PROMISES
(Part I)
It takes time to adjust with Lancelot's absence.
The memory of his presence is everywhere in the castle.
The empty rack in the armory, his long fine writing on so many reports, his horse pawing in the stables, the large double window on the ground floor where he used to sit to read his epic poetry books.
Walking in the hallways, on the training ground, at the banquet table, they keep expecting to meet his smile, hear his deep and warm voice, see him coming towards them.
He is gone and yet life goes on.
They do not forget, but gradually the pain becomes duller, tender, more distant.
Until they laugh again, start on new projects - and that is how they honor his memory.
It is for Guinevere that this is the most difficult and Arthur understands when she asks if she could leave the court for some time. He offers to send her to the seaside, to his uncle Agravaine's estate and the young woman gratefully accepts. It will keep her busy to take care of Morgana to whom she was close as a sister before the siege of Camelot. It will be a link to the past without the suffering of reminding her constantly of her husband's loss. The opportunity to be helpful, but also to heal her pain.
Merlin and Mithian hug her, promise to write often and stay on the road until the small escort disappears in the distance.
Days are going by, the snow melts.
Sir Leon took over as Commander and it is Gwaine, unexpectedly, who becomes his Second, proving that he can be wise and disciplined when he wants to. Arthur thought Percival would naturally inherit the position, but the brawny man has found something else to do.
Something which only he can handle.
Number Four.
Arthur was very hesitant, at first.
He knows the fierce hatred his men have against the White Shadow. Gwaine refuses to address the issue of the former assassin. His advisors disapprove the presence of the prisoner in the jails of Camelot and Sir Leon said flatly that he would resign if the king required him to interact with the man from Caerleon.
But Percival cocked his head to the side thoughtfully when Arthur explained his theory - and the progress Merlin had made to communicate with the Dorocha warrior. The giant is the only one to believe that Number four really wants to change sides - the only one to imagine what the king envisions when he watches his servant squatting in the cell in front of the monster.
The one who killed for those who made him a beast will become a man willing to die for those who treat him humanely.
Percival has sworn allegiance to Arthur and trusts Merlin's instincts just like he does for the stars' pattern. But most of all, he believes in Lancelot, and he knows that he would approve.
So he volunteered to go with Merlin in the cell and to monitor the heavily chained prisoner when the servant asked if he could take him out. Number four has not tried to escape once. He did not flinch when they crossed the courtyard under the hostile gaze of the soldiers, looked up once standing in the meadow outside the city walls and let the sun caress his expressionless face.
Merlin was babbling, pointing to the clouds in the blue sky and, at some point, the brawny knight saw something that looked like a spark of fondness in the corner of the eye of the enemy.
This is what made him decide. He spoke about it first with the king, then the next day, he took two training staffs, fixed the chain in a ring on the edge of the moat, and offered Number four to spar with him.
Merlin perched on a big stone to watch them.
The White Shadow stared at Percival as to probe his intentions - it would be so easy to kill the prisoner accidentally and some have already tried to. Sometimes he is not brought any food, other days he is beaten on the straw of the cell. His jailers spit as they close the gates, hiss that it won't be long before he goes to the other damned souls on the other side of the veil.
He gives it very little concern. Abuse is all he has known.
What only matters is the visit of the frail young man with the sincere blue eyes.
Merlin's slender fingers brush against his throat and Number Four purrs in response.
Just like he did when he was a child, so long ago. Just like when his brothers and him lived in the hovel, covered in blood, mud, tears, and every day had to kill or die. When the door creaked, pushed by the slave who brought them food, the little human-dogs squealed softly. The old guard who had childish eyes patted gently their shaggy heads, telling them stories of dragons, unicorns, and a world where they would be free.
Then one day the weapons master surprised the simpleton nursing the wound of one of the young soldiers. And he killed him.
So they swore, with all the strength of their mutilated vocal cords.
And they grew up. They slaughtered, they slayed, they murdered, never feeling the same as the humans who fell under their swords. But they never touched those who had the same gaze lost in a dream.
