A/N: First, I would like to ask you one thing. Please do not rush to conclusions based only on what you read in one chapter. There have been and will be many twists and turns in the story.
I don't believe I give the impression that I take the easy way out. I think that my choices so far have proven the complete opposite. So, just to get this straight: This isn't going to have a fairytale ending, I'm aiming for something closer to reality (emotionally speaking of course, this is fantasy genre) and not sunny, sparkly Hollywood.
You should also know that I will remove the not a death fic warning from the story's description. Originally I had put it there to assure the people who first read the fic that Arthur wouldn't be executed, but now that that has come to pass, I think it's unnecessary, if not restricting. I assure you that since the story is canon, Arthur and Merlin will survive in the end, but, like they do in the show, some of the other characters may not be that lucky.
I'm looking forward to seeing what you all think of Lucan after this chapter.
Enjoy!
Chapter 9: To know, finally
Lucan watched alarmed as Merlin stormed off to the horses. He made a step forward, but Declan intercepted him, grabbing him by the arm.
"No. He's not very stable right now, Sire. Let me go. I'll talk to him..." he said in a hurry.
Lucan hesitated for a moment, but then stood back, letting the Druid rush after the angry warlock.
You knew he would have to find out eventually... What are you so afraid of?
Rejection. That was what he feared the most. Rejection and hatred.
He felt silly just at the thought of it. Merlin wasn't like that. But still, in his mind, he felt that it was too soon, he would be too exposed if he told the warlock everything. True, he knew so much about Merlin, what he'd done, even his true character up to a point, but Merlin didn't know almost a thing about him. He'd wished for Merlin to have grown closer to him, to have known him, even consider him a friend before he confessed the complete truth of his deeds.
You are such a hypocrite. If there is one person who can relate to the burden of secrets, it's Merlin.
He looked up ahead, where Merlin and Declan seemed to be having an argument. The rest of the Ostian party stood by, scattered near the lake, not really knowing what to do.
Declan continued to talk to the warlock for some time. Finally, he placed a tired hand upon Merlin's shoulder, a gesture the other man seemed not overly happy about, and turned to walk back to the Prince, a troubled look on his face.
Lucan's eyes were stuck behind the Druid, where Merlin was mounting his horse.
No. This couldn't be happening. He wasn't supposed to leave.
No.
Declan reached him and as usual, he picked up what the Prince was thinking.
"He isn't leaving, Lucan," he told him gently. The Prince let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Declan was looking at him with a strange expression. "He came very close though. It took a lot to convince him otherwise. You should understand this, Sire. He is in a very fragile state right now. Both his emotions and, by extension, his magic can become very easily disturbed. In the end, I had to promise him you were going to come clean."
Lucan closed his eyes, nodding in response. "I know..." he mumbled. "I should have seen it really. He put so much faith in me, gave up everything. How foolish of me to believe I should keep this from him..." he said, watching the warlock from afar as he soothed his horse.
Both he and Declan knew that the real reason the Prince had been stalling was that he wasn't sure of the way Merlin would react to it all.
"I'll talk to him..." the Prince said, gathering up his strength.
The Druid gave him a small encouraging smile.
"That's great, Sire. Just... give him some time to cool off first..."he said, almost wincing at the thought of an angry Merlin.
Lucan relaxed a little and nodded, seeing the other man's point.
"Tonight, then. When we'll make camp..." he agreed.
"He'll understand, Lucan. I know he will," Declan told him, before he went to start packing.
Lucan turned to his first knight, Sir Gilbert, who was standing close by and ordered him to get the men to their horses. They should be getting going if they wanted to reach Ostia around this time the following day.
The rest of their ride had been painfully long. The silence that the previous days had been if not comfortable then understanding, was replaced by a thick tension that moved in the air around them. Merlin had moved to the back of the group instead of riding beside the Prince and Declan as he had done previously.
At night fall, they settled in a small clearing at the edge of the forest. They had just crossed the Ostian borders and it would take less than a day's ride for them to arrive at the Capital.
Lucan felt calmer knowing he was back home in the safety of his father's Kingdom. He didn't really believe that Arthur Pendragon would send his knights to pursue them, but one could never be sure. He knew that Camelot was too weak to risk open attack towards Ostia. Crossing their borders without permission, hunting down the Prince, would certainly count as an act of war.
