A/N: Hi my lovely, patient readers! :P I know it's been some time since I last updated, but I again, real life has been rather hectic as of late…
Now, I have some news for you. This chapter is the penultimate chapter. There will be one more after that and then a small epilogue.
Enjoy! I've made this one extra long as an apology for my tardiness ;)
Chapter 20: A misty dawn
It was way past midnight and Gwaine still roamed around the castle in search for Merlin. He'd been searching for his friend for what must have been hours, but the warlock was nowhere to be found. First he had visited Gaius' chambers, knowing they were bound to be the one place Merlin would still feel relatively at ease, since they'd been his home for nearly a decade. He'd found the old physician inside, having a modest supper alone. Almost all the patients had been moved to their own chambers or homes, leaving only a couple of knights, the most severely injured ones, in Gaius' care. The men were already asleep, but thankfully Gwaine didn't had to ask the physician if he'd seen Merlin at all since the funeral. The look on Gaius' face and the tired shake of his head when he saw him were evidence enough. Next he'd debated about going around to see if the warlock was with Declan in the Druid's guest rooms. From the devastated state the Druid had been when he'd left the courtyard, Gwaine wouldn't be surprised if Merlin was with him even now. But when he asked the guards Arthur had posted outside Declan's chambers, they denied seeing Merlin.
Gwaine had wondered then if he'd best return to his own chambers and leave his friend on his own for the night. But soon he rejected the notion of abandoning Merlin. He'd seen the other man in front of Lucan's pyre. He'd read his expressions, seen the shadows lingering in his thoughts, even if they were invisible or concealed from others. Merlin needed company. He needed a friend to talk to. And Gwaine would be damned if he ever let the warlock down again.
He had already checked the battlements, the library, even the courtyard where the four funeral pyres were still lingering. At one point he visited the kitchens. No one had been there that late into the night, but Gwaine managed to procure a flask of wine anyway.
He was walking down the corridor that lead to the King's chambers, trying to refrain as much as he could from drinking the entire flask alone before he'd found Merlin, when he noticed that one of the doors ahead of him was ajar and a faint light came from inside.
Strange, he thought. In all his time living in Camelot he hadn't ever seen those doors open. If they had been in any other part of the palace that wouldn't have been at all uncommon. Many rooms were locked if they were unused for too long. But this close to the Royal chambers…
He stilled. He remembered what he'd heard the servants whisper when he'd first arrived at the castle.
Morgana's chambers…
Seeing as he was one of the five people that had been present for the burial of the witch, he was pretty certain that it couldn't be Morgana occupying her old rooms once again. No, she was now lying in an unmarked grave hurriedly dug outside the city walls, where she was bound to be forgotten.
He pushed the door open some more. The light was soft, coming from a single candle placed upon the table. It lighted a part of the room, but still, most of it remained in shadows.
Gwaine's eyes squinted. There, on the floor near the bed.
Something moved.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a thud. The figure moved again, letting out a low sigh.
Gwaine came around until he could see the person properly. It was Merlin alright. The warlock was sitting on the floor, resting his back on the side of the bed. He was rubbing his eyes with one hand, while the other clang onto a cup.
"I've been looking everywhere for you," Gwaine began, keeping his tone purposely light. He sat beside the younger man, shivering slightly from the sudden contact with the cold floor. The fireplace in the chambers must have been last used years ago.
Merlin seemed unbothered by the cold. He just lifted the cup he was holding to his lips and took a large gulp of what Gwaine suspected to be wine.
In the half light, Merlin's face was a pallet full of shadows and sharp angles. It made him look unfamiliar and distant, as if the warlock was using the night to disguise himself, to hide. And while Gwaine couldn't tell if the other man had been crying or not, he could still understand that he was miserable. And judging from the slight tremor of Merlin's hand, he must have had a lot more wine than his single cup suggested too.
And there I was thinking I would have to trick Merlin into drinking his sorrows away somehow…
Gwaine didn't say anything. What could he say that could make Merlin feel better? He knew from experience that when a man grieved, he needed to do it his own way. If Merlin wanted silence then Gwaine would respect that. The only reason he was there after all was for Merlin not to have to go through all that alone.
They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, drinking, until Merlin let out a soft chuckle. The knight shot him an inquisitive look, quirking an eyebrow. The warlock shook his head, shutting his –glistening, Gwaine noticed now- eyes momentarily, looking more worn out than amused.
"It's nothing. Just… Even now I find it difficult to accept everything that's happened. Everything is different now. It feels… unreal sometimes, that's all," he shrugged.
Gwaine nodded, though he knew Merlin wasn't paying him attention. Yes, none could argue that the events of the past few days were nothing but earth-shattering, even by Camelot's already too high standards.
And what Merlin had gone through… To go from constantly feeling frustrated and unappreciated but being forced to hide it, to feeling cheated and wronged by those he had first put his trust upon and, on top of that to then be forced to confront his most mortal of enemies in battle, kill her even, while losing a new friend in the process…
Gwaine imagined that if it had been him, he probably would have lost it a long time ago.
