I know Gwen and Arthur were married after Uther died, but please pretend for this because I was really tired when I started writing that part and completely forgot. Sorry!
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy the last chapter.
...
There was a young girl.
Her hair was as golden as hay ready for harvest, and her eyes were as blue as glass beads or the edge of the sea that Merlin had once seen from afar. Her smile reminded Merlin of someone else's, someone who wasn't around to smile anymore.
She was coughing.
Even from several feet away, Merlin heard the breath rattling around in her lungs, poisoning her and leading to a slow death.
She wouldn't last.
Gaius had been tutoring Merlin in the art of healing long enough for Merlin to recognize that.
She was so young, so sweet as she smiled up at him, excited and in awe even though he was a nobody in the grand scheme of things.
(For crying out loud, he wasn't even a knight.)
Merlin couldn't let her die.
…
He healed her because that was what magic was supposed to do. It was supposed to help people.
With it, he drew the sickness from her frame and made her healthy again.
The red returned to her cheeks.
Her back was turned, so she never knew it was him.
(She blamed the tickling on the fairies, and her friends believed her.)
…
There was laughter everywhere around him, and for once he felt merry instead of held under the weight of everything he was or was not doing for the sake of Camelot.
The food was excellent - he made a comment to Gwaine about how he might as well stay there instead of returning to Camelot if the food was this good and there were no stables within sight to muck.
Gwaine toasted to that, offering to stay with Merlin and help him find a wife.
At some point, while his sides were aching from laughter, he felt slightly drowsy, and he pushed the wooden cup of wine that he had been given away from himself because he had to think clearly. He didn't like getting drunk - he was supposed to protect Arthur, and he couldn't do that if he only had half his senses about him.
At first, he questioned the feeling. After all, he had only drunk two cups, and that wasn't enough…
But perhaps it had been more than he thought.
(He was wrong.
The world slipped away.)
…
When he awoke, the world was dark, and he was not in control of himself. He fought, trying to push whatever it was out of his system, but it was wrapped around him in a tight cocoon.
He expected Arthur to appear and tell him what a buffoon he'd been for drinking so much and all the trouble that he had gone through to drag his sorry hide back.
Back from where?
Arthur did not answer.
"Arthur isn't coming. We saw you practice magic, sorcerer, healing that girl."
Even though he didn't know to whom the voice belonged, he panicked as he discovered he was bound and that his limbs weren't fully under his control.
They couldn't have seen him. He had been so careful, so sure that no one was around. How could someone have seen him?
"You don't know that," he protested over the thud of his own heart in his ears, trying to disguise the panic that was welling up in him. "I don't even know which little girl you're talking about. There are dozens of them around."
They would be hard pressed to pin such a thing on him, to prove it. After all, Arthur was a prince, and he already thought Merlin too stupid and simple to be involved in such a thing as magic.
The man's green was feral, his teeth too sharp and white. "Arthur already knows."
Merlin's heart stopped.
"You're lying," he accused. "I don't have magic-"
"We saw you," his captor hissed. "We saw you. The king believes us. He's already ordered your execution at sundown."
No.
"You're lying," Merlin repeated. His head was swimming. He could barely make sense of up and down or left and right. In the murkiness, he could only distinguish the mocking face.
The man had to be lying.
"No, Merlin," the man spat, leaning close. "You are. I think the king will be rather happy to see this one burn. He was rather...hurt at the revelation."
"No," Merlin whispered again, more to himself than anyone else.
"Drink this," the man ordered, sneering at his distress as he brought out a vial from nowhere and shoved in front of his face.
Merlin was confused, but he was not so befuddled that he was unaware that the drugs were dampening his power. "Why would I do that?"
"Because if you don't, we will kill your king." The man grinned. "The choice is yours."
Merlin downed the bottle.
The cell door clanged shut.
As the effects of whatever he had been given settled in, Merlin closed his eyes. He couldn't breathe.
Arthur knew.
Arthur had condemned him to die.
…
Arthur had condemned him to die.
Arthur knew.
Someone had somehow seen Merlin use magic and had told Arthur.
It was all out in the open.
Arthur wanted this.
…
He was still drugged.