Merlin had sat down as far away as possible from the rest of the group. No one had dared approach him but Declan, who had brought the warlock a hot bowl of stew. It was going to be a cold night, Lucan could tell. Thankfully the warlock had built a fire, and by the looks of it, a strong one too.
He grabbed a blanket from his bedroll and moved to join Merlin in his secluded spot.
"Not so fast!" he heard Declan call at him. He paused and turned to see the druid coming towards him, a flagon of mead and two cups in his hands.
"Everything gets easier after a couple of drinks..." he told the Prince, lifting his eyebrow suggestively.
Lucan gave him a half-hearted laugh and took the offerings.
"I suppose I shouldn't ask where you've got these from, and just be grateful for giving them to me..." he joked easily with his friend. It was the calm before the storm, Lucan feared.
The Druid gave him a light shove, urging him to move on.
He walked until he was standing near the fire. Merlin was sitting on a log, a blanket on his shoulders to prevent the chilly weather from getting to him. The warlock pretended not to notice when Lucan sat down on the log with him. His gaze was fixed on the flames in front of him. His face betrayed nothing to the prince.
Lucan filled the two cups and offered one to Merlin. The gesture forced the warlock to finally acknowledge him. He stared at the drink blankly and then took it, before he returned to his previous stance.
"Merlin," Lucan began. "I am sorry about before. I understand you feel betrayed by..."
"You're sorry?" Merlin interrupted, irritated. "You are sorry! Do you have any idea what you have done? You just stormed into my life, unraveled every single secret I've ever had, forced me to make the most difficult decision I have ever had to make -all because of what you said- and then you go and hide things from me! Things that have everything to do with me! Who do you think you are, Prince Lucan? What gives you the right to know all there is about me, and yet deny me a simple explanation?" he finished, breathing heavily.
Lucan was sure Merlin's outburst had been heard by all of his men, but thankfully, none reacted whatsoever. The Prince had expected this. Merlin was hurt. He could understand why. The warlock had chosen to believe him and abandon his 'destiny', his whole life back in Camelot. For Lucan not to reciprocate that trust, to still keep secrets, was, in Merlin's logic, unjustifiable.
Lucan drunk from his cup, thinking where to begin his story from. Merlin let an exasperated huff and moved to get up from where he was seating.
"When I was young…" Lucan began, his voice barely a whisper, "I was never close with other noble children of my age. I was smaller than them, got sick easily. My mother used to keep me inside the palace all day. I would spend most of my time with her in her chambers, or studying with my tutors. I loved reading. From historical chronicles, to tales about mystical lands and magical creatures, you name it, I've probably read it. My mother used to read to me when, sometimes, I would be too weak to even get out of my bed," he paused, noting how the warlock had returned to his place, and was clearly paying attention to the story.
"She died when I was ten years old. It was a high fever during a sudden illness. I still can't explain it, maybe it was the Gods' way to balance her untimely death, but after losing my mother, my health started improving drastically."
He could remember it still, that day, when his father had entered his chambers, his eyes full of tears and his arms open to envelop him.
"My father… her death almost destroyed him. But he managed to hold on. He dedicated his life to his people and to make me a man she would have been proud of."
The best king and the best father. I owe so much to him…
He regarded Merlin's expression. The warlock's eyes had softened a bit, and a frown marred his forehead. He looked perplexed.
"You're probably wondering what that's got to do with you. Well… Some of the books my mother liked to read to me were about magic. Not magic books, they didn't contain any spells, but stories. Legends. It was by her mouth, her lovely voice, that I first heard the name Emrys."
Something sparkled in Merlin's eyes, hearing that.
Perhaps it was just the fire…
"I was enthralled by the stories about Emrys," he paused, letting a small laugh escape his lips. "You could say I was enchanted by him… I used to spend hours every week lost inside huge tomes full of poems, texts and prophecies about the greatest sorcerer to ever live and the many things he would accomplish. And, of course, there was the Once and Future King as well."
At that, Merlin froze. Lucan could feel his gaze falling heavy him. He took another gulp from his mead and continued.
"I had this tutor who was a sorcerer. He had managed to escape Camelot and found employment at my father's household. He was a very learned man. Very kind too. He taught me history, though I had asked him to teach me some magic as well, but he'd only laughed after hearing that. He used to tell me that, when I grew up, if I managed to remain as kind and just as I was back then, the great Emrys would ultimately come and choose me to go with him as the Once and Future King."