Merlin's rough voice brought Gwaine back from his thoughts. "Back when I was Arthur's servant, I never dared to think about doing this…" the warlock muttered, waving his cup around, spilling half its contents on himself and the floor.
Wine, just as the knight had thought.
Gwaine tried to lighten the mood. "What? You mean sneak into women's rooms to get drunk?"
That earned him a drunken snort from Merlin. But too soon the smile disappeared from the warlock's face.
"No…" Merlin replied, fixing his gaze into the void. "Well, that too, once. A long time ago…" he added as an after though, reminding Gwaine of his old, teasing and playful friend. "I mean this… Me being in the castle, in Camelot, free to do anything I want, while everyone knows I have magic," he paused, face frowning in his effort to concentrate enough to not slur the words too much.
"At first, I used to dream of how my life would change when Arthur learned the truth about me. How he would thank me for all I had done for him and his kingdom. I imagined the perfect world we would build together. But, as time went by, I gradually gave up on that. The 'when Arthur finds out' became an 'if Arthur ever finds out' and then, after a while, it all just became a distant fantasy. I had resigned myself to forever live in obscurity, always play the fool, never to be seen for my true value."
In the dark night and the silence of a sleeping castle, Gwaine was able to hear all the pent up pain and sorrow coloring Merlin's voice, the hitch of his breath, the difficulty to admit all that out loud, even if the only person around to hear it was a friend.
The warlock turned to the knight, expression remorseful.
"I kept saying that one day things would change. But I had long stopped believing my own words. And I think, to a point, I had made my peace with that."
To Gwaine, it felt like a confession. I had given up, it said.
"But here I am now," Merlin exclaimed. "The oh-so- formidable-sorcerer, free to roam the castle," he finished, raising his cup to a mock-toast gesture before drinking.
Gwaine was sure by now that the only way that cup stayed full was magic.
"Arthur is a man of his word, Merlin. Things will be different for magic users from now on," the knight said, feeling the need to reassure the other man.
Merlin stared at him, looking all too perceptive for a man who was not only drunk but by all standards should have already fallen into an exhaustion induced unconsciousness. Had Merlin rested at all since returning to Camelot?
The warlock tilted his head, thoughtful. "Will they? Perhaps…" he muttered. "But don't forget, Gwaine. You were there. You saw how everyone looked at Declan. At me. Like we were…" he stopped, unable to speak the next word.
Monsters. Yes, Gwaine had seen it. He'd been half expecting it, but still, it had managed to infuriate him. The knight had been ready to abandon his place and break the honorary formation around the king to join the warlock when thankfully Princess Mithian stepped in to show her support to the two sorcerers.
"They are all fools then," the knight spat. "It's not right, Merlin. They owe their lives to you, least they could do is be thankful," he stated stubbornly. "But then again, it can't all change in the span of a few hours. Give them some time and they'll come around, I guarantee it."
He held Merlin's gaze, trying to will the man to accept that. To make him feel better. Eventually the warlock broke the eye contact.
He watched as Merlin placed his cup on the floor. "Time…" the warlock exclaimed, a bit ironically. "Huh."
The warlock used the bed for support and slowly got to his feet. The cup of wine was knocked over, though nothing spilled from inside. The knight shifted, not knowing if he should follow.
"I think I'll go to sleep now, Gwaine. I'm… I'm really tired," he said, gesturing to the bed behind them. The knight recognized the dismissal. His gut instinct told him Merlin was still troubled, still needed to talk about what was bothering him, despite the fact that he was seeking solitude. And there was also the matter of him choosing to sleep in the former rooms of the woman he had killed not one full day ago.
That wasn't very promising…
But the warlock had already crawled upon the covers, not even bothering to remove his boots, and had turned his back to the knight.
Gwaine walked to the door, turning one last time to look at his friend.
"Goodnight Merlin," he whispered, closing the door behind him, stepping into the dark cold corridor.
They never spoke. They just stared at him with huge eyes, terrified, pained, accusing. Each of them a different emotion, each of them a burn in Merlin's soul. Balinor, Freya, Will, Lancelot. The people he had lost.
But this time they weren't the only ones that came to him.
No. This time something new happened. The apparitions all lost their shape, fading away into mist and nothingness, leaving Merlin behind, alone with his guilt. And then they were replaced by two other figures. They stood facing him, each in opposite sides. One side exuding an otherworldly sense of desperation and anguish, worst than anything the warlock had ever experienced, while the other gave him a comforting, almost soothing nostalgic feeling. Like a distant fond memory of childhood and happiness.
They weren't competing with each other. The darkness and the light. No, they were co-existing, occupying the space around the warlock completely.
