Disclaimer: IDOM
AN: This chapter is dedicated to Ryne. Without her input, the first 2,000 words of this chapter would have been a lot choppier and a lot less meaningful than they are now. In fact, a large section of those first 2,000 words was inspired by her advice, so…huge hugs and smiles to you, Ryne, for being so awesome! Also, a big thank you to all of you for reviewing, following, and favorite'ing. You guys rock. :D Kudos and love to my friend Wil on the Heart of Camelot for creating the new story cover for this fic. And another special thank you to those who gently reminded me to get updating. Again. ;P
Updates in the life of Oz: I'm enjoying s5 A LOT (particularly enjoyed the latest episode), college is going well, THANKSGIVING is around the corner, and I have found my new writing soundtrack in the form of Zelda music (WIND WAKER!). :P My Muse seemed to prefer it to my usual 80s rock while writing this chapter.
This chapter... There were a lot of loose ends from the last chapter I needed to tie up (because they can't just go 'huh, Kay's back! Yay! Moving on!' because that'd be unrealistic), so unfortunately, the Merlin-Morgana battle has been put off. Again. But, there's a BAMF build-up (if you could call it that?) and PLENTY of angst and bromance - of both the Arthur-Kay and Arthur-Merlin variety.
Enjoy:
In the Face of Fear
If he had been any normal person, he probably would have been giving Merlin the same exact look that Kay, Lot, and the Knights were giving him.
But Arthur wasn't any normal person, and when the warlock's blue eyes had flickered to his King, the very windows of his soul borne wide for Arthur to see, to know…so that he could understand—when Merlin had removed that protective amulet …
Even if Merlin hadn't unobtrusively brushed his hand against his own, he would have known the action quite well for what it was, and his eyes had swiveled immediately to Merlin's face to gauge his ultimate verdict even before the warlock shared his aura-sight with him.
However…
With the memory of Merlin, broken in his arms, tears pouring from his wrong eyes, and heartbreaking sobs wracking his chest, with the memory of Merlin kneeling before Kay and retorting defiantly, loyally, and darkly, with the memory of a bleeding Lot hanging from the ceiling, with the memory of whips and daggers and sneers and accusations and hopelessness and dread and monsters and fear…
Even when he trusted Merlin's gift and Merlin's word, could he have ever truly believed that the ex-knight had fully returned to himself and was well aware of his sins if his Court Sorcerer hadn't shown him?
Even after coming to the conclusion that Kay had been under the influence of Morgana's drug and even with Merlin's confidence that Kay couldn't truly be blamed for his actions and that he had every right to be allowed a second chance, it was hard.
It was so hard to believe, as Merlin seemed to believe.
Standing there—with Kay pinned to a wall, looking defeated and yet full of resolution, completely ready to accept whatever judgment was passed…
It was still impossible for Arthur to look upon his once-friend, remember the evil he had committed and the approaching battle that he had helped pioneer, and believe that he was worthy of anything more than death.
Because upon seeing Kay again after all that he had done and said, Arthur's fury was lit like a bonfire, and as his heart stung with the keen bite of betrayal, bile clawed up his throat, and unshed tears burned in his eyes.
He was angry with Kay—for doing the things he did. For submitting so easily to Morgana…and for confusing him by breaking free and by facing them when the wounds, the very ones that his hand had inflicted, were still so fresh. He was angry (now, that would be an understatement) with Morgana—for being mad enough to create that damn poison in the first place, for hurting Merlin and for torturing him in mind and body, for daring to strut her armies through his kingdom for a second time, and for wearing away at the barriers of a man who hadn't realized just how good he was.
Above all, he was angry with himself—for not realizing how lost and troubled Kay was, for not being able to protect Kay from himself and for being a part of the reason he needed to be protected at all, for not being able to keep his friends safe from someone he had considered a friend, for not being able to have done anything to prevent all this pain and terror…
Of course Merlin knew. Of course Merlin could sense Arthur's troubled wrath, and he could see how sick he was of the eternal storm cloud of evil that always hovered about him. He could feel the tense, coiled muscles, and he could hear beyond the glacial bite in his King's voice. If he hadn't sensed all those things, the warlock would not have removed that amulet to prove to Arthur that he shouldn't dwell on what Kay had done, and he wouldn't have felt the need to show Arthur why.
Otherwise, despite what he might have tried to convince himself in the cell after Merlin regained his hold on his magic, Arthur knew he would never have seen Kay as someone who deserved his, Lot's, Merlin's, or so much as anyone's forgiveness.
But of course, Merlin had understood, and therefore, Merlin had known that his King had needed to see what he saw.
"I was right," Merlin said brightly. "The silver tarnished is clean once more."
And Arthur saw it.
It was silver, but not the pale-white silver of freshly polished armor or the silver of a virgin sword. It wasn't the silver of coins or of royal chalices.
It was the silver of a wolf's pelt, and it was as though dusk and dawn's grey shades fused into a glittering color representing the perfect balance between light and dark, virtue and vice, fear and bravery, insecurity and self-assurance. Arthur could see where the balance had been disrupted and where the silver had been tarnished. However, he could also see the netted matrix of newfound purpose and identity overlaying the scars, and Arthur could see that that precarious balance had been restored.
And most importantly, the King understood that it would remain that way.
It was clear where Kay's loyalties truly lay, and Arthur's heart swelled with hope…only to have it ferociously popped by a needle of regret moments later.