He didn't turn to see Merlin. Because that man, younger than him by years, was Emrys. And the small child inside Lucan trembled at the thought of how the warlock would look at him. What he would say.
"I used to stay up at night imagining how it would be like. The battles, the monsters we would fight. The fair maidens we would rescue. Together, Emrys and I, have united Albion countless times, all in my head, of course… We've brought magic back to the land, stopped the suffering and the endless wars… It's funny actually, now that I remember. I always imagined Emrys as this wise and powerful man, about my father's age. With a long beard, and a pointy hat," he smiled, the memories of his childhood games, the innocence of youth. The hope he had back then.
"Even when I grew up and started running the Kingdom by my father's side, I never really forgot about Emrys. And then… years after… the signs started to appear. They first came with bards and travelers, people that told stories of the young Prince Arthur of Camelot and his astonishing feats in defeating numerous monsters the world hadn't seen in years, sorcerers that kept rising one after the other. Armies of the dead…" he trailed off.
"It was the Druids that confirmed it. They'd come to us, their close allies, and entrusted us with the secret that the time was coming. That Emrys had arrived."
He said that last part looking directly at the warlock for the first time after many minutes. Merlin's face wasn't giving away much. He seemed to be closely concentrating on what he was hearing, staring in front of him at nothing in particular with the cup still held tight between his palms.
"I had met Arthur once before, you know." Lucan continued. "Perhaps he's already told you about it. I doubt he'd thought much of me back then, seeing I was never very good with the sword. Not like him, anyway. It was an official visit to Camelot with my father… The impression I was left with back then, even with him being at a young age… let's just say it wasn't the best. You can probably imagine how spoilt he was…"
Lucan glanced over, to see Merlin's lips quirk a little after hearing the comment about his former master. Almost immediately though, the warlock's expression darkened.
Lucan sighed. He needed to finish with the story. There were some things, the most important things, that he still had to confess to Merlin.
"When I realized what the Druids were suggesting, that Emrys had chosen Camelot and Arthur to fulfill the prophecies… I can't begin to describe how surprised, disappointed and, well… bitter I felt. What was the point in trying so hard to be good, to be your best around everyone, if, in the end, the title of the noblest man of all, the prophesized King of Legend, was to go to a man like Arthur Pendragon… ? Still, it had been years since I had last seen him, so I decided to keep my opinion to myself, and waited to see what would eventually come to pass."
He took a deep breath before he continued. "When Uther died, some of the people in Ostia, refugees from the Great Purge, celebrated his death. And all who knew, waited impatiently for the news to come. For the day when Camelot would stop the persecution of magic to finally arrive," he said, his voice low again, almost a whisper. He sensed Merlin tense beside him.
"After the first months had passed and nothing of the sort came, I tried to convince myself that Arthur was just easing things in the Kingdom, bringing back magic gradually, so that the people would have time to adjust. Then a year passed and news came of Morgana's second reign and how the noble King Arthur drew this supposedly legendary sword from a stone and defeated the evil Queen, proving that the forces of good would always triumph over the evil that is magic… It was then when I started to worry, really worry that something was wrong. That perhaps, something was stopping Emrys from achieving his destiny. That something had happened to him."
He remembered growing restless, feeling a constant anxiety that kept him awake at night.
"It was around the second year of Arthur's reign that I decided I had waited enough. Nothing had changed concerning magic, and even the druid leaders at their settlement had began to grow restless. Frustrated. After a lot of research, I managed to find a way."
Here we are now. This is where he'll get mad.
He recited the description he had found in the book. He could see it clearly in his mind, as if it was there in front of him.
"For the brave of heart, and the pure, to sacrifice, and the Old Religion to grant… It took me some time to prepare for the ritual, both mentally and physically, and even more time to convince the Druids to perform it. And then… we did it. The original ritual was basically a way for two individual minds to connect and share their experiences. However, the Elders found a way to change it, so that it would only reveal the life of one man, of Emrys, to a person of pure and noble intent, willing to risk his life and soul for that sole purpose... I-I remember it all like it was yesterday… The memories. Your memories."
He couldn't speak any longer, feeling overwhelmed. He waited for Merlin to explode.
"What was the sacrifice?" he was surprised to hear the other man ask in a small voice. Turning his eyes slowly, he saw Merlin watching him, a fierce look on his face. If he had to describe it, he would say it was a mix of disbelief, anger and fear.
Not very good. Though he hadn't attacked yet, something which Lucan counted as a plus.
