A TRICK OF THE LIGHT

Chapter Thirty Six

"In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer."
(Albert Camus)

-x0x-

Having already seen the world from the back of a dragon, Merlin had no problem with heights – just a healthy objection to falling from them unintentionally. Still, the blizzard that spun around the North Tower was truly terrifying and, all at once, his legs began to tremble in a manner that had nothing to do with the number of stairs he had climbed to get there. "Can we really do this?" he yelled to Robin. The jester was standing beside him but strained to catch his words. In return, Merlin watched Robin's lips to be sure of his reply.

"I choose to believe we can."

"But I never found Pest. Will they listen to me?"

Robin's eyes were gleaming and his focus was intense. "Your worry is misplaced. Pest may have another role to play. But am I not kin to the wisps, as I explained to you? Use me, Emrys. Let me be your link."

What on earth? Before Merlin could frame his question properly, Robin had already started to glow. "Are you changing again?" the young man asked, his words curling into an icy cloud.

Robin nodded. His face was ecstatic. "Reach out with your mind," he suggested. "Feel it with me."

Merlin was less optimistic. He remembered a still, pale figure resting on a narrow cot. "Won't that make you weaker?"

"Ultimately, yes. But I shall hold out as long as I can, for you, dear friend." Robin's features were becoming indistinct within the aura that surrounded him.

"Wait – can't I help you somehow?" Merlin's eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to speak the magical word that would transfer his energy, but Robin held up his hand.

"No! I cannot sap your strength, no matter how I yearn for it." He bowed his shining head at the admission. "I must rely on my own resources. I am not so lucky as you…"

The light that surrounded him was intolerably bright by now. Merlin could no longer look directly at him. Instead, he turned away and followed Robin's advice, feeling for the jester with his mind.

Ah – there you are, Robin's voice announced with deep satisfaction. Now, hold the connection for as long as you are able, Emrys, and call to the wisps through me. Remember, they are creatures of emotion. You should be able to use that to your advantage.

Which was all very well, thought Merlin, but how? He began to wish that he had discussed this whole thing far more thoroughly with Robin before stepping out to take on a vengeful storm with an army of capricious little lights.

Dig deep, said the voice in his head. Show them what you feel, Emrys…

The light-that-was-Robin had begun to rise up into the air by now. As it moved away, Merlin lost sight of it amid the whirling flakes, but the link they had forged was still intact, thank goodness, and so he clung to it tenaciously and tried to work out exactly how to solve the jester's final riddle.

-x0x-

Pest was bobbing up and down with great excitement. Gwaine, meanwhile, had been stunned into stillness by the overwhelming revelation that his friend – his friend? – was not who he had pretended to be all along.

"You're such a fool," he accused himself bitterly. "Everyone lies. You knew that, and you chose to forget it. Taken in by charm, no less, and the promise of a better life." Taken in by his own damnable optimism. He had steeled himself against it, all those years on the road, with alcohol and brawling and a carelessness that became something of a second skin to him – until a scrawny serving boy slipped right through his defences. A wizard's trick, no doubt, to seem so innocent and be so very cunning on the inside, like a rotten tree enveloped by a flourishing vine, whose bright, healthy leaves hide the lurking sickness.

Pest settled on his shoulder, burning indignantly. It was all too clear that Gwaine was the object of his fury.

"You think I'm being ridiculous? That's a fine accusation, coming from a floating torch. You have no idea how it feels to be betrayed."

The creature bristled, sending sparks in all directions. Gwaine swatted him away like the pest he was. "Don't do that. I'm trying to vent here. I think I'm entitled…"

Pest circled back and hovered in front of his face, ignoring the wind and the snow, though it pummelled him mightily.

"Of course you're on his side. Why wouldn't you be? Magic. Of all things." Gwaine closed his eyes, feeling jaded and sad. If he was truly being honest with himself, it wasn't the magic that bothered him. It was the sense of betrayal. So Merlin could do a few spells? So what? "I thought I knew him. No wonder…" he grumbled.

No wonder…

No wonder a stick like Merlin had survived so many fights without landing a single blow, suggested a cool, dispassionate voice in his head; the voice of reason.

He frowned as he followed the thought all the way to its conclusion, step by tentative step. So many desperate situations… and now it all made perfect sense. Yes, Merlin had survived – but so had Arthur and his knights, every time.

How much of that had been skill (or luck), and how much of that had been magic?

Gwaine began to chuckle softly. He couldn't help himself. The coldness of his disappointment had been vanquished by the fire of his excitement, and his anger was melting away. He never even felt it leave him, as he stared at his friend with a strange new feeling of amazement.