Then, the figures took a more solid form and he wasn't surprised to recognize them. Morgana's pale features were a stark contrast with the shadows that engulfed her, her beautiful face, so much like the old Morgana he remembered from Camelot, only added to the feeling of sadness that threatened to overwhelm him. And when he turned away from her, he came face to face with Lucan. The Prince was regarding Merlin with kindness, appearing exactly like Merlin remembered him from the first time he'd ever seen him, noble and gentle, an exception in the ranks of royalty.
Unlike anyone that had come to his dream, Lucan didn't seem accusing or in pain. His presence wasn't haunting or tormenting. Instead, the Prince of Ostia, a man who, disregarding a bright future ahead of him, had given his life in order to save the warlock, was looking proud of his accomplishment. As if he didn't regret doing what he did. As if he'd do it a hundred times over. And Merlin, who had endured seeing all his other loved ones and friends coming to him, suffering, countless of times, finally broke.
He woke up breathing hard, clothes drenched in cold sweat. His heart was pounding wildly against his ribcage and even his magic felt agitated, ready to lash out.
After he managed to calm himself enough so that he could take in his surroundings, remembering last night, Merlin certainly appreciated the irony. He was lying in Morgana's old bed, waking up from a restless sleep full of nightmares.
He sighed. How the roles had been reversed.
The room was dark and since the curtains were still drawn on the windows, he had no way of knowing the precise time. He lay back on the bed, closing his eyes. He could hear sounds coming from outside his door, footsteps in the distance, people talking. He gathered it must be morning, early or late he couldn't be sure. The servants were already on their way to begin their daily chores.
The sounds faded away, leaving him once again in his secluded silence.
He discovered that his head was throbbing. The perils of drinking one too many cups, he guessed. He pressed the heel of his hands to his temples, rubbing the pain away with slow movements.
Only a few days ago, that could have been him outside. It seemed so strange that after years of living the same pattern, he was finally moving forward. To where he wasn't sure.
The future. For so many years the promise of a future where magic would be free had been what kept him going. His whole life had been built around that idea and around the one person who could bring that to pass. Thus, almost without realizing it, Merlin had dedicated his all to Arthur, even when his belief that the King would bring the new era started to fade into a hope and wish.
But now… Now Arthur had promised. And he had done it in front of his knights too, not like the other time, when it had been just him and the druid boy's ghost. He had said that he'd changed his mind for good. He had fought with magic users by his side, he had accepted them as equals to his knights, as valuable assets.
And it simply was more than just that. Merlin could feel it in the air around him, in the earth and the sky, in his bones, the persisting sensation very akin to magic and power.
Something new was coming. Change.
He had no idea if that was what destiny was supposed to feel like. If he were to be frank with himself, it didn't really matter to him anymore. The whole destiny business.
That strange gut feeling had been what lead him to ignore Arthur's reaction in the Throne Room and focus on the King's original promise.
There, that night, while witnessing the end of the battle –and maybe even the war- Arthur's face had betrayed a genuine surprise, if not fear. He supposed, to an extent, it was only logical.
Though Merlin tried hard not to recall what had happened that night, he just couldn't refrain from doing it. He blamed that damned silence. Silence and darkness, the absence of stimuli for his senses always filled his head with thoughts, mostly unwanted ones, ones that he'd preferred to forever keep hidden in the darkest premises of his mind.
One of the perks of working almost constantly as both a servant and a physician's assistant was that he had always been busy, keeping his mind occupied with a hundred different thoughts and away from painful subjects. Like truth, lies and mistakes.
The memories always began with Lucan dying in his arms, the sharp edges of crystals –Merlin's own magic- embedded in his back almost cutting Merlin's fingertips, the moment Lucan's eyes lost their focus, and ended with him lowering his hand releasing Morgana's power from his hold to return back to the earth.
Morgana… Even now, lying on the witch's old bed, surrounded by her belongings -many gifts from loved ones to the young ward of king Uther, all left untouched first by her father then Arthur- , Merlin couldn't regret his actions. Morgana's innocence had long been lost. She had fallen into the darkness with no hope of returning. He knew he was partly to blame for that. Merlin had accepted it, both as a burden and as a responsibility. The truth was that he had done what he had to in order to stop her. To stop the menace she had become from inflicting any more pain to the people around her. He had acted for the greater good.
Closing his eyes he could see it all so clearly. How she had writhed in agony, her lips trembling as she cried, begged for him to stop, screamed until she had voice no more. And it terrified Merlin because he remembered it all with perfect clarity. He had been aware of what his spell was causing her to go through, but he had not relented, persisting until it was done.
And then he had finished her off.
All he'd been thinking during those long minutes of draining Morgana's magic was the deaths she had been responsible for. Percival's cold body and Lucan's last breath. All he wanted was to end her existence.
And to make sure that she'd stay dead too.
