed. He couldn't even save Freya, how could he possibly save himself? How had he become so weak, so useless, so powerless.
Boan struggled with him now, trying to keep him still and open his mouth at the same time, but Merlin was stubbornly resisting, teeth shut together so tight he thought his jaw might break.
Please no... please...
Hadn't he suffered enough? Couldn't the journey end here?
"Hadrian!" Boan called roughly, "Help me, hold him down!"
White faced, forehead glistening, Hadrian paused.
And Merlin dared hope.
A fatal flaw. Hadrian rose, and obeyed.
Then their short battle was over before it had begun. With Boan in front of him and Hadrian behind, Merlin had no chance... and he was so weak... They pinned him down, restrained him, and Merlin could barely move, though that didn't stop him from trying. He was like a cow, a cow ready for the slaughter. He'd never felt so vulnerable. His blood was like worms in his veins, wriggling through his body. His eyes prickled, and he could feel sweat rolling down his forehead to the table.
Even so, they couldn't cut out his tongue if they couldn't get his mouth open, and Merlin was keeping his resolutely closed.
Boan's fingers fought against his lips, causing Merlin's chapped lips to burn but he didn't open his mouth. His breaths were coming fast and hard like he had been running, lifting his chest up from the wooden surface slightly.
"Hadrian, his nose!" Boan's voice was strained.
Two cold, clammy fingers came down and pinched his nose shut.
He held out as long as his could- until it felt like his lungs were collapsing, deflating. Suffocation would be better than what awaited him here, wouldn't it?
But his body betrayed him. His mouth opened in a gasp for air.
"Please," he gasped in a breaking voice, before the hands had a chance to pounce, his eyes roving from Boan, back to a Hadrian, who he couldn't see. His neck jerked endless, trying to pull his head away. "I'm sorry, please, no, please-" They were the last words he ever spoke.
Fingers were in his mouth and they pried his jaws open, open until he thought it might snap off. Hadrian's front pressed against his back, effective both in holding him down and keeping his hands free to occupy Merlin's mouth. His stomach pressed heavily into the table edge, and it ached painfully.
His tongue was pulled from his mouth and the tip of a knife was inserted, so sharp his flinched.
Sweat and tears were keeping his face hot and stuck to the table, and now blood joined the mix, and Merlin spluttered as it flooded his mouth, hot and metallic, as it made its way down his throat, choking him.
It spread across the table in front of him, a thick red pool.
And the pain... the pain... unbearable. He was screaming deep in his throat, screaming until his whole body felt raw with agony. He writhed like a worm stuck on a pin, no longer able to keep himself up but it was okay because someone else was. Someone was killing him, killing him and they were starting with his tongue. He began to lose sight of who he was and where he was and who was doing this to him... he just knew unending, searing pain, and he would have said anything, bowed to anyone, to get it to end.
But it didn't end for hours; even after his tongue was gone and he had stuffed a few rags in his mouth to stop the bleeding. It still hurt; his entire head throbbed with a pounding, pounding pain like someone had used his mouth as an anvil.
It didn't stop.
It would never stop.
888
Arthur decides, in his most astute and professional opinion, as King of Camelot, that it was completely unfair. He stares into the fire now, chin firmly in hand, thinking over every way in which he had been wronged.
All day long he had had to endure as Merlin and Gwen got along spectacularly. The two of them spent much of the day together with Gaius, with Arthur popping in whenever he could find an excuse to run down between meetings. Gwen would give Merlin smiles and small comforting touches and hugs... and Merlin would give them back! It isn't that Arthur's jealous of their friendship, of course. It was just that, well, he didn't understand it.
Why did Merlin wrap his arms around Gwen yet, when Arthur had tried to comfort him in the same way, he had resisted in every sense of the word. It didn't make sense. Actually, all things considered, it was a bit infuriating.
After all, when it came to Merlin, Arthur really felt like he had left no stone unturned. Even his jacket had been deemed unworthy to sleep under and now Gwen comes along and Merlin's more than happy to let her pamper him and cut his hair and smile (albeit sadly) at her over his dinner plate.
The only possible conclusion he could come to was that Merlin was in love with Gwen. He had, after all, been very close to her when he'd been kidnapped. Perhaps he'd had feelings for her that Arthur hadn't known about.
This possible solution made Arthur frown in displeasure. He thought he knew why, though he didn't like to dwell on it. But if it was love that made Merlin so agreeable, than Arthur thought he could understand his pain, because it was a love destined to go unrequited. Gwen was married now, and lived a least a week's worth of travel away.
But if that was the case, why hadn't Merlin demanded to see her sooner? Packed up his bags and set off like he had for his mother? The whole thing was confusing at best.
Arthur is twirling a letter opener around in his fingers and it catches in the firelight, glinting up at him all too happily for Arthur's taste. He's just about to give the whole thing up and turn in for the night when there's a timid knock at his door.