When they were sent across the border, they quickly heard of the strange ruler of Camelot. A king-knight, whose strength and skill in all arts of war was unmatched. A strange monarch, more concerned about the welfare of his people than of etiquette and propriety.
But they did not believe those who told them Arthur Pendragon was followed around by a gangly idiot whom he treated like a brother.
What humans do did not matter to them.
But that night, by the frozen lake, the king's scream echoed in the night.
- "Please spare my manservant! He's just a simple-minded fool... He doesn't deserve to die like this..."
So the story was true.
Number Four decided to believe in it.
He would die later.
He would die if it was his fate.
But he wanted to see. He wanted to understand. He wanted to follow the king who would never have hit the childish old man and take their guardian angel away from the puppies.
The king whom Merlin serves and loves.
When he accepts the staff Percival is handing him, his dark eyes weight the giant. If he has to kill to survive, he will.
- "He won't hurt you", Merlin promises with his sincere big blue eyes.
- "He's right", adds Percival. "I just thought you might feel rusty after all these weeks in the dungeons and perhaps you'd like to stretch a bit."
He steps back, goes into battle position. The Dorocha warrior nods and waits.
When Percival attacks, he sends him to the ground with a single stroke. The chains rattle at his ankles and a drop of sweat runs down the side of his face.
The brawny knight gets up and gives him a broad friendly smile.
- "Not bad", he says.
And he charges again.
After one hour, both of them are panting and sore, but Percival seems satisfied and the Caerleon's man does not show it, but he enjoyed the game.
After a week, the spar in the meadow outside the ramparts has become something regular.
Arthur watches it, once, his arms crossed, and nods at the end.
- "Well done, Percival", he says soberly.
He pats Merlin's shoulder and starting from that day, leaves the giant to manage the prisoner.
His servant continues his visits to Number four. He thought a lot about it and found the man a name - a real name – that he gave him solemnly.
Derian.
Percival has approved of the name and he also stepped up the day Merlin mentioned it in the armory and was thrown a dozen hurtful comments and several boots and gauntlets across the room.
- "It's not him who killed Lancelot!" yelped the young man, his blue eyes frightened by the general animosity.
Sir Leon stopped the tumult with a stern glance and warned the servant the White Shadow was never again to be mentioned in his armory.
Gwaine said nothing, but he came to watch the combat between Percival and the Dorocha warrior, the next day. And later, while they were watching Merlin polishing the king's armor, sitting cross-legged next to the shackled killer who was taking a nap in the grass, the old vagabond dropped a disapproving growl.
- "You know it's only a wild animal. Some day he will betray us, as he betrayed Caerleon. And that day, Merlin will have his heart broken ..."
- "Can't you just try to believe in it, Gwaine?" gently asked his friend.
- "No. I'm not blind, Percival. The world Arthur's building is too beautiful to be left alone. There's got to be at least a thousand reasons out there for people to destroy it. I will not let that happen. When the day comes this dog bares his fangs again, I'll be there and I'll kill him."
He left and the brawny man stayed alone, lost in thoughts.
Maybe Gwaine is right.
Maybe they are fools.
Arthur's kingdom is an utopia.
But is it so wrong to believe in it? To work for it to become a reality? To hope as things change, people become different?
They have never been so close to get there.
King Lot succeeded to Cenred and submits to the authority of Camelot. The friendship of Nemeth is acquired, obviously. Bayard renewed towards Arthur the alliances established between his father and the Kingdom of Mercia. Queen Annis signed a peace treaty in Ismere.
Of the five great kingdoms, only remains Odin, southeast.
This allegiance will be the most difficult to obtain. The king hates Arthur deeply because he killed his son in a duel, years ago. Odin waits for a sign of weakness to leap with open claws on Camelot.
And then there are all the other realms of the north, the warlords not subjected to any authority, the mercenaries who are neck and neck with the nobles.
Among the most powerful, Tir Mor, Tregor, Elmet, Gawant have already pledged to the crown of Camelot.
Albion is almost here, almost visible, almost palpable.
Arthur contemplates the maps every day, he caresses with the flat of his hand the names of the states already belonging to him, muttering to himself as he works on future strategies.