Because it would be typical of Morgana to suddenly come back from the dead. He didn't know if it had been logic or his pure magical instinct that had offered him the solution to his problem, but Merlin had found himself hit with the realization that the only way to forever get rid of Morgana was to take away her powers completely and then kill her. If she had no magic, then she had no way of miraculously surviving a death blow.
He'd known deep down that it wouldn't work if he just blocked her magic, or even weakened it. He had to completely separate Morgana's powers from her body. Tear them off of her.
He now acknowledged that he might as well had removed her arms and legs or skinned her alive for that matter, that was the amount of agony he'd put her through.
He didn't regret it, but at the same time, he couldn't believe that he'd actually done it.
A bark of laughter filled the silence and Merlin jerked instinctively towards it. He looked at the door noticing for the first time the light coming from beneath it. Late morning, he thought absentmindedly. The sound of footsteps returned and a shadow marred the line of light, indicating someone had just passed through the corridor in front of the chambers.
He knew he couldn't, he shouldn't hide any more. Alator was bound to leave this morning and Merlin wanted to talk to him before he was gone. Additionally, the warlock had overheard some servants talking about Arthur ordering an urgent council meeting for a very serious matter, requesting the presence of his knights as well as his advisors. He'd felt oddly vexed he hadn't been told about it, but then again, he didn't really have a position that would warrant his presence there anymore, did he? And he should also check on Declan as well, see how the Druid was holding up, help him get ready for the journey back to Ostia.
"I promise you, no matter what happens in Camelot, I will be by your side when you'll be returning to Ostia..."
He got up from the bed and almost fell on the floor, immediately feeling wobbly. Using one hand to steady himself on one of the bed posts he decided that before all else he needed to put some food in his belly. Seeing as no one knew where he had spent the night, Merlin didn't exactly expect to be served breakfast in bed. He would have to go get it himself. Just needed to wait a little while for his dizziness to recede and he would be on his way.
He had been lucky enough not to come across many people as he made his way to the kitchens. It seemed that it hadn't been as late in the morning as he'd originally thought. Mostly servants and members of the newly reformed guard roamed around in the corridors, and all of them avoided all contact with the warlock the moment they set their eyes on him.
When he got near the kitchen's door, the booming voice of the Cook came from inside, barking orders and threats like a true royal. Merlin felt oddly nostalgic. Of course it all stopped the moment he opened the door and stepped inside.
The first time it had happened, Merlin had felt awkward, alien. The second time hadn't gone any different. But this was the third time that he'd stepped into a room only for everyone else in it to go completely still and regard him with absolute dread.
If he hadn't felt so annoyed he'd laugh at the fact that even the Cook had gone silent. Instead he walked towards the closest bench and took a plate and a piece of bread that lay nearby. He searched around some more, ignoring all the terrified looks and the small gasps at his every move, concentrating to find something more solid to eat. It was clear that the royal stores had seen better days. There were half empty sacks of grains everywhere around, and the only wheel of cheese he'd managed to find was so mouldy it shouldn't be anywhere near the kitchens at that point. In the end, he had to make do with the bread, a small piece of dried meat and a cup of warm milk with a spoon of honey in it.
He neatly placed his breakfast in a tray, moving freely in the kitchens while everyone tried to get out of his way, let him be done and get out of there as soon as possible. He was ready to do so when the door opened loudly and a girl, Ledra, one of the younger kitchen maids rushed inside, holding a tray with dirty dishes in one hand and a large jug in the other.
"Lady Armelia was whining about the cheese tasting funny again - God have mercy!" she squeaked the moment she saw Merlin, the tray and jug falling from her hands crushing spectacularly on the floor in front of the warlock. No one dared breathe.
That was the last straw for Merlin. He could excuse some of their behaviour, understand that most of these people had been taught to fear magic from birth, but still, this was him. They knew him. He had been working with them, been one of them, for years. Many of them had, once, called him a friend.
Now all he was in their eyes was a sorcerer. A dangerous, unpredictable monster. They probably expected him to start killing anyone who displeased him, judging by how pale Ledra had turned, seeming just about ready to faint. Didn't it matter at all to any them that he'd been the one who had saved them? That Morgana had been defeated, killed, because of him?
It was just so unfair. Yes, he could understand why they had reacted the way they did, but that didn't mean he liked it. It was one thing to get no recognition or praise for your actions when no one knew about them, and a whole other to be feared just because of the way you achieved it.
Well, I won't deny who I am any more, that's for sure, he thought, stubbornly. Magic had saved these people's lives time and time again, they all owed Merlin more than they did those knights and lords they served.
It only took a flash of his eyes, a thought, and the mess on the floor cleared up; the pieces of the broken cutlery flying in the air, sticking back together until everything returned in a pristine condition and lay safely upon the kitchen bench.
The reactions to his magic were immediate and rather boring in their predictability. Some of them screamed, others tried to hide away from Merlin and amongst the rising chaos the Cook had selflessly taken her rolling pin in hand making as to attack the evil sorcerer.