It might be over. The Kay he grew up with and trained with might be back with them, but it would never change the fact that Arthur's memory of him would be forever tainted by the events of these past few days. It wouldn't change the fact that every time he looked at Kay, the memory of his contorted, wicked grin would be fresh and piercing in his mind's eye, and there would be no ridding of the memory of that grin or of the dark shadow of pure hatred that appeared all too real in his teal eyes. It wouldn't change the fact that every time he heard Kay speak, he'd hear the smug glee and the murderous whispers, and he'd hear the disdainful way in which he spat Pendragon.
Above all, however, Arthur knew that he wouldn't be able to stop himself from placing his body between Merlin's and Kay's at all times...or from diligently following the ex-knight's every step and movement with a gaze bearing a hint of suspicion that could never truly transform into one of trust and acceptance.
It was a bittersweet feeling to realize that he could have his childhood friend back…and yet would never be able to see him as that same friend ever again.
If he ever would see him again, Arthur realized dully.
For where would Kay belong after everything that he had done? He tortured both the king of Escetia, his cousin, who had trusted him and who had appointed him as his right-hand advisor, and the King of Camelot, his lifelong friend, who had been his brother-in-arms and who had saved his neck on countless occasions both on and off the field.
Kay had betrayed them both, and he and Lot would not forget the pain—physical, emotional, and mental—that he had induced. They would not forget the danger that he put both of their kingdoms in nor would they forget what he once met to them...
If—when Morgana was brought to justice, where would Kay go? Where could he go? What would he do? In Escetia, Lot would look upon him with just as much suspicion as he would be looked upon in Camelot. Of course, the people of Escetia were in the dark about the recent power-ploy and fall of their hero, and the people of Camelot were just as unknowledgeable about how one of their own had been seduced by the witch and how he had tried to bring them down from the inside…
But when both of the monarchs would be watching him with a hawk's narrow-eyed diligence and when there would be a very noticeable, chilly distance between them—how long that innocent ignorance would last, Arthur didn't know.
And how long would Kay be able to take it? How long would he be able to survive with the sad eyes—all of the eyes wishing that they could portray anything but distrust—following him, with the regret crushing him, and with the memory of these days constantly being reawakened? How long would it take before the remorse fades and his goodwill turns sour and bitter when that distance ended up as frigid as ever and when that distance never became bridged?
Kay was never one to sit on the sidelines, and inactivity was his bane. In time, the awkwardness, the edginess—the bad blood between them would never be removed unless…
He was going to have to talk to him. Dammit, if Arthur nodded, if this was how it was going to be, he was going to have to talk to him. Right then. Right there.
He didn't know if he could do it. He didn't know if he could contain himself enough to keep it from escalating to blows… because it would be far too satisfying to send at least one fist sailing to hit that smug, proud jawline...
But you must learn to listen as well as you fight, Merlin had once advised him years ago.
A surge of guilt washed through him. It was his fault. He was one of the direct causes of Kay's betrayal, and he was one of the reasons Kay had lost his way. The very least he could do to begin to narrow the gaping crevice of uncertainty and misunderstanding between them was give Kay that chance—the opportunity to be heard and the opportunity to redeem himself.
And suddenly, he felt ashamed.
Why worry when the aura didn't lie? Why worry when Morgana was the one he should be worried about? Why worry…when Merlin wasn't worried?
A small part of him almost began a mental rant about the idiot's lack of self-preservation, but suddenly, Merlin's voice was chiding him, Just…don't be a prat.
It was funny that he had once looked upon those words with nothing more than mocking amusement and puzzlement at his wacky manservant's insistence that he give him some passionate advice when he was recovering from the Questing Beast's bite.
Now look at him.
Of course, now he understood why Merlin's eyes had glittered with an unusual brightness that night and why there had been a waver in his gentle voice, but more than that—it might be a fond joke between the pair of them and a verbal memento of the very moment they met, but in the end, no matter the severity or ridiculousness of the circumstance, he would never repeat a piece of Merlin's advice to himself more often than he did that one.
Just…don't be a prat.
After returning his attention to his warlock, who waited for his opinion with a knowing, compassionate gleam in his eyes, and after scanning his face, Arthur nodded once.
When it came down to it, a second chance was a new beginning, and he trusted that not a single one of them would let it go to waste. Not Merlin, not him, and most certainly not Kay.
So, he trusted, and despite the scars and healing wounds, he knew that he wouldn't regret it.
And in that one nod—another pebble fell into Destiny's pond and sent a new ring of gently cascading ripples outward to direct the course of change...
The light, tingling brush of Merlin's magic enveloped his mind, and the warlock's eyes smiled when he, as though reading the King's mind, said solely to him, You won't regret it, Arthur.
From the corner of Arthur's vision, he saw one of his Knights—Gwaine, of course—shuffle in indignation, but surprisingly enough, he did not say a word. Instead, after throwing a look of disbelief in the King and warlock's direction, he glared heatedly at Kay, who did not seem to be aware in the slightest that he was on the receiving end of such a nasty look. Percival and Lancelot, on the other hand, were standing stiff with indecision, their hands unconsciously rising to the place on their hip where a sword hilt usually hung and their eyes darting back and forth between the Arthur, Kay, and Merlin.
"Lot?" Merlin suddenly whispered out loud, diverting his attention to the Escetian King.
Lot's calculative eyes slowly swept across the group, but when his gaze crossed with Arthur's, the foreign King suddenly did a double take. Arthur followed his line of vision to see that he had become fixated on the forgotten sword in his hand.