Maybe he could have fought it, but whatever they kept forcing him to drink was an oppressive force pushing down on his mind and making it hard to distinguish one important thought from another.
Everything was muted, dull, as though he had stuck his head in a puddle of mud and the world had been painted brown.
Then, there was movement.
He was being dragged somewhere, but Merlin found that he didn't really care where.
The world shifted like stained glass around him. It reminded him of the windows in the old chapel back in the castle, except this time there were no images of sorrowful figures and angels. Nothing made sense.
Sharp objects prodded into his back.
Something snapped.
He could vaguely smell something, but he didn't recognize the scent.
It was both pleasant and frightening at the same time. Something in his mind told him that it was supposed to be nice, but his gut was telling him it was wrong.
But what was it?
Maybe the odd feeling in his stomach was due to the drugs running through his system. He had never been one to tolerate medicine that Gaius had tried to give him for various ailments, so perhaps-
The smell grew stronger, breaking into his already scrambled thoughts.
Wait a second.
He knew that smell.
Smoke.
It was coming from a fire.
He panicked.
…
He remembered Lancelot's funeral.
He remembered watching the flames lick up the pyre and turn it into a black heap of ashes, wondering if he would be dead or alive on the pyre when his turn came.
He was alive.
…
As the flames grew around him, he kept wondering why it was happening to him.
He couldn't understand why he couldn't escape it, couldn't understand why it was happening to him, and then he would remember.
Arthur knew, and Arthur wanted him to die.
(He kept forgetting and remembering this fact over and over again. Each time, it felt like he was being stabbed.)
He coughed and sputtered.
It was getting a little more difficult to breathe.
Gradually but swiftly at the same time, the muted greys and browns shifted to yellows, oranges and reds. His skin felt prickly, as though a horde of spiders were crawling all over him, biting into his flesh with their fangs.
It was hot.
Sweat poured from and rolled off his skin, but he couldn't escape the source of the heat. It was building up around him, suffocating him.
Red and grey.
Grey and red.
Red and grey.
Goodness, his skin was searing.
Merlin had never felt so hot - it felt like his body was burning around him, and there was nothing he could do to escape because his brain wouldn't work properly for him to hold onto his thoughts, his arms wouldn't move where he wanted them too, he couldn't escape, couldn't breathe, couldn't make sense of anything through the billowing clouds - even though he knew what was happening and-
And Arthur knew, and Arthur had condemned him to die, and his skin was pure agony-
Crackling, biting, eating him alive.
He screamed.
…
"Merlin, wake up!"
The world snapped into place, but nothing was there.
A hand was on his shoulder.
"What's-" he choked. "What's going on? Where am I?"
The sleep clogging his mind was receding, but he was still confused.
"It's me, Merlin."
It was Arthur's voice.
Merlin flinched.
The hand disappeared. Although Merlin felt lost without the brief contact, he did not say anything.
"You were dreaming."
Merlin almost snorted, but he couldn't muster up the energy. "No kidding." The words were flat, lifeless, but Merlin couldn't bring himself to care.
He didn't care about anything.
…
Arthur felt trapped.
It was as though a wall had been thrown up between him and Merlin.
He wasn't used to it. Although Merlin was pretty tight-lipped about certain things (his childhood, what he did in taverns in his spare time), they had gradually gotten to know each other. No one could insult Arthur like Merlin and get away with it.
But there were no insults now.
During and after their journey back to Camelot, Merlin had barely spoken a word.
Arthur didn't know if the silence was because of what had happened or because Arthur knew.
He hated it.
He wanted to tear down the wall that had been erected, but he couldn't figure out what he was supposed to do.
Because Merlin was now holed up in Gaius's chambers, Arthur woke up to George in the mornings. While Arthur held nothing against the servant - he was the most efficient person in the entire castle - he wasn't Merlin.
Although he would rather drink poison than admit it to anyone, he missed Merlin.
Nothing was the same.
He couldn't fix Merlin, bring back his ruddy eyes. He couldn't forget that his manservant could use magic. He wasn't sure if he wanted to do the latter.
He felt paralyzed - he couldn't move backwards to rectify everything that had gone wrong, but he also couldn't move forward while everything was so...so wrong.