They all stopped as soon as they realized that Merlin wasn't in fact doing anything to harm them. Not knowing how to proceed, most of the servants returned to stupidly gazing at the warlock.
Merlin shook his head, his disappointment threatening to quickly turn into bitterness. If that was the reaction he should expect after performing such a harmless, helpful spell, then he didn't want to think about these people seeing him do something more substantial, or, havens forbid, lethal. It didn't matter that he was on their side, that what he did, he did it for them... No, to them, the only thing that mattered was that he was doing magic.
A hollow feeling of pointlessness overwhelmed him and Merlin suddenly felt asphyxiated. He had to leave that room immediately. It was like he couldn't breathe, not with all those eyes watching him, judging him.
He turned to pick up his tray, his hands almost trembling. But just as he was about to leave, the rotten wheel of cheese caught his attention once again and Ledra's words from moments before came to his mind. How the noble woman had complained about the quality of the cheese.
Merlin knew that many of the castle's servants had been underfed long before his departure with Lucan, and things during Morgana's reign could have gotten only worse. As almost all of the food in the kitchens was intended for the nobles' consumption, the staff was expected to survive on their meagre leftovers.
Merlin glanced around at the people that had once, not long ago but ages away, been his family of sorts. They looked scared and distrustful, but most of all, they looked tired and ill. They could all use some good, solid food.
Seeing that he couldn't possibly cause any more harm with a second spell, the warlock softly muttered a few selected words, the language of the Old Religion rolling easily in his mouth, familiar and soothing. In the blink of an eye the mould on the food had disappeared and leaving the large cheese perfectly edible once again.
No one reacted. Well, none par from the Cook, whose sudden gasp made Merlin turn around, his tray still in hand, half expecting he would have to defend himself from a rolling pin attack. But what he saw surprised him, if only a little. The large woman had lowered her weapon and was regarding the now completely clean food with wide, unbelieving eyes.
It was a spectacle that he could have found rather amusing once, but now Merlin was too disappointed, irritated and frankly hungry, to truly appreciate the hilarity of it.
"You're welcome..." he said to no one in particular, sounding softer than he'd expected, before heading towards the door with his breakfast in hand.
As soon as the door closed behind him, a loud buzz of voices erupted from inside the kitchens. Some things would never change, gossiping servants first amongst them.
"...just because of what one man has done. There is no reason to believe that other sorcerers will follow in his "good" example. This kind of decision could risk everything. Just think of what your father would say if he were still alive, Sire..." Lord Marcus trailed off, his voice coloured with gloom and disapproval, letting the insinuation in his words deliver the rest of his message to the young king. Beside him, many of the council members nodded their heads in agreement, their eyes fixed upon Arthur's still, seething form.
But he's not, Arthur wanted to scream to them.
It's my kingdom now, my rules, damn you!
On the king's side, his knights stood quiet, not daring to openly oppose the older man. Arthur though could hear both Gwaine and Leon squirming impatiently on their seats. They, more than the rest of his men, were the ones who knew Merlin the best, almost as well as Arthur did. They must be feeling the need to defend their friend.
But the occasion was too delicate, too important, for Arthur to risk anyone making a mess out of it by defending the sorcerer every time a noble said something against him. Arthur had stressed it out to his closest knights how vital this council was for the future of this Kingdom.
Of magic.
"I stand before you in this council to proclaim that, due to knowledge and information that only recently came to my notice, I've decided to once again allow the use of sorcery within the lands of Camelot."
The moment the words had left Arthur's mouth chaos had ensued. It had been as if he had dropped a chunk of fresh meat into a pit of wolfs, igniting a seemingly endless dispute.
Arthur needed the council to agree with him on this subject, otherwise he wouldn't stand a chance at changing the rest of the nobles' and subsequently the public's perception over magic. The Kingdom was still too weak to survive an internal crisis as well as the cold winter and the famine.
He needed unity, now more than ever.
As his first and strongest argument of defence, Arthur had brought to the table of discussion Merlin's role in Camelot's recent victory. Almost all the people present in the Council had seen his former manservant's fight with Morgana and everyone knew that it had been Merlin who had ended the witch's life.
They had been at it for hours. Apart from his closest knights who had steadily been supporting their King, the rest of the members of the council had all expressed their disagreement. Their points varied greatly. From fear of power and vengeance, to plain old superstition, Arthur heard it all.
One lord had even gone as far as suggesting that the king had probably been enchanted by "that vile sorcerer" and that this had probably been Merlin's plan all along: to let the Kingdom turn to him in an hour of need and then exploit them with his dark magic.
Arthur had tried his best to stay calm. He had answered each question with reason and patience, despite the fact that some of the councilmen's arguments weren't even remotely logical.