In the excitement of the moment, neither he nor Lot (apparently) had noticed the long streak of crimson smeared across the blade.
Within the span of a second, Lot's countenance lightened in surprise and then darkened in suspicion, and after he clenched his jaw and set his face in a stoic mask, he hesitated only briefly and finally nodded.
It took Arthur a moment to realize that they couldn't be sure whose blood had stained Kay's sword.
Or whose blood had stained his clothing.
When Kay was slowly and gently lowered to the floor and when Merlin's hand fell lax to his side, Gwaine, who had been eyeing the blood on the sword and on the clothing—there was quite a bit of it, Arthur realized numbly—with open distrust, began to protest, "Merlin—"
The warlock ignored him and returned the protective amulet back to a wide-eyed and stunned Kay. "It appears," Merlin said, "that you have found something."
And Arthur watched Kay struggle for words as confusion, relief, self-loathing, and uncertainty combated for dominance.
As a result of that strange combination of complicated emotion, all that Kay could manage to choke out was a witty, "It's back."
Despite the lack of volume in his voice, Arthur heard the heartbreaking joy in his voice loud and clear, and the sheen glistening in his eyes spoke volumes enough.
Merlin rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, "Perceptive of you."
A snort escaped Arthur before he could stop it.
Even Kay's lips twitched upward, and instead of responding, he lowered his eyes, searched his pockets….
And pulled out a familiar vial of swirling pearl liquid.
"Is that…?" Lancelot breathed from behind him.
Rolling the vial tenderly between his fingers, Kay looked up once again and finally said softly in a weighty tone, "You were right, Merlin. About everything."
"I'm generally right in these cases," his Court Sorcerer deadpanned.
Without a second thought, Arthur found himself responding, "Don't be giving him a big head, Kay."
Grinning cheekily, Merlin said with a dismissive hand gesture, "Oh, don't worry about me, Arthur. My head can never be as big as yours, so I do believe it's you we have to worry about."
"I think it's Kay we have to worry about," Gwaine growled, stepping forward.
Kay did not back down upon hearing the accusation ringing in the rash Knight's words, but a haggard shadow passed across his handsome, guileless face, and his eyes aged and dulled under the strain of burden he now carried and would carry for the rest of his life. "You have nothing to fear from me," he whispered with a surprising level of confidence and strength in his voice.
That was the Kay Arthur knew. No matter what he had done…he would always face the consequences of his actions without fear and without a single falter. Even as a lad—there were countless times that he would take full blame when the pair of them got caught trying to steal cakes from the kitchens …
Withstanding a lecture and scolding from Camelot's cook had been more terrifying than withstanding one from Uther Pendragon himself. And as Merlin could testify, it still was.
"You betrayed us," Lot said grimly, wrenching Arthur back to the present.
As if to hide his regret from them, Kay's eyes closed, and he exhaled slowly. "And I—I know that I can't say anything to change that—what I have done." His eyes flickered open and gleamed with a hint of dark humor, "'Sorry' doesn't cut it, does it?"
"You're damn well right, it doesn't," Percival muttered.
Kay winced, and pursing his lips, he unclenched his fingers to reveal the vial of antidote once again. "It doesn't make much of a difference now," he said, looking up at Merlin apologetically and determinedly at the same time, "but I want you to take it."
Kay was wrong.
In Arthur's opinion, there was nothing less, and nothing more, he could have done to prove how much he regretted his actions…or to show that his heart was pledged to them—to Merlin—once more. He braved his guilt—the guilt that Arthur knew seeped from him like an interminable river—and he braved his self-loathing. He braved facing them again…just to make sure that Merlin received that antidote.
And even though it might have been a wasted journey, the fact he gave it to Merlin anyway…
"It does make a difference," Merlin disagreed passionately, tucking the vial into his own pocket. An impish smile crept on his face, and he added, "It proves that the pheasant no longer follows the step of any peacock."
There it was. Even veiled behind a jest, his golden heart was exposed for all to see, and it would never cease to amaze Arthur…what a truly wonderful person Merlin was. To have forgiven Kay as he did—
And it was both somewhat amusing and damn inspiring to see Kay realizing that. He might have been starting to see it before—well, after meeting Merlin for the second time in Camelot and after facing the Crocotta with him, it would have been impossible not to—even under the influence of the Lybb.
No, this was something more. More binding, more real, and more significant, and with the witch's hold on him shattered, it was bound to be even more powerful than even that.
For the first time, the true depth of Merlin's compassion and friendship was completely and beautifully clear to Kay, and the man swallowed roughly, gratitude and a fierce promise shining from his eyes.
Arthur's features softened, and he lowered his chin ever so slightly when Kay's eyes caught his own.
Kay sobered upon seeing the mild optimism and protective warning in his King's expression, but when the ex-knight subtly inclined his head, his own message became clear to Arthur.
I am not worth this chance, but I will neither let you nor him down.
After they broke eye contact, Kay turned back to Merlin and whispered something that made the warlock laugh and clap him on the shoulder, and blinking in numb awe at Merlin's genial gesture, Kay's hesitant smile steadied and grew.
"That is a lot of blood," Merlin stated suddenly. Looking Kay over with the same aptitude his mentor possessed, he asked, "Are you injured?"