George not doubt, coming to tuck him in bed or fetch him a drink or sing him a lullaby... Arthur sits himself straighter in his armchair before answering.
"Come in."
But it's not George who enters, it's Gwen, looking hesitant and a little unsure of herself.
"Gwen," he manages in surprise, and she gives him a wan smile.
"Sire," she says, executing a perfect curtsey.
"Don't do that Gwen," Arthur says rolling his eyes, "and call me Arthur, please."
"I just thought you'd want to know," she says straightening, "that Merlin's just gone to bed. Gaius said you like to be, ah, updated."
"Oh, has he? I didn't hear him walk past."
"He didn't. He wanted to sleep in his old bed tonight. At Gaius's."
"Oh." Arthur deflates a bit. "Wanted to get away a little further, did he?" He asked moodily.
"Arthur what on earth are you talking about?" Gwen asks, coming in a bit further and closing the door behind her.
Arthur sighs, finally putting aside the letter opener. "Nothing, I just... I don't get why he's being like this."
"Being like what?"
"Like... with you, Gwen, I don't get it! I've been trying to- to help him for days now and he's, he's turned away, pulled away, ran away, refuses to talk to me, barely looks at me... and I thought he was just grieving, and then, and then you come along and he's okay! I just... not that I blame you or anything, Gwen, I'm glad he's improving, really... I... I suppose he's just... I suppose he just likes you more." He finishes, looking away.
Gwen fiddles with her fingers, coming forward to lean on Arthur's bedpost. "I don't think that's it at all, Arthur. Haven't you talked to him? About what happened, I mean?"
"No!" Arthur cries in frustration, flinging his hands in the air. "Because he won't! He barely writes down anything, and he doesn't say a word about what happened to him in the last four years! I mean, I got a bit out of him about his leg... but I don't want to push him, either. I just don't know what to do anymore. He doesn't seem to want to stay here, but he doesn't have anywhere else to go, does he?" Arthur rubs his temples. "I just wish he would tell me why he's avoiding me..."
"Arthur," Gwen says in a tone that implies he should already know, "He's afraid of you."
Arthur is dumbfounded. "Afraid of me? What are you talking about, afraid of me? He can't be! I- I haven't done anything! I-! He has to know I would never do anything to hurt him! How can that possibly be?"
"Well," Gwen says gently, "he's been through a lot, and-"
"I know, Gwen," Arthur interrupts heatedly.
"Please, Arthur, we did a lot of talking, well, actually, I did a lot of talking, Merlin did a lot of writing, and he told me a lot about what happened and... and I think that he's afraid of what you might think of him after what he's been through." Artur opens his mouth to argue, but Gwen holds up her hand to stop him. "I know it doesn't make any sense to you, Arthur, but he's not the same person he was when he left. It's degrading, what he went through, being enslaved like he was. I don't think he came out of it with a lot of dignity left, and I think that he's scared you might think less of him if you knew what he's been doing to survive these past years. After all, you're a King now, aren't you? You're different now too, and he knows it. Maybe he's scared that he doesn't have the same level of friendship he did when left. Plus..." she trails off.
"What, Gwen?"
She bites her lip. "I don't think I'm supposed to say..."
He rises from his armchair, coming over over to grip her arms. "Gwen, please, if it's information that'll help Merlin..."
"Ooh," Her face wrinkles, "Arthur don't you get it? He waited for you."
"What do you mean, waited for me?"
"He waited! For four years, every single day he waited for you to come and find him, rescue him! Every day might be the day that you would come and crash the door down and take him home to Camelot. He watched you hunt down countless bandits and animals without a problem and then when it came to him... maybe he thought you just didn't care, that he was just a servant after all."
Arthur gapes at her. "That's preposterous!" He declares after a moment. Shaking his head, he begins to pace wildly about the room. "Gwen, we searched for years! There was nothing, absolutely nothing, there was no bloody trail to follow, or don't you think I would have? I nearly exhausted the treasury, half the bloody kingdom was out looking!"
"I know Arthur," shes says gently, "I remember. But did you ever tell Merlin?"
He looks at her stupidly. "Ah, no." He says, finally. "No, I suppose I didn't... like I said, we don't really talk... about... about what happened... after... that much..."
Gwen smiles. "Well tell him, Arthur. Maybe he'll surprise you."
Arthur remains silent, and Gwen heads for the door. Right before exiting, she turns.
"I know how much Merlin means to you and how much you mean to him. I'd hate for you to lose each other."
After the door clicks shut, Arthur sinks onto the edge of the bed, letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.
Could what Gwen said be true? Could Merlin actually be scared of Arthur? He could hardly digest the thought.
Could he really mean something to Merlin?
He laid back onto the bed and turned his head to the window. The moon, nearly choked by dark clouds, stares back helplessly.
Tomorrow then, Arthur decides as he turns his face away. Tomorrow he would talk to Merlin and sort this whole thing out.
And then everything would be okay.
You get a fourth thank you for making it all the way to the end! Thank you!