Though Arthur had kept both Gaius and Guinevere out of this first meeting, Gaius being too close to Merlin not to have his allegiance questioned and Guinevere being in dire need of some rest, he had found an unexpected ally in the face of Sir Geoffrey. The elderly noble had stayed quiet during the first hours of the council, but when he finally spoke it had been to support his King's decision. He had talked about the old times before the purge and how it was possible for magic to be reinstated and not constitute a threat to either the population or the nobility. The last thing he had said had surprised Arthur the most, because Sir Geoffrey had more or less implied that magic had been used to Camelot's aid many times since Merlin's arrival. The King couldn't help but wonder if the old man had always been suspecting there'd been a magic user hiding amongst them. Perhaps Gaius had said something to him, since they were good friends.
It was past midday and they were still not even close to reaching a solution.
"My father was wise about a great many matters, Lord Marcus. But I'm afraid magic hadn't been one of them. Not since my mother's death," Arthur replied coldly. The mere mention of Queen Ygraine's death was enough to silence even the most persistent of them.
"I've already explained to you where my father's logic had been based during those dark times. I won't repeat myself," he added, the threat plain in his voice.
Someone cleared their throat from the side. It was Sir Ismaer, one of his father's best knights.
"Forgive me, Sire... but I think what Lord Marcus meant was that a... a decision like this is too radical to be taken in a hurry. Magic has caused many a grievances to Camelot's citizens, my lord. The kingdom just isn't stable enough to withstand such a drastic change in the laws. Do not forget that the people are still recovering from Morgana's magical oppression..."
Arthur sighed, well aware that the knight's words were right. Yes, the change couldn't happen immediately, not in a way that it could be a true, genuine change of believes rather than another form of oppression the King had commanded.
But it had to start from somewhere. Given time, everything would turn out the way he wanted, Arthur just knew it. It was all a matter of politics and right choices after all, and he was done making the wrong ones.
"I understand that completely, Sir Ismaer. That is why I brought this matter to the council. There have to be stages for the transition to occur without any setbacks. We will need to form new laws for magic to be regulated."
That last sentence caused a slight sense of ease in the until then charged atmosphere. Many of the doubtful nobles relaxed visibly at the mention of new laws for the regulation of magic. From then on the conversation drifted towards Camelot's knights and their ability -or lack of- to enforce the law in a magical population and Arthur dared hope he'd made at least some sort of progress with the subject at hand.
The council came to an end without any final decision made, though it was clear that the majority of its members were, perhaps reluctantly, beginning to accept the idea of a return of magic. Of course Arthur knew there were still many matters left to be discussed, details to be agreed upon in the imminent future. But another meeting had been already scheduled for the following day and Arthur was convinced that it would go even better than this one.
The King left the council chambers feeling more hopeful than he'd felt in a long time. But still something was missing. He couldn't help but feel strange walking the corridors alone without the shadow of his manservant, his friend, a mere step behind him.
He found that, unsurprisingly, it was Merlin with whom he wanted to share these good news first the most.
Merlin's magic had been the cause of Arthur's change of heart, after all. This was a first step towards settling the debt of honour between the two of them and the start of something new, hopefully better.
Mithian had spend the better part of her morning preparing for her departure on the following day. Queen Guinevere had argued that with the weather getting worse each day on, perhaps it would have been best if the Princess spent the entire winter in Camelot, as a guest of the King. But Mithian, as much as she had bonded with Gwen, longed to return to her home and her father, and leave behind the painful memories of Morgana's reign.
Gwen had dropped by around midday and the two royals had ended up having their lunch together. Neither spoke of the events of the previous days, or last evening's funerals. Instead they talked about their plans for the future, Gwen's hopes for Camelot to make a quick recovery and Mithian's plans for a new rose garden. After they finished, Guinevere had expressed her wish to visit her brother, Sir Elyan, who was still bedridden, having sustained a severe blow to the head during the battle. He wasn't in any kind of danger but Gaius had ordered him to stay in his rooms and the brave knight had been driven insane with boredom ever since he had woke up, on the previous day. Mithian offered to walk with her to keep her company and soon the two of them were making their way towards the other part of the castle, where the knights' quarters were situated.
They had just turned into one of the less crowded passages, when they came face to face with Merlin.
The sorcerer had obviously been outside, since he was wearing a long dark grey coat over his black trousers and tunic. His cheeks were coloured with healthy shade of red, probably from the cold and his hair looked wilder than ever.
"My lady," he greeted her politely, before turning towards Queen Guinevere to do the same. "Your Majesty."
Beside her, Gwen tensed at Merlin's distant formal greeting but remained silent. Trying to fill the growing silence Mithian thought fast. She noticed the sorcerer was holding a rolled piece of parchment in his hand.
"You we've been outside, Merlin?" she asked trying to sound extra cheerful, wincing as she realized she'd sounded more awkward than happy.
Merlin obliged her with an answer. "I went to bid Alator farewell."
"Oh, I see," Mithian nodded, not knowing what else to do since Gwen wouldn't speak. "Has he left then? Alator, he was the other... sorcerer wasn't he?" she asked, feeling strange to casually mention a sorcerer in a conversation such as this one.
