Hello! Thank you SO much for the follows, favourites, and the seriously awesome reviews I have had - I've smiled so much as I've read them. :) This chapter is slightly shorter than the earlier ones, and while it doesn't move the story forward time-wise, it's really the heart of the plot. This is Merlin's perspective of the events from the previous chapter. In the finale, Merlin seemed to radiaite a calmness after his initial panic and despair, and I wanted to expand on what might have happened to cause the change. I hope you enjoy this latest installment!
I really wish I owned Merlin, but I don't.
Merlin knew he'd made a mistake as soon as Arthur had commanded him to stop speaking. At first, he had been excited when the king had asked him for answers; finally, finally, he was going to be able to speak without hiding anything. He'd known it was a risk to bring Kilgharrah to his friend's attention, but after revealing his magic, he couldn't help himself. He'd been battling an urge to blurt out every little detail of his whole life for the entire day. There were things – many things – that he was ashamed about, but after the long years of silence, Merlin was desperate to make Arthur aware of everything that had happened. To justify all of the lies he'd been forced to tell.
He knew he was being selfish; he knew that the king was in no fit state to withstand the many shocks that Merlin's confessions would heap upon him. And then he'd stupidly given in to his rage, causing his father's dragon to explode. The king had been terrified; that he had caused such fear in his friend had shaken him, more than he wanted to admit even to himself. But then, despite his wariness, Arthur had rallied, and consented for Merlin to magically ease his pain.
At that point, Merlin had wanted to scream. He'd wanted to claw at his head and release the terrible ball of agony that was crushing him; he'd wanted to do something – anything – that would relieve the pressure that was tearing at him. For despite Arthur's huge step forward towards accepting his magic, the warlock was all too painfully aware that shock, terror, and excruciating pain were likely the only reasons for the softening of Arthur's attitude. He needed his friend to accept him freely; not just because pain was dulling his wits.
It was killing him. It was slowly destroying every last bit of the hope that he had of the king ever truly accepting him.
"Enough."
Arthur's stern command bounced painfully through his mind as he reached his bed roll, and Merlin flinched as if it had been screamed at him. He glanced at the fire and felt his stomach dip; he knew he had to move as far away as he could. He was so distressed right now that he was terrified of what his magic would conjure, and he knew that Arthur couldn't cope with any more sorcery that night. Staring wistfully at the flames for a few seconds, the warlock gathered his bed roll in his hands and walked purposefully away.
He sensed Arthur's eyes upon him, but instinctively knew not to look at him; at least, not to openly look at him. Not willing to face the other way in case he was needed, Merlin compromised and settled into a position on his back. It was far from comfortable, but that was all to the good, for he had no intention of sleeping anyway. Sharpening his senses, he controlled his breathing so that he could concentrate on his surroundings; not only did he have to stay alert for any possible attacks, he also needed to make sure he was still able to monitor the king's injury.
At the thought of the cruel fragment of blade that was slowly murdering his friend, Merlin had to blink back the moisture that threatened to spill from his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was give in to his emotions, because he knew that if he did, he would never be able to regain control of them. He couldn't afford to allow himself any weakness right now; Arthur needed him to be strong.
"Enough."
Merlin wished that he could forget the word that had been uttered with so much pain and disillusionment. It was as if the king was still speaking to him, and every time he heard it, he berated himself for confessing his part in Kilgharrah's release. The worst thing about it was the fact that he hadn't needed to do it. He could have been a little more circumspect with the truth; there hadn't been any need to tell Arthur of the dragon's survival. He'd forgotten himself for a second, lulled into a sense of ease by the wonderful normalness of sharing banter with his friend. If he'd only kept the dragon's name to himself, the conversation would have ended with Kilgharrah's departure from Camelot. One tiny slip and he'd undone everything.
"Enough."
Merlin twisted his fingers nervously. The flames of the fire were calling at his magic, and he struggled to keep it restrained. He was beyond tired, and his nerves were stretched to the point of snapping. Every rustle from the trees made him twitch, his body poised for immediate action. And all the while, he kept watch over his friend, sneaking glances from the corner of his eye every minute or so.
The king was still awake, causing Merlin's fingers to flutter even more. Arthur needed to sleep, to regain at least a small measure of energy so that he could manage the next day's journey. The warlock was terrified that the king would fade before they reached Avalon. They probably shouldn't have made camp, but Merlin had weighed the risks and decided that riding through the night would have weakened the king even further. Arthur could be cured on the sacred isle, but he had to survive the journey first.
Merlin flicked his eyes towards the king, and his panic increased another notch; Arthur was watching him, and Merlin pulled his gaze away, not wanting to analyse exactly what his friend was thinking to cause such a look of shock on his already pale features. The warlock's stomach dropped as a fresh wave of remorse stole over him; he should have kept his silence. The king needed to sleep, and all Merlin had done was condemn him to a restless night.
I'm such an idiot. Foolish, foolish, stupid Merlin.
If he had been more careful with his words, Arthur would probably have been more receptive to another round of magical pain relief. There was little to no chance of that happening now; the king was far too stubborn, and too angry with his servant to allow him to accept any help. Once again, Merlin had backed himself into a corner when all he'd wanted to do was help.
He shouldn't have felt surprised; it was hardly the first time he had tried to do something good, only for things to end up a hundred times worse.
The warlock was pulled from his bitter thoughts by Arthur's muffled cry of pain. He was on his feet before he had chance to think, and rushed to his friend's side.
"Arthur?"
But the king was far away, obviously trying to breathe through a fresh burst of pain. Merlin felt his panic reach untold heights, and, stupidly, all he could think was that it hadn't been two days yet. Gaius had said two days. Two days, not one. Was the blade fragment reaching its goal now? Merlin forced his mouth to work and whispered his friend's name again, air rushing back into his lungs when the king blinked and looked at him directly.