The ex-knight frowned in confusion and then looked down at his clothes. Making a disgusted noise, crinkling his nose, and appearing as though it was the first time he genuinely realized how bad he looked, Kay shook his head and said absentmindedly, "Just a graze—it's nothing. Most of the blood is Alvarr's."
Lot flinched at the name, but at the same time, he was the first to repeat, "Alvarr? The rogue sorcerer?"
Kay's face darkened with an unreadable emotion, and grimacing and shuddering simultaneously, he said, "Yes. He's dead."
"You killed him?" Gwaine asked bluntly.
"In our line of work, that generally is how one becomes dead, Gwaine," Arthur drawled mockingly.
"Thank you, Arthur, for that lovely piece of intuition. You know full well what I meant."
After shaking his head furiously during the two Camelotians' exchange, Kay leaned over to pull one of his hidden daggers from his boot, and ignoring the immediate wariness that some of his companions portrayed at the sight of a weapon in his hand, he said, "Does it matter? Because it wasn't just him. Morgana knows. Somehow. She obviously had this well thought out, prepared for something this, and has had me watched."
"It won't be long now," Merlin said, his tone clipped with sudden urgency and seriousness. "When Morgana arrives, all will go to hell, and I'd prefer that you have your swords at hand when that happens."
Kay froze, and he choked, "She's coming."
Before any of them could respond, the ginger-haired man barked a humorless laugh. "I suppose I should be disappointed in myself for being surprised to hear that. I could've guessed from the scream…or from the actions of the men who attacked me."
"How many attacked you?" Merlin asked thoughtfully.
"Three," Kay answered bitterly. "The others did not give a damn, but I expect there're more non-drugged men of hers that are around."
Merlin scowled and groaned, "Just how many men does she have?"
Nostrils flaring, Arthur realized that Merlin had a good point, and he also realized that, in all his time here, he had been so focused on Merlin and on Kay and on Morgana's direct threat to Camelot, his wife, and his people that he had never wondered about that little detail.
Remembering that little detail now sent a cool trickle of unease down his spine.
Just how many men did the witch have behind her? It must be a significant amount, Arthur assumed. If she was being this bold and was feeling confident enough to go forth with this complicated plan of hers...
The massive following she must have—Arthur shook his head. Was it really all that large? Knowing Morgana, she might have quite a number on her side, true. She would need a large number to lay siege on Camelot. But because he knew that the whole plan was centered on Merlin and her enslavement of his magic and because he knew that she must have been depending on his power to see through her plan to its end, it couldn't possibly be as large as he might fear.
Or so he hoped.
"I must have put a dozen to sleep already," Merlin continued.
Despite the playfulness, Arthur, who was well aware of his warlock's tendency to hide his true emotion, pain, and fatigue in his misguided attempt to spare others grief and anxiety, detected that certain something in his tone. Narrowing his eyes, the King studied the younger man, and he observed the brief weariness that passed across Merlin's features, the paleness of his skin, and the smudges under his lively eyes—smudges that seemed somewhat darker than they had minutes ago and that looked far too much like bruises for Arthur's liking.
The way he held himself too—it was barely noticeable to the untrained eye, and to those who didn't know Merlin, they might have been fooled.
Arthur, on the other hand, knew Merlin, so he did notice…and so of course he wasn't deceived when the idiot smiled as though nothing was wrong.
Even though Merlin was doing his best not to show it, it was clear that he was far more exhausted than he let on, and concern pricked at the King's heart.
It must have hit him hard and fast after the initial exhilaration of recovering his magic and using it again, but all the same, he couldn't let him take on Morgana. Even with that all-powerful stone of his. Not in this state. Not with his magic still reconciling itself after being ripped away from its master. And certainly not when Arthur was going to make damn well sure that he wouldn't lose him to her.
Arthur opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Kay shrugged and answered Merlin's previous question, "I can only assume she wanted Escetia under her thumb just as much as she did Camelot…and I expect," he added with a hint of dry humor, "that she wanted to ensure that you didn't escape."
Snorting, Merlin gestured to the group and joked, "Well, we can see how well that turned out for her."
"And we should be taking advantage of that now," Lancelot reminded them, looking over his shoulder edgily.
"Instead of standing about in the middle corridor like roosting ducks?" Merlin nodded and started to move. "Good plan. We need to get moving."
"Merlin," Arthur began.
Quirking his dark brow in question, Merlin faced the King, and after scanning his friend's face, which was wan but set, and after recalling everything—the undercurrent of power in his eyes, the steel in his tone, the determination radiating from every pore—that had been apparent when he first suggested and worried that Merlin might not be well enough to face Morgana…
Instead of calling him out on his tiredness, Arthur drew him aside and whispered to him in his 'I'm-the-King-of-Camelot-and-though-that-means-nothing-to-you-Merlin-you-had-better-answer-me-truthfully-because-I'm-also-your-friend' tone, "Are you alright?"
The animated light in his stormy blue eyes faded, and pursing his lips, Merlin allowed a weak, sheepish smile to twitch at his lips at Arthur's tone. However, after they exchanged an understanding, knowing look—a look in which both Merlin and Arthur knew exactly what the other was attempting (and failing) to hide—Merlin flashed a cheeky grin and admitted indirectly, "But I will be, Arthur."
All Arthur could see fit to do in response was clap his friend supportively on the shoulder, and noticing Kay watching them from behind Merlin, the King's fond smile became less genuine.
Without looking over his shoulder, Merlin guessed shrewdly, "You're going to talk to him."