He swallowed hard and answered him.
"It was a blood sacrifice. Something about my purity of spirit being offered as proof through my living essence… The more I gave, the more I saw. I couldn't though- I didn't go that far. Last thing I remember seeing was a cave full of crystals. The pain you felt then… I just couldn't continue any longer. I blacked out. I think Declan was the one who got in the way and broke the spell..."
He turned to Merlin, only to see him nodding his head slowly, as if he understood, but at the same time was processing a million other information.
"My first thought when I came to was that I needed to do something. That I had to find you, to save you. I think I've already explained my reasoning to you very clearly. I can't really describe exactly how I expected Emrys to be like, but I certainly didn't expect him to be someone like you. A young man, lost and carrying an unnecessarily heavy burden upon his shoulders…"
Lucan didn't have anything else to say. He had finally gotten to the end and he found he was feeling already lighter at the thought that, now, his life lay bare in front of Merlin. And, once more, it was the warlock's turn to make the decision.
"And that's it. That is the whole story. How I know all this. Why I came…" he told him, slightly raising his voice giving it an air of finality. "As to why I didn't tell you… I think you can understand. I did something I now recognize as, well, as unforgivable… I got inside your head without having any kind of permission whatsoever… I crossed a line invading your privacy like that… And I was too ashamed to admit it. Too afraid of how you would react."
I was scared that you'd hate me for it. And I still don't know if I could bear it.
"But I need you to know this, Merlin, before you pass your final judgment. Before you decide to… leave. I was getting desperate. We all were. And desperate times call for desperate measures."
He finished for good this time. He placed his cup on the ground and let his gaze drift to the fire.
He prepared himself for the worst. And, for a brief moment, he wondered if this was how Arthur Pendragon would have felt when Merlin left him, if he hadn't been so utterly blinded by the hatred of magic his fathered had infused upon him.
A few minutes passed in silence. Lucan did not dare to look at the other man.
"You know…" he heard Merlin speak suddenly, his voice strangely calm. "When I used to think about how it would be like for me to tell Arthur about my magic, I imagined something very similar to this. Each time, of course, with different outcomes. With Arthur, you could never be sure of how he would react to the really important things. Like lies, loyalty, friendship and trust. And now… How ironic it is to find myself in the reverse position. To have to be the one to make the decision to either forgive or condemn a man that, in this case, I hardly even know."
Lucan found the courage to turn and look at him. Merlin was facing him, his eyes piercing right through the prince's soul.
"I have been where you are now, Lucan. I have felt that way for many years. Always afraid. Always carrying the burden of guilt… You want to hear my decision? I forgive you for doing what you did. Because I know how it is to be so desperate, to crave for a change… And because your actions, however questionable they might have been in their nature, ultimately managed to get me out of the standstill my life had come to."
Lucan's mind had stopped at the one word the warlock had so easily offered him.
Forgive.
He was forgiven. Merlin would stay.
"I don't know if you are the Once and Future King. I find that I don't really care about it right now. The only thing I want to do is move on. Forget the past. Live my life for a change… And you said that I can do it here, in Ostia. So I choose to believe you."
George had barely managed to sleep at all. He had gone to bed late, after finding out that the warning bells had sounded because someone had tried to escape. He hadn't been able to learn who exactly. A prisoner, or perhaps the King? Then he heard that they had brought in a prisoner. A knight, though none of the servants had managed to learn who. After giving it some thought, George decided he had to risk a venture down the dungeons to see for himself. That was why he had gotten out of his bed and got dressed for his duties hours before his usual time.
He had gone straight to the kitchens and, rummaging through the cupboards and the benches, he managed to gather some old bread, a few jugs of water and cups for the imprisoned knights.
As soon as he reached the entrance to the dungeons, though, he was faced with his first challenge.
"Hey, you! Where do you think you're going?" one of the guards there spat at him. The man was one of the five mercenaries posted there. George had at first thought five men were too few to guard half the knights of Camelot, but then his eyes fell to the creature that was standing perfectly still beside the far wall. He gulped, trying to suppress a panic attack.
The giant statue-guard probably does the trick.
George's knees trembled as he blurted the excuse he had come up with earlier to the man before him.
"I'm bringing food and water for the prisoners," he managed to say without stuttering.
The guard gave him a very disbelieving look. "At this hour?"