He dreams of it at night and Mithian gently laughs at him when he opens his eyes, a little bewildered, and realizes that he is not about to sign his last treaty on top of a windy hill, but in his apartments in Camelot.
He turns his head and she is here, snuggled in the large soft bed, her long raven hair spread on the embroidered pillows.
The sun streams timidly through the window and a crisp breeze stirs the long curtains. He hears birds chirping, bells in the distance, voices of servants in the courtyard. There is a bouquet of roses on the table next to the scrolls he studied last night.
He is at home.
He props himself on an elbow, puts his chin in his palm, reaches out to brush away a wavy curl falling over his wife's forehead.
- "Tell me about Albion", she prays. "What will we do when you have the loyalty of all on these lands?"
He never tires of telling her.
- "We will go beyond the Great Seas of Meredor on big ships ..."
- "... With a dragon-shaped bow", chimes in the Queen.
- "Majestic vessels with red sails and golden banners", Arthur nods. "We will travel everywhere, even further than Lancelot has gone. Men are born of all shapes and colors. We will go meet them, we'll learn their traditions and ways ..."
Sitting at peasants' tables for lunch made him discover how bringing different minds and varied knowledge together could prove rewarding. A Knight keen on mechanic found himself one day sandwiched between a blacksmith and a landowner and these three have revolutionized the irrigation system of the farm properties west of Camelot.
Geoffrey of Monmouth came once to the oak tree under which Arthur sits to give his audiences to the people when the weather is nice (if it rains, he takes refuge in a barn and there is nothing stranger than judging inheritances or settle disputes under the velvet gaze of a pair of cows). The advisor saw a group of children tiptoeing to look at the notes taken by Sir Leon. One of the kids traced spirals in the dust and the old man wondered what would happen if the commoners were given a little education. He realized he already knew - he spent more time than anyone debating with Lancelot over law improvements.
Maybe if others like him were taught from childhood, they could improve their condition, develop values to culture and decency, fight the poverty often caused by their ignorance and so the kingdom would be flourishing even more...
It was a revolutionary idea and it reminded him of a certain young man banished by Uther, but the old librarian was carried away by Arthur's enthusiasm.
He convinced - with difficulty - the rest of the council and with the consent of the king, instituted a class twice a week in the lower town. More and more students of all ages are coming, and when he visits the teacher, he sometimes finds himself deciphering gambling debts or giving a lesson to brats with running noses - him, the most literate man of Camelot.
The world is changing.
The wind blows and Arthur is the one who leads them in that direction with his passion for the people and his taste for adventure.
- "How far will we go?"
- "To the ends of the world, to see the place where the waters flow out of the plate", the king says with bright eyes.
Merlin earnestly believes it is true.
- "The world is round", chuckles Mithian.
- "Then we will walk upside down and we will see lions and houses with peaked roofs. You will wear baggy pants that'll show your ankles, and veils with sequins, like the dancers on this engraving the silk traders showed us."
- "Arthur Pendragon, this is so very naughty!" giggles the queen, hiding her blushing cheeks under the sheet.
He slips his hands under the covers, tickles her and she squirms, laughing.
It musses up her white nightgown and her bare shoulders draw out of the lace ruffles. The blond man follows the curve of her graceful neck with his fingertips, lightly touches the quivering breasts, leans to kiss the soft lips slightly parted.
- "We will make this world a place where all have the right to live and be happy", he promises in a whisper.
Mithian ties her arms around the king's neck, her amber eyes filled with love.
The spring sun bathes the bedroom. The breeze is rippling in the creamy curtains of the four-poster bed. The roses petals crumble on the wooden table. Above the white towers of the castle, the blue sky is immense.
Life is made of small joys and great sorrows, hard work and pursuit of your dreams, friendship and regrets, and sometimes moments of pure bliss.
It's been almost six months since Ismere when Guinevere's letter arrives, saying she is coming back to Camelot.