Arthur exhaled a small sigh, which was answer enough for the warlock, who continued, "None of this was your fault, Arthur. Remember that."
"Only if you do the same."
When Merlin, smirking fondly, stepped away, he looked back down the passageway they had been following and then down the passageway Kay had come from. "Right, um, Kay, where'd you hide away this lot's armor and weapons? I doubt you'd leave them in the guestrooms for servants to find when we're all supposed to be…elsewhere."
Kay went green, and he answered slowly, "Right off the—those chambers…their stuff will be in the room to the left."
"So we need to backtrack a little," Percival remembered.
"Why do all these ancient secret underground dungeons have to be so damn maze-like? Turns and twists—it never ends," Gwaine grumbled as they started to retrace their steps.
"Since when have you—never mind," Lancelot amended quickly, noticing the diabolical smile on the other man's face. "I don't think I want to know."
Arthur snickered, but after hearing Merlin hush them and after seeing Lot, a curious expression on his face, trot up to talk with him, he and Kay, without a single word, simultaneously hung back and followed at a small distance behind.
Kay fiddled at the hilt of his dagger as they walked in uncomfortable silence.
Just as Arthur was awkwardly scrambling for something, anything to say, so that they could get this over with, his childhood friend broke the silence between with a single sentence that chilled the King to his core.
"It's surprising how little I actually remember of it."
That was not what Arthur had expected at all, and when his eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, Kay caught sight of his surprised expression and chewed on his lip as though unsure how to continue.
"I might sound mad," Kay finally said in the same detached voice, his eyes somber with age, "but I do remember seeing images of eyes and monsters and blood on my hands. I do remember the—the things I had done to you and how—" his tone became thick with revulsion "—how it felt to do those things, and I remember the details of Morgana's plan, as was expected of me as her messenger, and—" his face contorted in effort "—and… all else—is a bit of a blur. My time in Camelot is somewhat less fuzzy than my time here. I expect that's because I wasn't as drugged on the road…though I wouldn't doubt that one of those men in my party—no, there's no doubt it was Alan. Alan was more loyal to Morgana than me, obviously, and in retrospect, he probably had slipped me slipped me some. On the road, however, it would have been impossible to do so without being caught."
It was almost as though Kay, whose eyes remained fixated ahead, was hardly aware of the King's presence as he spoke, and despite his horror at what Kay was revealing to him of his experience and how emotionlessly it was being said, Arthur couldn't help but be mesmerized at his words.
"But yes, for the most part—a blur. Except," Kay said, finally looking at Arthur and giving him a small smile, "Whenever Merlin managed to get under my skin, whenever his words hit me in the right way, whenever he did something as only Merlin would do—everything was clearer.
"That's when things felt wrong and when I began hallucinating and when everything started to unravel in my mind, and then Morgana…she came and visited me—she told me she sent the Crocotta—"
For the first time, Arthur interrupted with an exasperated mutter of, "Of course, she did," to which Kay responded with a light smirk that was, to Arthur's unexpected pleasure, quite like one of old.
"And that's also when I started to sense it—or taste it, rather—the drug. I was breaking free and seeing more…with Merlin's help and with his words and accusations ringing in my ears, and it was frankly terrifying. To see all that had been done as though I was a shade trapped outside of my body and at the same time feel as though my body had been taken over by someone who was but wasn't me. And to be aware of it and to be unable to stop it…"
Disturbed, Arthur began, "Kay—"
Grinning sheepishly, Kay chuckled darkly and interceded, "I don't want your sympathy, Arthur. That's not why I told you this. Quite honestly, I don't even understand how you, Merlin—anyone—can so much as look me after what I've done and said, and though I might not remember exactly what I said in those damned chambers—" his voice and teal eyes hardened "—I know the gist, and I know I said some things that—I would rather die than say again of my own free will."
Kay's honest teal eyes locked with Arthur's, and a lungful of air that he'd been neglecting to release for some time was forcibly exhaled in a steady stream.
"I have forsworn our code, and I have lost any right to my title as a knight of Camelot by committing the treason I did," Kay said, "but if you could take the word of a traitor as true, I swear to you, Arthur. Camelot is my home, and I love it and its people. Being there again…I—" Kay bit his lip and took a shaky breath.
As Kay struggled to compose himself, Arthur said quietly, "I understand."
Teal eyes flashed to Arthur's, and he said sadly, "You don't."
Arthur's brow furrowed, but before he could protest, Kay waved a weary hand. "No, I don't mean it like that. What I mean is…it doesn't make any difference that I was under the drug's influence because…all the time, it was still me. Albeit at my most vulnerable and weak—when I was hopeless, angry, and lost. The drug intensified all the hatred in my heart, and just because I was angry and power-hungry and craving attention, I endangered Camelot and was happy to do it."
Arthur swallowed and said, "Morgana took advantage of you. That is what she does. My father and I loved her, and she took advantage of our blindness and twisted us around her little finger. Everyone makes mistakes, Kay."
"Mistakes as large as this one?" Kay scoffed. "I doubt that."
"Merlin and I have made our fair share of mistakes," Arthur disagreed. "And besides, I know you never would have acted on that hatred…if it had not been for me and my arrogance. A lot of things my father and I neglected—"
"Don't," Kay growled fiercely. "Didn't Merlin just tell you not to blame yourself for this?"
For a moment, the King spluttered, but then a small smirk graced his face, "You eavesdropped on us?"