"Well, yes. I am supposed to care for the prisoners, they are no good to the Queen dead, are they? But I also have many other important duties. Most of them have to be finished before the court wakes..." he said, feeling proud of himself. That was a perfectly reasonable explanation indeed.
At that point, he heard a distant scream coming from the dark hallway that lead to the dungeon. The mercenary smirked seeing George's widened eyes.
"Well, then... Go ahead," he said, giving the servant a mocking bow of the head, while the other mercenaries behind him sniggered.
And George went.
"For the last time, Sir Percival..." Morgana hissed as she tightened her grip on the whip.
" Where..." she struck at the man's bare back, "are they..." the whip descended once more, making the prisoner groan as it connected with his open wounds, "...headed?"
She gave him one final whiplash and revelled as the knight convulsed and screamed in sheer agony before her eyes. She muttered another spell, intensifying the pain. She was certain he would crack soon. No man could stand such treatment for so long, from late night to these early hours of the morning, let alone when magic was used upon him.
Behind her, the door to the cell opened and she heard someone clear his throat awkwardly.
"Excuse me, Your Majesty," he said. She recognized the voice. That pathetic excuse of a sorcerer, Trickler.
"What do you want?" she demanded, turning around and seeing him cowering at the door.
"King Alined sent me, my Queen. He asks if you are in need of any assistance..."
Morgana's already angered mind saw red hearing that.
"Tell your King he should think twice before he mocks me!" she shrilled, lifting the hand that hold the whip menacingly.
"Please, your Grace! He didn't by any means imply such a thing! He wanted me to give you a gift..." the sorcerer hurried to say, bringing his hands forward. He was holding a sword out for her.
"Another sword? I have little use of these petty weapons..." Morgana dismissed.
"You misunderstand me, my Queen. This is Kin- Arthur Pendragon's sword. I took it myself the night we captured him. My master thought it would help break your prisoner's morale, to have him... treated in such a way by his King's own steel..."
She paused for a moment, looking at the man appraisingly. She could feel the bound Knight behind her tense.
Hmm... This might not be a bad idea after all.
"Very well. I accept your King's gift. Leave it and go," she said, the finality of her words urging the other sorcerer to spring into action. She returned to the captured man, who was hanging in the middle of the room, still glaring at her defiantly.
She smirked as she heard the door close behind her.
"Let us see how you'll like it then, getting marked by you precious King Arthur's sword..." she said, walking to the wooden table at the side, were she kept her -many- tools. Trickler had placed the sword on the edge. It was a beautiful weapon, nothing like those she remembered Arthur carried when he was a prince.
She grabbed the hilt and before she managed to lift it, a wave of weakness hit her, making her lean to the table's wooden surface for support. A feeling of 'wrong wrong wrong' enveloped her completely and she dropped the weapon as if it had burned right through her skin.
"What kind of magic is this?" she whispered faintly, trying to steady herself.
She regarded the fallen sword with disdain.
This has Emrys written all over it...
Merlin, again. Would she never get rid of that pest? She had been wrong not to continue pursuing him when she had found out that he was Emrys. She thought he was gone for good, abandoned Camelot forever, but then he returned to save Arthur! His precious Arthur... And he was ever the coward, not showing his face even then.
And now he mocks me with this sword too?
She was done being nice. Now, she would show them all who was truly in control.
She walked to the knight, her steps faltering from both the shock and the rage that was storming inside her. Sir Percival's eyes were glued upon the sword, his face almost triumphant at the sight of her momentary defeat.
She grabbed him by the neck and clinched her fingers hard, stopping his breath almost completely.
"I will give you one last chance to tell me where Arthur is headed. Do you know what I'll do if you don't answer me? I will stop this...torture. Instead, I'll bring the lovely Guinevere down here to keep you company..." she trailed off, her eyes cold as ice and she saw the exact moment when Percival realized where this was heading.
Good.
"And I'll make you watch as I do to her exactly what I've been doing to you for the last hours. And this time I won't stop until she's begging for me to let her die..." she finished, glaring at the man in a way that said just how serious her threat truly was.
She let her grip on his neck easy out a little, and the tortured knight took a hungry breath.
She waited for a moment. When he didn't speak, she turned to the door.
"Guar-" she began to say, fully intending to make good of her threat.
"Wait!" Percival gasped in a hoarse voice. She could see the conflict written on his pained expression.
"Wait. I'll tell you..." he muttered in the end.
Morgana didn't move, waiting for him to continue.
"They're going to a village north west from here. Longsaddle," he said, sounding defeated.