So life remained at a standstill.
…
Arthur was lying in bed, his hands resting on his stomach, when Gwen abruptly spoke.
"You should talk to him."
"What?"
Arthur had heard her perfectly well and didn't even need to ask who the him was.
"You should talk to him," Gwen repeated firmly, placing her hairbrush on the table as she turned to face him.
Fie, Arthur wanted to talk to Merlin, but he couldn't. It wouldn't be the same.
And it was partially his fault that Merlin had been so brutally injured in the first place. Why would Merlin want to talk to him?
"Well? Are you going to talk to him?" Gwen was looking at him expectantly.
"No."
"Arthur!" Gwen scolded. "How-"
"How can I talk to him, Gwen? He's blind, for crying out loud! I can't fix that. Nobody can."
"And do you think ignoring him is going to help any?" Gwen retorted. "No matter how much you try to deny it, you are his best friend. Right now, he feels useless, and treating him like he doesn't exist isn't going to help him one bit!"
"I'm not treating him like he doesn't exist!" Arthur threw back. "I...none of this should have happened. This morning, Merlin should have been the one to polish my boots, not...not…"
Arthur couldn't even remember the servant's name, but it wasn't even George.
In frustration, he felt like breaking something, seeing and hearing wood splinter, but Gwen would kill him for ruining anything in the room.
Maybe he deserved it.
After all, magic or no magic, it was still his fault that Merlin had been put in that position to begin with. If he had told Merlin to stay behind, none of it would have happened.
He wouldn't know Merlin had magic.
Merlin wouldn't-
Arthur hated thinking about it.
"Go," Gwen ordered, pointing at the door.
"What?"
"Go," she repeated with more force, reiterating her gesture. "Go talk to him."
"I'm not talking to him. He probably doesn't want to see me."
Gwen pursed her lips. "Arthur Pendragon. I have never seen a more cowardly man than you at this moment. Go, or I won't speak to you."
One look at her face, and Arthur knew that she was serious.
Haltingly, he got to his feet and walked towards the door.
With his hand on the knob, he turned around to look back at his wife.
With a determined expression, she shooed him forward.
She cared about Merlin. Arthur did, too, but he didn't know how to.
The very basis of their friendship had been radically altered, and Arthur's mind had spent so much time orbiting around the fact that Merlin could even use magic.
He found himself standing in front of the door to Gaius's chambers, his fist hovering inches from the wood.
What if they were asleep by now? The hour was fairly late, so perhaps it would be better to return later.
From behind the door, Arthur heard a light thud. Someone - Gaius or Merlin, Arthur couldn't tell him - was awake.
What if Gaius threw him out?
What if Merlin didn't want to see - didn't want to talk to him?
Perhaps it would be best if he came back another day - or better yet, waited until someone sent for him.
Before he could turn around and head back down the hallway, however, the door opened.
Noticing him, Gaius blinked in surprise. "Sire. What are you doing here?"
"I'm-" Arthur cleared his throat. "I'm here to see Merlin."
Gaius's eyebrow rose.
Even to his own years, Arthur sounded pathetic. Gaius hadn't even expected for him to come around. What on earth was he even going to say to Merlin?
He was half-expecting Gaius to throw him out even if he was a Pendragon.
"He is in his room," Gaius said. "I have an emergency to attend to and can't stay, I'm afraid, so if you will excuse me..."
"Of course." Arthur stepped to the side.
As Gaius left, he stepped inside the room.
It looked the same since the last time Arthur had been in there - weeks, maybe even months ago.
He couldn't remember. Too much had happened.
That section of the castle was quiet. Even in the dim lights, Arthur could see into Merlin's room, the door to which was cracked open.
It was dark in there.
Merlin was probably asleep.
If he was still recovering, he didn't want to wake his former manservant.
"What do you want, Arthur?"
Arthur started.
Merlin appeared in the doorway, pushing the door to the side with one hand and with the other feeling for the doorframe.
"I…" Arthur's mind went black.
He didn't know how to talk to Merlin.
He didn't know how to talk to Merlin.
He'd always known what to say to Merlin - at least, most of the time.
"I came here to see Gaius."