"He has, my lady." He looked at her and then at Gwen, his expression unreadable. "If you'd excuse me, your highness. Majesty," he added in a hurry to leave.
"Merlin, please wait," the Queen asked him, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. Merlin said nothing in return, keeping his eyes lowered, though the Princess doubted it was because of reverence. More likely he wanted to avoid eye contact.
Mithian took a few steps back, trying to give the pair of them at least some sense of privacy for what was bound to be an emotional talk.
"Merlin," Gwen repeated, lower and gently. The warlock lifted his gaze then. Mithian thought she could see his resolve almost giving in, letting him show emotion. But the mask of indifference was soon back in its place.
Gwen must have seen it too. She didn't give up, though. "Arthur was looking for you..." she said.
"I wasn't hiding anywhere," he replied, shrugging.
"Will you go to him, Merlin? Please... Not for him, or me. Do it for yourself. You need to talk, you must realize this..." Gwen begged, concern written across her features.
Again, Merlin's visibly fought to keep his calm exterior. His mouth was set in a grim line but his eyes... they betrayed sadness, fragility.
This is his defence, Mithian realized. The only way Merlin could survive being hurt from the ones he cared about. By pretending he didn't care about them at all. By trying to distance himself from them.
He cleared his throat. "I will see the King this evening at the banquet, your majesty."
Gwen's reaction to this second rejection was a slight drop of her shoulders and a small sigh.
"He's determined to make things right, Merlin. You know him, he will do it..."
Merlin had turned his head to the side, not meeting Guinevere's eyes. Mithian held her breath, feeling that maybe, this time, the warlock would relent. But it was in vain.
"Is that all?" he asked tonelessly and Gwen bit her lips, then exhaled shakily, as if she was moments away from crying.
"Yes. That is all," she whispered hoarsely, taking a small step back. Merlin looked surprised at her genuine show of distress, his mask of indifference finally giving way to a look of restrained concern. He walked away slowly, reluctantly one could say.
Mithian placed a comforting hand on Gwen's back.
"He doesn't want my friendship anymore..." the Queen said, sounding defeated. Mithian shook her head. It wasn't that.
"No. I think he just doesn't believe he can truly have your friendship. He doesn't know how to trust you, any of you, Guinevere..."
Gwen turned to her, smiling half heartedly, thankful. "Funny," she said to the Princess after a few moments. "You'd expect things to be the other way around..."
The truth was that Merlin had in fact been avoiding Arthur. He could admit that much, at least.
At first it hadn't been done consciously. The warlock had just been trying to keep himself as far away as possible from the rest of the castle's inhabitants. He'd spend most of his morning in Declan's rooms, helping the Druid gather the provisions and necessities for the long journey back to Ostia. Afterwards he'd met with Alator of the Catha, to talk before priest's departure.
Alator had left the city on foot, using a cape with a hood to conceal his characteristic appearance but otherwise not too afraid of people being able to watch him go. He gifted Merlin with a parchment, a rare map, he'd said, that displayed the five most sacred shrines of the Catha brotherhood, places of spiritual significance where a sorcerer could find his true connection with the world. Merlin had sincerely thanked him for such a precious gift. His last words to Merlin had been for him to not shy from his destiny, whatever that meant. Then the priest was gone, off to follow his own path, along with his silent companion.
After that, there'd been Merlin's run with Gwen and Mithian in the corridors, a rather uncomfortable incident. The warlock hadn't even realized the Queen had been so upset until he'd heard her voice break. It had been done unintentionally, from his part.
Merlin still couldn't figure out how he should have reacted to that.
If it had been the old Gwen, his servant colleague and friend, then he'd have known what to say. But Guinevere had long stopped being anything but the Queen to him, a person that had only gotten more distant from him as time went by.
What was he supposed to do? As a servant he'd been scolded by Arthur for not using the right protocol with his Queen, for sounding too familiar...
The humiliation and hurt still stung, even after all the developments that drastically changed his situation. It had been a reminder of how different he was back then from all the rest, setting aside his magic. To them he was just a servant and they'd been obliging him by keeping him nearby, despite his famous ineptitude.
Royal protocol... Do sorcerers even need to follow any protocols? He wondered.
Technically speaking, the only thing sorcerers still needed to do in the eye of the law was to be burned at the stake.
If he thought about it more, there lay the exact source of his troubles. He had no idea how he should act any more. Around Gwen, Arthur, around most of his old friends. He and Gwaine had fortunately come to an understanding. Gwaine would always be his loyal friend, Merlin was sure of that by now.
But the others... Most importantly Arthur...
He'd left Gwen and Mithian to go hide, literally hide this time, in one of the less used wings of the castle, where he knew he would not be disturbed.
And there he'd done nothing but think.
For hours.