"It's alright. I-I moved too quickly, that's all."
Merlin backed away, not sure whether to believe his friend. He needed to know for sure, but the only way he could find out was if he used magic again. His mind wrestled with the problem, weighing up the risks of offering his aid, or keeping his silence. Realising that Arthur's life was possibly in the balance, he decided to risk the king's wrath, and be damned with it.
He stepped forward and lowered his gaze, desperately hoping to convey his eagerness only to help, not to anger. His quiet words were met with a sickening silence, and Merlin had to bite his tongue to stop himself uttering a groan of despair. Turning away, he was suddenly stopped.
"No, wait... Merlin..."
The warlock paused, and his heart thudded painfully. There was something inexplicably wrong with Arthur's face, and it was only when his friend spoke that Merlin understood what it was that confused him. The blonde was not only accepting his help, he was asking for it. As if that itself was not shocking enough, Merlin was further astounded by the almost humble tone of the man before him.
Arthur Pendragon. Being humble.
In the past, Merlin's first instinct would have been to laugh with glee, but amusement was the very last thing on his mind. The hope which had almost left him started to rise again, and he felt himself begin to fill with renewed resolve.
He gently lowered himself to his knees, inhaling deeply as he did so. Holding his hands above Arthur's chest, he began to search for the sword fragment, his magic deeply concentrated as he tried to discern how close it was to the king's heart. After only a few moments, his heartbeat steadied back to a more normal rhythm; it was alright, there was still time. The power of his relief was so strong that the warlock's magic responded to it, spreading through his entire body until Merlin could practically feel it seeping through his skin. He consciously allowed his loyalty and affection for the man at his side to spill free, and it pushed his magic to an even higher level. He knew his magic had never been stronger, and he was filled with the purest of joy, knowing that it was the bond with his friend that had pushed his magic to its peak.
Two sides of the same coin. This was how it was supposed to be. Lifted by his magic being so completely in tune with him, the warlock turned to his king. He felt his magic pulse behind his eyes, but held the power back, changing its purpose. Gazing gently at his friend, his magic magnified every emotion that was coursing through him, until the air itself was saturated with the bonds of friendship, complete loyalty, and a deep and lasting faith.
"Ready?" the warlock asked gently.
The king nodded, and Merlin's magic poured out of him, drenching the king with everything it contained; everything Merlin contained.
"I know this."
Merlin felt an incredible sense of rightness flow through him at the king's words, and began to smile. Instinct took over, and sensing his magic had done its work, he pulled back, silently willing the king to reach into his memories. Come on, Arthur, I know you have it in you.
The warlock could practically see his friend struggling to compose his thoughts, and he knew the king still needed help. Confident that has magic had been waiting for this moment – this perfect moment – to demonstrate its purpose, Merlin once again poured everything he had ever felt into his spell, and held out a hand.
The king's eyes found the ball of light almost before it appeared, and Merlin felt he would explode with wonder as he witnessed the sheer awe and acceptance that washed his friend's features free of pain. Not the physical pain that his magic had already aided, but all of the doubts, fear, and feelings of betrayal that had haunted his friend ever since Merlin had confessed of his magic. As Arthur turned his stunned gaze upon him, the warlock commanded the gold to retreat from his eyes, and released the glowing orb from his hand.
"It was you."
Yes, Arthur. Believe it. Trust in it.
"It was you. Even then, it was you."
Merlin watched as the king tentatively reached out a hand and touched the sphere almost reverently. See it, Arthur. Understand. Know that my magic only exists to protect you.
It was as if the king had heard Merlin's silent plea, and the blonde's head snapped back, his eyes betraying his shock. All the lies, all the deceit, all the hiding, it didn't matter anymore; nothing mattered more than the plain and simple truth that was now hovering between the two friends. It was simple, and it always had been. Merlin only needed to say the words.
"It's always been me, Arthur. Always."
The king was now succumbing to the effects of the powerful magic used on him, and Merlin felt calmness spread through him. It had worked. Somehow, it had worked, despite the fact that the warlock hadn't even known what it was he was doing.
The king had needed to sleep, and his magic had reacted to that need. Merlin had instinctively poured everything he'd had into his initial spell, and he'd somehow known that the sheer amount of power he'd used was enough to force every last shred of pain from his friend's body. With the pain now gone, exhaustion was taking precedence, and even the stubbornness of a king was not enough to fight it.
Merlin silently rose to his feet, feeling his magic rise within him. The brightly glowing orb settled over Arthur's head, bathing the king in an almost mystical light. The warlock gazed with warm affection at his friend, and sent him into peaceful slumber. The words he spoke came straight from the heart of Merlin, but hidden in them was a command, ringing with the power and might of Emrys.
"Sleep now, Arthur Pendragon. I will watch over you."
The warlock watched closely for several minutes, making sure that the king was indeed sleeping peacefully. Satisfied by the even sounds of Arthur's breathing, Merlin inhaled deeply, then exhaled a drawn out sigh of relief. He was light-headed, both from the extent of magic that he had used, and the emotional giddiness that had followed the extraordinary flare of understanding he had shared with his friend. He gave a cursory scan of the area, but knew that he had no need to be worried. His globe of light would watch over Arthur, and it would nudge Merlin's magic if anything dangerous approached. The warlock trembled with fatigue, and felt his knees crumple beneath him. He blinked wearily, and just managed to summon Excalibur and place it in his friend's hands before darkness claimed him.
Merlin was already asleep when the fire spat out a profusion of magical sparks, and never saw the brightly glowing coin that spun in the air, a mighty dragon proudly etched on both sides of it.