"Gaius just left," Merlin informed him flatly. Instead of coming closer, he remained in the doorway to his room like a spectre.
Despite the passing of so many weeks, the burn wounds still looked ghastly. Even with his magic, they didn't look as though they would completely heal.
"I know." Before he could stop and think, his curiosity overcame him. "How did you know that it was me?"
Merlin hesitated before answering. "Your footsteps. They're different from the others."
"Oh." Arthur looked down at the boots he had hastily pulled on before leaving his rooms.
They were perfectly polished.
Too perfectly.
"What do you want?" Merlin repeated, his voice flat. "Obviously not to see Gaius." He snorted.
"I wanted to...I wanted to talk to you."
There, the truth was out. Merlin probably wasn't going to want to talk to him, anyway, not after-
With a creak, Merlin pushed the door open farther and made his way into the room.
He was wearing a blindfold, so the place where his eyes had been wasn't visible to Arthur, but Arthur could see the white and red twisted scarring on his forehead, his cheeks, and the bridge of his nose.
At least his ears were relatively the same size.
On his path to the chair at the table, Merlin tripped over a step stool that Gaius had left to the side.
Although Arthur moved forward to help him, Merlin righted himself.
"I've got it, he snapped. "I don't need your help." His fingers danced around the edge of the table before he found the bench. "Why would you want to talk to me?" He sounded genuinely confused.
"Because-"
"Did Gwen put you up to this?"
Arthur winced. "No."
"You're lying."
"Yes." Arthur wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to proceed. If he left now, he could still tell Gwen that he talked to Merlin since they had exchanged words.
Immediately, he felt guilty for considering it.
Lightly and listlessly, Merlin drummed his fingers on the worn tabletop. "I thought you would come sooner. Tell me that you'd changed your mind and that you were going to have me executed."
"I…" Arthur wanted to deny it, but honestly? If he had been in Merlin's shoes, he would have thought the exact same thing about himself. "I'm not going to execute you," he said instead. "I'm not going to do that."
He just wanted things to return to normal.
Merlin didn't say anything. He sat there, as though he expected - no, wanted - Arthur to turn around and walk out of there.
Well, Arthur wasn't going to do it. He had come this far already.
He just didn't know what to say.
On the table, Merlin's hands stilled and then curled into fists. The low light in the room reflected off the ropy scars that looped around his thin, gnarly fingers.
"I'm sorry."
The fists tightened until Merlin's knuckles turned white. "You have nothing to be sorry about. I broke the law. I didn't tell you I have magic. I let my guard down. Why are you sorry?"
"I could have prevented the whole thing in the first place. I am supposed to protect-"
"No, I'm the one who's supposed to protect you, Arthur, with magic. Do you know how many people I've stopped from killing you over the years? Fie, I've even stopped myself from killing you, but that one's more on a daily basis. I can't even do that now!"
"Well, you could if you came around," Arthur snapped, "instead of hiding down here."
"What's the point? Have you looked at me? I can't do-"
"You could probably do a lot more than you're doing right now wallowing down here!"
Arthur felt like a hypocrite. Who was he to tell Merlin what to do? He had been there - Merlin was upset because he couldn't serve Arthur.
His throat was tightening up, but he plowed on. "We can think of something. Anything. I don't care about the magic, your eyes, nothing. It doesn't matter to me."
Months ago, he might have said something drastically different, but this time, he meant every word.
Merlin was sniffing.
"You're my friend, Merlin. I just want my friend back."
…
Epilogue
"Pass me the sausage, please."
"That's mine."
"Too bad. I'm hungry."
"Arthur, look at him. He's practically a stick. Give it to him."
"Now look what you've done, Merlin. You've turned my own wife against me."
"That doesn't take much."
"Excuse me? Hey - what have I told you about stealing food from my plate with magic?"
"What are you going to do, call the guards?"
"Enough, both of you. If this is how you act during council meetings, it's a wonder the two of you get anything done."
"Well, it wasn't like they get anything done anyway."
"Merlin, those are some of Camelot's most trusted advisors."
"Could have fooled me. They are some of the most stuck-up geezers I've ever met."
"You do realize that you are now part of them, right?"
"...Pass me the rolls, please."
"No."
"Merlin!"