Merlin would no longer hide behind the guise of the manservant, not ever again. He had spend too long in the darkness, had lived too many years being haunted by his true nature, unable to take pride in what he was, to breathe freely.
So, how would a sorcerer behave around these people? Around the King and the Queen of Camelot? The knights and the nobles of the court?
Should he even be there? Could he still belong amongst his old friends,? Had he forgiven the mistreatment of the past and instead focus on a new future?
Merlin didn't know if he was feeling angry or bitter against them, mainly Arthur, any longer. He didn't think so... He had never been one to hold a grunge for too long, though he certainly hadn't forgiven everything. Not yet anyway. Merlin had no doubt that, in time, he would.
He couldn't help but imagine what the future could hold for him now. A future without Morgana present as the constant threat. But when he tried to picture that ideal future, were magic was free and sorcerers living in peace and not hunted, he couldn't. He couldn't see anything pass the memories of mistrust and fear. Fear in the eyes of servants as they tried to get away from his path, in the eyes of nobles as they walked by him in the corridors, in the eyes of the people of Camelot.
To change all those people's minds was a task that seemed almost impossible. But say that it would happen... Say that Arthur somehow managed to get his people to agree with the return of magic. What would Merlin's role be in that future. Would he return once again in Arthur's service, only this time as Arthur's official sorcerer? Would that be any different from the life he'd lived all this time?
His title as Merlin, King Arthur's lousy servant, would be replaced by Merlin, Sorcerer of the King, but would the reality be any different to him?
Arthur's sorcerer. Arthur's most deadly weapon, more likely... He shuddered, the echoes of Morgana's screams filling his head with guilt.
Was that what he'd turned into? What his destiny had all been about? The great Emrys, the one who would bring magic and unity to the Kingdoms of Albion... was he just a weapon waiting to be placed in the least dangerous hands? To torture and kill in the name of destiny and his king?
All this time, Kilgharrah had been the one who had dictated Merlin's moves with his manipulative words of advice. Merlin's own puppeteer. Would he officially belong to Arthur now?
Emrys and the Once and Future King. The two sides of the same coin, bound together by destiny. How strange and alien it sounded now... Laughable, even.
Lucan had believed in it, though. In Emrys and his cause. These old prophecies had been the reason the Ostian Prince had ended up in Camelot in search of a warlock of legends after all.
Instead of the legend, Lucan had found the shell of the man Emrys could have been. A broken toy of fate. And the prince had done whatever he could in order to fix it, to mend Merlin, but it had only served to get himself killed in the end.
He couldn't forget what he'd realized when Lucan had opened his eyes to everything. How betrayed he'd felt, by everyone and everything around him. And mainly, by his own self, for giving up, resigning in a life of servitude, not to Arthur, but to the supposed Once and Future King. To the best of the best.
Leaving Camelot with Lucan had been the only way to break the circle, to challenge his destiny. Now though, it felt like destiny had won, again, never mind how hard he'd fought against it. What good had he done by leaving? Lucan was dead and Merlin... He'd been forced to face the fact that what he'd turn out to be was a far cry from what he'd wanted to become when he'd first arrived in Camelot, years ago.
Then again, in a different, deep part of Merlin's mind, lingered all those other memories. The ones that he would always hold and cherish, no matter what changed in his world. The caring eyes of his mentor as he promised countless times in the safety of their rooms that everything would turn out alright in the end. Arthur's expression when he'd finally said to him that he'd been wrong about magic, admitted that he'd owed Merlin. Deeper than anything else, almost hidden as a precious treasure to be protected from all the hardships that had overwhelmed his life, were the memories of just him and Arthur, the Prince of Camelot, together.
Laughing, joking, bickering. Being there for each other.
Unaware to the warlock, the time for the banquet Arthur would hold in celebration of his victory -of course it would always be King Arthur's victory for these people, wouldn't it- came and went by and still Merlin just sat alone, with only his confused thoughts to keep him company.
It was well after midnight when Arthur eventually managed to find him, and Merlin had finally made up his mind.
A/N: Evil cliff-hanger is evil. What will Merlin's decision be, I wonder? Please leave a comment and tell me what you think will happen!
Now, there are a few things I'd like to say in the end.
WARNING FOR S5 SPOILERS UP TO EP 9 PLUS DELETED SCENES
Spoilers people, I'm serious...
You have been warned...
So, I was a bit freaked out when I saw the deleted scene from ep06 where Merlin basically showed us he was feeling responsible for Morgana turning out the way she did! I mean... it's so strange to have your theories confirmed in canon. Anyway...
About the scene I wrote in the throne room with Merlin and Morgana. I know that many of you expressed doubts, saying that Merlin would never purposely hurt someone like that, almost torture them before finishing them off. But then ep09 came and Merlin showed no qualm in using force to extract information from the Dochraid, plus giving her a final blow when he was done, so I think that, again, canon helped me out a little bit here :P. But in the fic Merlin does explain his actions and thoughts at that particular moment, so there is that too...