Separatim
Disclaimer: Anything recognisable belongs to their respective owners, be it myths or whatever else. Everything here is the fictional work of the author herself and, unless otherwise stated, it is all in the author's mind.
Pairings: Arthur/Lancelot, Arthur/Guinevere
Spoilers: Takes place at the end of the movie.
A/N: Another aftermath fic. After it's all over, Merlin reflects on the how things have become. Title is Latin for 'separately.'
Warnings: SLASH
Separatim
Merlin saw the fire in Arthur's eyes die the moment his heartbroken gaze met Guinevere's as he cradled Lancelot's lifeless body close to him, and he knew that they would never find happiness – not together.
But he is a selfish man. He did not want to see his lifetime's work, his dream of uniting Britain, crumble because of a dead Sarmatian Knight. And so, he pretended not to know, urging Guinevere to get closer to Arthur, pushing her to him, persuading her that marriage was the right thing.
And so it happened. Arthur married Guinevere and became King Arthur.
There was no love in his eyes, not even fondness, no happiness - nothing - as he drank to his union to Guinevere. His remaining knights looked on, seeming to find the scene bittersweet, without smiles and something akin to pity in their eyes. They had known of Arthur's love for Lancelot – and they knew that Arthur would never again be the same without his best knight by his side. They too knew that the newly weds would never find happiness – but perhaps that wanted to hope.
At first, Guinevere clung onto Arthur with childish vigour and naïve devotion, convincing herself that he was just mourning. And the weeks turned to months, and months to years, and still Arthur did not smile at her. Arthur did not forget Lancelot.
And Guinevere grew tired of living in a dead man's shadow. She grew tired with competing with a ghost – with a memory – for Arthur's affections.
She wasn't one for giving up, but she realised that Arthur would never look at her as a person. She would always be Lancelot's replacement. Lancelot died so that she could live, and Arthur almost blames her for that. And she cannot stand his accusing stare.
But then again, Merlin thinks that Guinevere is paranoid. Because that accusing stare is not there. Arthur's eyes are lifeless. Arthur, himself, is lifeless.
There's living, and there's being alive – and Arthur is only alive. His heart is beating, he is breathing and going through the motions – but he is not living. Looking into his eyes, people used to see his soul, his spirit, his fire – now they see only a reflection of themselves.
Sometimes, Merlin feels a little guilt. He feels the guilt of Lancelot's death and therefore Arthur's lifelessness, because neither would have been here if not for him. He feels guilt for the woman that Guinevere has had to become. But, most of all, he feels the guilt for Guinevere's pain. Because he loved her like his own daughter and he had to cause her grief so that his dreams could come true.
But Guinevere stands alone, commanding her people, and Merlin also feels fatherly pride. No, Guinevere did not have the happiness she deserved from her marriage, but she fulfilled her own dreams too – her dream of uniting Britain, and ruling it herself.
They could not have found happiness in each other. They already belonged elsewhere, and their hearts had already been given away.
Guinevere would always belong to her people – and Arthur, to Lancelot.