Mithian and Merlin spend the whole day on the ramparts, the day she is due. When they spot her lilac cloak and her curly brown hair down the main street, they run down the stairs and across the courtyard to the drawbridge where they finally stop, panting, under the great arch that marks the castle entrance.
Guinevere is here, standing in the street with her bag in her hand like a mere servant and a shy smile lights up her face when she sees them.
Merlin scoops her up with a cry of joy and waltzes with her in his arms. She laughs and gently struggles for him to put her down.
- "You've grown up again", she appraises. "You are on your way to top up Percival!"
Merlin beams.
- And I'm almost as strong as Arthur, now", he says proudly. "Gwaine teaches me to wield a sword."
He has changed but he's the same.
Big grin, big ears, big heart.
A beacon in the darkness of the world.
Guinevere turns to Mithian and does not have time to curtsey, because the latter surprises her by launching her frail frame in the arms of her lady-in-waiting.
- "I missed you so much!" mumbles the queen. "I'm so glad you're back ..."
Guinevere hugs her, closing her eyes.
She thought coming back would be so painful she would regret it the moment she set foot in Camelot, but it is not true.
She is where she belongs.
- "Don't cry, Guinevere", Merlin says, a little worried.
Mithian steps back and her amber eyes scan her friend.
Guinevere wipes the corner of her eye quickly and smiles.
- "I won't cry", she promises. "I'm fine. I feel better."
They nod, each take one of her hand and they lead her inside. Merlin carries her bag, Mithian tells her the latest news.
She is not alone anymore.
The knights have just returned from the training, muddy and tired, looking like boys who have played out, and stands in a guard of honor for her along the stairs. Percival and Sir Leon grin widely, Gwaine curtsies with a roguish smile.
Arthur gently squeezes her shoulder when she walks through the door.
- "You shouldn't have travelled unescorted, the roads are dangerous", he simply says. "It's good you're back."
She nods briefly.
- "Thank you, sire."
Merlin drops the travel bag in the chambers she shared with Lancelot during their two years of marriage and she inhales deeply to stem off the thousands of images welcoming her.
- "You'll be alright?" asks Mithian with kindness.
- "Yes", Guinevere answers firmly.
She hangs her dresses next to his tunics in the wardrobe, then turns to the queen.
- "What time would you like me to wake you up tomorrow, my lady?"
Merlin pulls a face.
- They don't want to be bothered in the morning", he mutters sullenly.
Mithian flushes and Guinevere tries hard to swallow the laughter blossoming in her throat.
- "All right", she says. "I'll prepare your breakfast in the small dining room, unless you'd like to have it in the gardens. Will you go hunting with the king in the afternoon?"
- "Arthur forbade her since yesterday", Merlin grumbles.
The lady-in-waiting tilts her head and knits her surprised eyebrows.
Mithian bites her lips, twisting a fold of her dress.
- "I ... we ... it's not ... Merlin, why don't you go fetch your new cat? You know, the one the Steward found in the third cellar?"
The servant promptly obeyed and Mithian carefully closes the door behind him.
- "It's still a secret", she blurts hurriedly, turning around. "Arthur ... he wants to make the official announcement next Sunday. G-Gaius said ... I ... we ..."
She blushes again, her eyes brimming with happiness but her look almost asking for forgiveness.
Guinevere smiles warmly.
- "Congratulations, Your Majesty", she says softly.
For a split second, her heart swelled with envy and regret, but the feeling then disappeared to make way for a sincere joy.
And when a few days later the sovereigns, standing on the balcony, receive the cheering of the people, she is among those who applaud the loudest.
Merlin is literally bouncing with happiness, Gwaine whistles with saucy blinks, Percival nudges him to calm down whilst clapping, Sir Leon beams with pride, Gaius is a mess of emotion and Geoffroy of Monmouth friendly pats his shoulder.
Next autumn, the queen will give birth to the heir to Camelot.
TBC
So... I had to cut the chapter in two parts because it was far too long... I'm sorry.
I hope the effect won't be lost, though.
If you've listened to "Freya" so far, I'd recomand you keep doing so for the second part, but add to your playlist "Merlin Lost" and "Hunith's Letter"...