Kay snorted. "Don't tell me you believe that Merlin isn't eavesdropping on this conversation at this very second."
And quite honestly, even though it did not occur to him until that moment, it did not surprise Arthur in the slightest when Merlin looked back over his shoulder at them with a mischievous glint in his blue-gold eyes.
Smiling fondly, Kay continued, "I don't blame you, Arthur. I might have at one point—when I was feeling sorry for myself and was looking for someone else to blame…like the coward I am."
And suddenly, everything was alright. The chasm that Arthur feared would remain between them was gone. They understood each other, and within no time, the trust and forgiveness would follow. In fact, watching Kay smile at the back of Merlin's head, hearing the warmth in his tone when he talked about him—he could relate, and he knew that Kay wouldn't touch a single hair on the warlock's head again.
And if Arthur could see that loyalty so clearly, there was absolutely nothing left to forgive….because he understood better than anyone.
There was nothing quite like realizing that there's a person you would fight and gladly die for. That there's a person you would trust with your own life. And that there's no one else you'd rather fight side-by-side with.
Merlin had held Kay's life in his hands. Merlin had directly saved him once from the Crocotta, but more importantly, he had saved Kay falling any deeper into the pit of revenge, hatred, and darkness that the twisted witch had dug for him. He was the force that helped break Kay free, the light that guided him back to his senses, and the judge that determined if he deserved a second chance to live.
Merlin was not only Kay's savior but also his shame and his redemption, and Arthur's heart softened.
"Kay," the King said in a serious tone, "to have survived what you did, to have been driven to the brink of madness… no coward could endure that."
The older knight's eyes glistened with building tears, and Arthur continued, "A coward trembles in the face of fear. A brave man accepts his fear as a part of him and faces it head-on."
Kay stared at the King for a few moments before a tear finally leaked from his eye. He brushed it away in embarrassment and joked, "I see you've been talking to Merlin."
Chuckling, Arthur noticed that an impish grin was spreading across Merlin's face, which was turned ever so slightly in their direction. "He does rub off on you after awhile," he admitted, "but for all his wisdom, he still manages to be an idiot. It baffles me."
Merlin's grin just broadened, and it was easy enough for Arthur to imagine the warlock's retort.
"And Kay," the King continued. "I hope you know that everything that happened here…is strictly between us. Camelot will welcome you home and will be proud to have you again."
After pausing for a heartbeat, Kay said sincerely, "You have changed."
Hiding a growing flush—he had finally gotten used to sharing moments like this with Merlin and Gwen, but with Kay, who had always been his competition on and off the field, who had wrestled in the dirt with him, and who had done countless of reckless and stupid boyish activities with him, it was strange—Arthur murmured, "So I've been told."
"I mean it, Wart (1)."
Up ahead, Merlin stumbled.
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Nice job, Kay."
The devious smile completely contradicted Kay's innocent wide-eyed expression. "What?"
"I do believe I requested that you never call me that again."
"And I do believe that the key word in that sentence is 'requested.'"
"Look what you've done now," Arthur said, catching sight of Merlin's shoulders quivering with contained laughter. "He's never going to let me live it down."
"Hey, it really isn't my fault that I could hardly talk when Gaius pulled that molar of mine, and it really isn't my fault that 'Wart' stuck."
"It seemed to have only stuck with you."
"Only because I was the one companion of yours that wasn't intimidated by your murderous glares."
Arthur laughed and punched him on the shoulder.
Because all of his worries were unfounded, and it went without being said that the King forgave his misguided knight and was all too happy to do so.
~…~
Whispering a simple spell under his breath, Merlin quickly slipped his way up to the front of the party and gestured to the Knights to leave Arthur and Kay alone.
They understood, and after all three of them shot a look back to the two men with a mixture of confused, wary, and interested expressions on their faces, they did as he asked.
He knew that they were still uneasy about Kay's presence, but for Merlin, it was relieving to see him here with them.
No, it was more than that. Back in Camelot, he had seen a little of the selfish man Kay had been and was becoming through the drug's power, but after spending time in his company, Merlin had grown to see past that fault—his arrogance was exactly like Arthur's, after all, and they had a rather similar sense of humor—and had seen him as a friend.
It felt right having him in Camelot. It felt as though he and Kay had known each other for years and had been just as much destined to become friends as he and the other Knights had been.
And it had stabbed him deep to see this treachery from him. However, after his instincts alerted him to something off and after piecing together the small signs and comparing them to what he had come to know about Kay and his character, it had made no sense. No sense at all. Until he had sensed the poison in his veins, that is.
That was when Merlin had realized that there was hope yet for Kay and that there was every chance that that friend was still in there. Somewhere.
And he was back, and Merlin was so grateful that the man hadn't been lost forever in that empty sea of Morgana's making.
A shudder crept up his spine, and bile rose to his throat at the memory of that thick black leech seeping down his throat and infecting him with its nasty magic, and to banish the thought, he focused on the rush of his golden magic under his skin, its eternal flow in his blood and its loving embrace in his mind.
He wondered how it was that he survived even a few seconds without it there.
Arthur was how, and a small smile flickered across his face at the worry that had been apparent in his King's voice moments previously.