"Why would they go there?" Morgana questioned, doubting his words. What kind of plan did Merlin have this time...?
"Elyan knows some of the men there. They are seeking refuge..." he responded.
"And what about Merlin? Is he going with them?" she inquired paying close attention to the other man's face. If that scum dared lie to her...
His gaze hardened. "The sorcerer is going with them," he replied simply.
That was all Morgana needed to know. She spared one final glance at the man before her, his broken body and his bowed head. Her eyes glowed gold and the chains holding the man hanging tightened, making him groan with pain.
Morgana remembered the sword. The offending item was still lying on the floor where she had dropped it. She shuddered at the thought of touching it again.
I'll have Brog retrieve it. Perhaps I'll have it melt and use the metal to make a pin or a necklace...
Smiling in satisfaction, she turned to leave the torture room.
She was done in there.
George lowered his gaze, trying to become as inconspicuous as possible, when he spotted Trickler coming towards him from the other side of the corridor. He and the rest of the staff had been shocked when, after Morgana's invasion, the slimy man had started proclaiming himself king Alined's sorcerer and had began ordering everyone around like he owned the place.
The servant didn't miss the fact that the room Trickler had just left was the only one with a wooden door, not an iron barred one. The sorcerer moved passed him without sparing him a single look. The guard at the end of the corridor gave George a bored glance, not really caring about his presence. He went to the first cell and started handing the Knights the scraps of bread and the sparse water jugs. He was near the other end of the corridor, very close to the wooden door, when the fight broke.
One of the knights had managed to grab a passing guard and hold him up against the bars of his cell door, threatening to snap the man's neck if the other guard didn't hand the keys. Before George knew it, guards were running everywhere and the prisoners' loud shouts were echoing in the corridor.
At that exact time, the wooden door opened and Morgana stepped out. Her eyes immediately fell on the ongoing commotion and she stormed towards the gathered men.
Leaving the door behind her conveniently unlocked.
He hurried to get inside and close the door behind him. When he turned around, he realized what the purpose of this room really was. Torture.
"Sir Percival!" he exclaimed, rushing to the large man's side. The knight was in a terrible state, blood oozing out of his many wounds, hands bound tightly over his shoulders, his head dropped as if unconscious. As soon as he heard the servant's voice, the man moved, slowly lifting his head.
"Help..." he said, and George wasted no more time. He run to him and started pulling at the chains.
"She's enchanted them. There's no point anyway..." he told him bitterly. The servant understood his meaning. Even if he could break free, the knight was in no state to walk, let alone fight his way out...
"Over there, on the floor... the sword..." he gestured with a move of his head.
George looked to where the knight had pointed. There on the floor by the small table lay the King's sword. George would have been able to recognize it anywhere.
He had dreams about polishing that sword for goodness sake.
Reluctantly, George left Sir Percival's side and picked up the disregarded weapon. The moment he touched it, he shivered, utterly mesmerized by the otherworldly feel of it.
"She wanted to know where they went..." the knight's voice reminded him of their current situation. The tortured man's eyes scrunched as he tried to move to another position. He breathed heavily for a moment, before he continued. "I misled her... Tried to buy us some time."
George could only nod, not understanding where this was going. What the knight wanted from him.
"That sword... It affects her somehow. You... you must take it to the King. It is the only way he'll ever stand a chance..."
Oh...
The knight spoke again passionately.
"Please, George... If not Arthur, at least give it to someone who stands a fighting chance against her..."
It took only a moment for George to decide. He had promised the Queen to help, after all.
"Wh-where will I find him?" he asked, keeping his voice down. His heart beat like mad.
Relief washed through the knight's features.
"In Herdsdale..." he said, he too whispering. "It's half a day's ride northeast..."
George nodded. He knew of the small village.
"You must hurry..." Percival said urgently. George looked around, his senses on high alert.
How do you pass a sword under all those guards' noses?
Aha!
He walked to the table. There was a collection of weapons, from simple daggers and swords to long winding needles and twisted pincers. They all lay scattered upon a large piece of leather. In a moment of pure inspiration, he took one of the swords and placed it on the floor, where he had found the King's weapon. He then put the authentic one with the others and rolled them all together in a big bundle.
Just in time too, because the next moment, the captain of the mercenaries walked inside the room.
"What do you think you're doing?" he said menacingly.
It was George's surprisingly good improvisation skills that saved him once again.