"Merlin. Merlin," he muttered to the wisp. "Who'd have thought it?" Certainly not the king, and surely that was the point? But what kind of toll must it take for a person to fool his nearest and dearest friends, day in and day out for years; to save their lives repeatedly and have his efforts go unnoticed? "You could have trusted me," he whispered to the lonely figure on the rooftop, his frozen words fading away before Merlin could hear them. "Don't you know that? I wish you hadn't lied to me – didn't know you had it in you, Merlin – but I understand, I really do. What's more, I'll prove it to you. Just you wait and see."

-x0x-

Meanwhile, Merlin was thinking about emotions. Not an easy task, given the urgency of his current situation, but he gave it his best shot. His teeth were jammed together against the cold and every part of him was trembling by now. "I feel…" he muttered. "I feel…" Numb? Embarrassed? Stupid…?

The dark clouds continued to gather overhead, swelling with fury and promising violence to come. Violence that had been spawned by violence, he remembered. The Veil had been torn asunder by the witch, Morgana (who had been his friend, though it seemed like a lifetime ago). Her thirst for vengeance and power had inadvertently created this howling monster, as Nature took its cue from her, trying to counter the wrong that she had done. Hate for hate. Madness for madness. There had to be a better way to find some kind of balance.

And suddenly Merlin understood what it was that Robin expected him to do.

He managed a tiny smile as he cast his mind back to a bright summer's day. A boy was on the road to a brand new life. A castle rose before him, shining white above the trees.

This is how it started, he thought. I fell in love with Camelot the moment I saw it. His first home would always be Ealdor – but whoever said your loyalty couldn't belong to more than one place, and more than one family? I've been so lucky, Merlin realised, his heart swelling. Drawing the thought and the feeling together, he bound them and sent them out through Robin to every wisp in Camelot. This place is special. It's full of good people. Please understand.

Now the images were coming thick and fast. So many memories tied to one place. So many friends. He lingered on Gaius, tracing every beloved wrinkle as he conjured up a mental portrait of the man who had taken him in and taught him… well, pretty much everything. Guinevere, with her clear gaze and ready smile. He loved her for her kindness and her strength of character. Gwaine, the unexpected friend, who had found his place in the world at last. Percival, Elyan, Leon… Merlin was smiling broadly now, ignoring the ache in his jaw. He thought about the people that he saw around him every day, whose lives, put together, made this city what it was. And when all these faces had passed through him, and beyond him, building a patchwork of love and belonging, he allowed himself to think about the king.

There were no words to fully describe his friendship with Arthur. Yes, he thought, friendship. Let's call it what it is. No words – or perhaps too many. He imagined how it would be if Arthur were standing beside him right now, facing the howling tempest; the banter they would share; the resolute look on the man's face; the courage he would hold before him like a burning light of his own. Merlin thought of all the times they had insulted each other, and saved each other… "A ridiculous number of times," he murmured to himself. Arthur was his destiny, according to Kilgharrah, and he could feel it too, with a certainty that was so immense it shook him to his core whenever he dared to think about it. That overwhelming truth, he bundled together with the laughter, the nicknames and the ridiculous fighting, flinging it all in the teeth of the storm. "Take that!" he screamed. The wind snatched his words away, but Merlin didn't care. He knew his aim had been true, thanks to Robin. Something new was beginning to rise up in the edges of his vision. It was golden and warm, a shimmering contrast to the dull, inexorable snow and the dark sky.

The wisps were gathering.

Watching the shield form over Percival and Arthur had been a marvel. This, however… this was beyond anything that Merlin could possibly have imagined. Their brightness and their joy drew out the memory of the Void that still lingered, flushing it from his mind as though it were toxin and they the perfect antidote. He watched their number grow, and fed them with the warmth of his love for Camelot. Every muscle in his body was straining; every fibre of his being stretched out in a desperate attempt to bind them together in purpose and understanding. His eyes were shining. His skin felt taut, as though he might fly apart at any moment, into a thousand glittering pieces. He could barely feel his legs and knew that they would not hold him much longer.

"No," he gasped. "Have to… Please!"

He fell to his knees in the snow that was piling up thick and fast on the turret. Help, said a voice. Was it his? It didn't sound like his, but Merlin's senses were so overwrought that he could barely tell what was real anymore, and what was magic. You have to help him…

And suddenly, miraculously, there was a pair of strong arms around him and a solid figure at his back. He leaned against his unseen angel. "Lift me up," he croaked. "Got to convince them."

"Merlin," said Gwaine, in his ear. "You blessed idiot. What are you doing here, all alone?"