He hadn't meant to show it, but of course Arthur would see it. His magic was still adjusting itself after its imprisonment, and it was…off balance. More off balance than a drunken Gwaine was on a dance floor. It felt so nice to use it, but after casting a few sleeping spells, Merlin felt his strength draining. Its giddy drunkenness—one moment he had to restrain its over-eagerness (it was like trying to exercise one of Arthur's hounds after a week of being cooped up in the kennels) and then at the next, he had to coax it to the surface (this is when it was the exact opposite of one of Arthur's hounds and when all it wanted to do was purr in Merlin's body and just stay there like a content, sleepy kitten).
It was unnaturally tiring.
And quite concerning. If Morgana—
"You remember the way?" Lot suddenly asked him from his left.
Merlin nodded. "Unfortunately," he joked.
Lot frowned and peered at him. "What are you doing?"
For a moment, the warlock quirked his brow in confusion, but then after realizing that even though Kay and Arthur hadn't begun to talk yet, his spell was in effect, he snickered. "Oh, my eyes. I'm sensing the way ahead. Keeping an eye out for Morgana and any others that might be laying in wait around the corner."
This was only in part true, but he wasn't going to admit that the golden hue lingering in his eyes wouldn't be there if that was the only reason. Besides, he wasn't going to admit what he was truly doing.
Some might call it eavesdropping, but in Merlin's perspective, he was doing both Arthur and Kay a favor.
The conversation wouldn't have to be held multiple times his way.
"Why did you do it?" Lot asked bluntly, averting him from his thoughts.
Behind him, Gwaine pitched in, "That's an answer I'd like to hear."
Merlin's brows rose. "What?"
"Why did you forgive him so easily?" Percival clarified. "And trust him so easily? Even though I know that Dark magic had taken control of his mind, it—how did you just…let it go the way you did? After everything that he had done to you?"
"You didn't hear how you were screaming, Merlin," Lancelot whispered, shivering. "You didn't see how it was to see you—"
Merlin stopped Lancelot from continuing, gold-tinted eyes flashing. "Because it was Morgana's doing. All of it. A good man fell prey to her, as many other good men have. Kay is not to blame. He was her pawn, and that is all. He is free of the Dark magic—he is back to himself, and I am thrilled that there is nothing left of her influence in him. And thus, there is nothing left to forgive."
Festering rage bubbled in his chest, and with his magic becoming riled in response, he found himself hissing, "She, on the other hand, was the one who designed the drug. She was the one who manipulated Kay and who nearly destroyed him, us, me—everything. She was the one who planned to enslave my mind and my magic, turn me into a mindless weapon, and use me to raze everything I hold dear. She was the one who played us all. She was the one who developed an army and set it to march on Camelot and who dared to think she could make me forget my vows and my loyalty to my kingdom. She was the one who thought it would be a good idea to get me this angry."
And it wasn't until he saw the rather stunned faces of his friends that Merlin realized just how angry he was.
Energy that he had lacked moments before rushed through him. His tone had become as cold, dangerous, and fierce as a winter's blizzard, and with his face contorted into a feral snarl and with the sparks flitting at his fingers, which twitched in anticipation, he could see why they were looking at him that way.
Taking a calming breath to control himself, Merlin smiled sheepishly at them and finished, "What she has done is unforgivable."
"Merlin, mate—"
"It isn't about what she has done to me personally," the warlock interrupted quietly, feeling a sudden flash of shame at the fact that a part of him did want to seek personal retribution for the emotional torture she had put both him and Arthur through. "It's about what I almost became and what I could have done. It's about her trying to attack the heart of Camelot itself, about her turning Camelot's closest friends into enemies, and about her continued abuse of magic. It has to end."
Judging by the looks on their faces, his words had rekindled their own fury and their own thirst for justice, and after Merlin asked in a far more gentle tone, "Do you understand?", each of them nodded in response.
"We need to be aware of who our true enemies are," Merlin muttered. "Kay is not one of them."
It was then that warlock became aware that Kay and Arthur had begun talking—finally—and his head cocked toward them unconsciously.
Gwaine was the first to speak after Merlin's outburst and teased, "Had a bit to get off your chest, didn't you?"
"You have no idea."
"When do you think she'll—" Percival asked.
"I expect she will come to us—in her own terms," Merlin interrupted blandly. "Knowing her as I do, it'll probably make her feel as though she has control of the situation. Now, shush, please. I'm trying to listen."
If the Knight and Lot were at all confused by Merlin's statement, the warlock himself didn't notice, and while the Escetian king fell back with Lancelot, Merlin listened.
And he did so with both horror and ever increasing respect, pride, and satisfaction.
When Kay guessed that he'd been eavesdropping, Merlin turned to flash a grin behind him, and though he found himself smiling a good part of the time at their progress and at their familiar teasing, it wasn't until he heard Kay call Arthur—
He nearly tripped over his own feet in surprise, and Lancelot's hand shot out to grab him before he could fall.
After steadying him, Lancelot asked, "You alright, there?
Wart? Really?
Giggles threatened to erupt from his throat, and he bit his lip before managing to answer, "Yeah."
Lancelot didn't look particularly convinced, but he was distracted when Percival teased, "Watch your feet, Merlin."
"You know that advice doesn't work for me," Merlin joked absently.
Upon turning the corner, Merlin recognized the door, and cutting off his spell, his amusement faded, and he announced quietly, "We're here."
It was only then that the raven-haired man realized that they had not stumbled upon a single guard along the way, and he stiffened and hurriedly pushed his senses to the extreme limit to survey the area around them.
"What is it, Merlin?" Arthur asked as he drew level with his shoulder.
"No guards," the warlock muttered.