"Her Majesty said I should take care of these. Cleaning, sharpening..." he gulped, seeing the huge man walking slowly towards him, his hand reaching for his weapon.
When he reached him, the mercenary lowered his head until his eyes were on the same level with George's. His hard glare dropped to the floor.
As soon as he saw the sword, he relaxed.
"Alright. You got them, now get the hell out..."
George didn't need to hear more. He practically ran all the way out of the dungeons.
They travelled almost all night long, making only a few necessary breaks for Arthur. After sunrise, they were already out of the forest and closing in on the village. It was around mid day when they saw the first houses from a distance.
Arthur had spent the entire journey almost unable to form a logical thought. His body was tired and hurt, his mind... he didn't even know how he should feel. All he wanted to do was stop.
But as they were approaching their destination, Arthur started to think clearly. Soon, they would meet Gaius. And he would have to explain to him why, this time, there was no Merlin trailing clumsily behind them.
What am I even supposed to say? Sorry, Gaius. He just decided to leave because apparently I'm not good enough.
His head hurt. A few days ago, that thought would have come to him dripping with sarcasm. Now it was a fact. And Arthur feared it was a justifiable one at that.
As much as he feared Gaius' reaction to the news of Merlin's departure, he couldn't deny that he was kind of anticipating their conversation. Deep inside him, he craved to speak with someone about magic and actually hear the complete truth for once.
How many times had he been misled, or lied to, concerning matters of sorcery? From Merlin, to Gaius, to even his father, Arthur had recounted all the things he had ever discussed with them on that subject. And now that his eyes had finally opened, he could recognize the lies, often so thin he should have been able to see right through them.
What scared him the most though, was that if he had been wrong to think that all sorcerers were evil, and he now was almost completely certain that that had been the case, then why had his father hunted them so ferociously? What had driven him to behave so illogically?
Of course his mind had immediately gone to his first memories of Morgause and, by extension, to his mother. It had been Merlin who had told him the sorceress was trying to deceive him, and he had believed him. Looking back at that precise moment, he didn't want to think Merlin would have lied about something as significant as that. And if Uther had died that day for what he had done to Igraine and to all the magic users, wouldn't Merlin's life have been made easier? But then again, if Merlin hadn't stopped him, Arthur would have had committed patricide and he would have done it with a clouded mind, full of pain and betrayal. And he knew now, he would have regretted it almost immediately. More than that. It would have destroyed him.
If what he now suspected was right, then he would just have to add that incident to his 'sacrifices Merlin made for destiny' list. A list that kept growing the more he allowed himself to remember their time together.
They entered the small village in broad daylight and truly they were quite the spectacle. Six men, amongst which one was the King, three were knights and two were just highly suspicious-looking foreigners. It didn't take long for the villagers to gather around them.
Arthur assumed, as the King he should say something, ask them of Gaius' whereabouts. He didn't need to in the end.
The people parted to let way for the old physician to pass. Gaius was walking fast, a look of worry written on his features. He was taking in the rest of the party while making his way towards Arthur, when he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes suddenly wide with fear. Arthur followed his gaze to see Alator and the other man, he should really ask for a name at some point, who were standing by at the sidelines. Judging by Alator's slight wince, it wasn't the first time those two had seen each other.
Gaius's concern managed to overcome his unease due to the sorcerer's presence. Reluctantly, he stepped closer, his eyes turning to Arthur. He could see the physician's fear, his apprehension towards what he was about to learn. Gaius spoke first.
"Sire... What happened? We've heard rumours about Camelot..." he asked.
"Camelot has fallen. Morgana is once again Queen," Arthur responded. It was the first time he had admitted it out loud. It hurt less than he had thought it would.
Must be the force of habit...
Though the people around them started whispering, Gaius didn't seem to be very surprised by the news. He just sagged his shoulders and let out a sigh. But the old man's eyes soon where back on the group.
Arthur knew what question would follow next. He had tried to prepare for it, though he wasn't very sure he'd succeeded.
"Where is Merlin?" Gaius asked, his gaze flickering from Arthur to the others, even Alator, obviously registering everyone's reactions. He wanted to be sure Arthur wouldn't lie to him.
The thought made Arthur angry. Gaius had no right to think of him as a liar. He was never one for keeping secrets, all those around him were. Gaius included.
Surprisingly, it was Alator that answered him.
"Emrys had left Camelot before any of it even started..."
A/N: So, how about that? :)