His companions all frowned, but when Merlin, having found nothing worthy of his suspicion, just shook his head and pushed into the torture chambers, they followed his lead without question.
If truth be told—if he had hesitated a second longer, he probably would have thought too much about what had happened in this room (and what still awaited in this room), and it would have subsequently taken a lot more effort to get him to enter the room.
He would be lying if he had said that he wasn't afraid to enter that room again.
And after taking the first step into that room, Merlin felt he had very good reason to feel uneasy.
The rankness of the vials standing in their silent vigil from across the room assaulted him, making his magic curdle and hiss through him, and his nose scrunched up in abhorrence. Like demonic, fanged worms crawling over him, attempting to burrow their heads into his skin—even though it did not make a difference in the slightest, Merlin turned his face away instinctively.
It wasn't painful, but the recognition of the witch's Dark magic was not pleasant, and it was enough to make him want to get the hell out of that room.
Kay, surprisingly enough, was the one to step in after Arthur, and after inhaling sharply, the man's eyes squeezed shut. When the teal eyes, glazed with blurry memories, flashed open, he and Merlin exchanged a look, and the King, guessing the reason behind the falter in both Merlin's and Kay's stride and behind the pallid color their skin had adopted, glowered with blazing eyes at the offending vials, and squeezed both of his friends' shoulders in reassurance.
"You feel it?" Merlin asked Kay.
Nodding, the ginger-haired man answered, "Yes."
"Do not go near it," Arthur said with a harsh edge in his tone.
"Don't worry," Merlin said shakily. "I don't plan to."
"The room?" Lot asked tensely.
Kay pointed, and mindful of Merlin and Kay's particular discomfort—not a single one of them hadn't scowled and hadn't quaked upon entering that room again—they all skirted the edges of the room until they came to the open threshold that Kay had gestured to.
It rather amused Merlin how quickly the fighting men, grinning like famished wolves about to devour their night's kill, scattered to reclaim their weapons and armor, and after watching them expertly assemble their gear, Merlin, without a second thought, stepped further into the room to assist Arthur.
However, when he absentmindedly picked up one of the pieces of his King's armor, Arthur, whose hair was ruffled from the hauberk (2) he'd just slipped over his head, smirked at him and said, "No need, Merlin."
"Are you sure you can handle it alone, Wart?" Merlin teased, folding his arms and feeling rather useless as his friends strapped armor onto their shoulders and forearms.
Scowling, Arthur paused to flash him a deadly glower. "Shut up, Merlin." (3)
Ignoring the snickers from Kay and the quirked eyebrows of the others, the King continued dressing himself quickly, and after turning back for another piece to attach to his arm, Arthur frowned, peeked his head around Percival to sweep his gaze across the room, and asked, "Merlin, where's my sword?"
"I love that you immediately assume I know where it is," Merlin muttered, walking over to the sword stand in the room
"You are the one usually handling my swords when I'm not using them," Arthur pointed out.
Grumbling to himself, Merlin scanned the hilts for the recognizable gold of Excalibur, and after not catching it the first time, he gave up looking and probed with his magic. "It's not here," the warlock murmured, feeling a chill slowly ooze down the length of his body. "Kay?"
Looking up from the sword that Arthur had returned to him, the ex-knight, who stood right beside him, said, "It should be on that stand, Merlin. That's where I saw it last, and I should know because I was the one who put it there. And I had given strict orders that no one touch your things."
Each word in Kay's answer felt like a lead weight being dropped in his stomach, and his scalp tingled as paranoid unease squeezed his lungs and chest tight.
No, no, no, no. Oh, no, this is not good.
"Have you found Excalibur, Merlin?" Arthur called as Lot and his Knights made sure their swords were in decent shape.
Merlin, frantic now and feeling sick to his stomach—that blade could not fall into anyone else's hands—was just about to choke out an answer when a sinister chuckle sounded from the open doorway.
The warlock whirled to the door and froze upon seeing the dark witch, her pale green eyes frigid with biting fire. And there, brandished in her right hand of pearl marble that contrasted so greatly with the black lace of her gown, was Excalibur.
"A named blade," Morgana Pendragon said, lazily admiring its rune-covered length, "is indeed a rare thing. No wonder it holds such power."
"Morgana," Arthur breathed, eyes flickering from hers to Merlin's before locking on Excalibur.
"Hello, brother," she simpered with mock politeness. "Sir Knights, your Majesty, Kay." At the last name, a wickedly amused smirk twisted at her lips, and Kay tightened his grip on his sword and glared at her without the slightest trace of fear in his eyes.
When her gaze finally fell on Merlin, who was struggling to keep a guarded expression fixed on his face and who had discreetly started to move to place his body between Morgana and his friends the moment she made herself known to them, the twisted amusement disappeared, and a cold mask of loathing replaced it.
"Merlin," she hissed.
(1) Princess Tyler Briefs inspired the use of the legendary nickname "Wart" for this section of banter.
(2) Shirt of chainmail, mentioned by Gwen in 1x02
(3) This edit was inspired by a pm chat I had with Yami no Serena.
AN: Yes, I did indeed just do that. :P Anyway, I hope this didn't bore you too much and that you can forgive me for another appallingly slow update.
In terms of fic news, I've got an idea for an Only Friend sequel, but I'm not going to be starting that until this fic is done, or I'll go nuts. I intend to be finished by January 2013, so we'll see how it goes. :)
Thanks, everyone!
Oz out.