Hello, everyone!
I hope everybody is staying healthy and sane. My university has shut down, so I've unexpectedly found myself stuck at home. It's sad for me because this was my final semester of school (after taking a lot of time off, transferring, changing majors, getting jobs, etc.) I graduate in May. But there are literally thousands of people in the same situation as I am, so I'm trying to find the positives. For example— this social distancing thing has given me plenty of time to write! And I am fortunate enough to be low-risk for the coronavirus, as are most of my loved ones. Things will get better :)
In the meantime, enjoy this chapter!
~Ra1n
Previously...
"I need Gaius and the Druids to follow me," he finally managed, not turning around. He was heading towards the throne room.
He was still barefoot, but he didn't care.
He had a magic training room to set up, and he had absolutely no idea where to start.
As it turned out, setting up a training room for magic required little more than pushing the furniture towards the walls and removing anything breakable or highly valuable. Arthur had expected to need jewels or minerals or runes etched into something, but Iseldir assured him otherwise.
"A sorcerer needs only his magic to practice," he'd said. "And space to move around."
The removal of the breakable objects was just in case Merlin's magic came out more destructive than intended. It made everybody feel better to pretend that the safe storage of some goblets and crowns was all they needed to worry about.
(Nobody mentioned that Merlin could probably crumble the entire castle if something went wrong.)
When they were done, the room looked more like a ballroom, with a halo of chairs around the outer edge and the round table pulled into the corner beside the thrones—which, bolted into the ground like they were, remained in place.
Arthur took a deep breath, Merlin's documents burning a hole in his jacket pocket, and announced that he would like to retire to his rooms.
"Don't you want to show Emrys?" One of the Druids piped up.
"Later," Arthur said. His hand went to his pocket. "I have some business I need to attend to."
Back at Gaius's chambers, Gwen had sat herself across the table from Merlin.
It was odd to be in such mundane positions. If someone were to walk in, they would think the two of them were having dinner with quiet conversation. Perhaps they were lovers or friends discussing a difficult topic.
Except then it would become obvious that there was no talking at all; that the man was heavily bandaged and clearly exhausted, with rusty blood seeping through his gauze coverings and staining his face. That he wore a pair of peasant's trousers and was barefoot.
And the woman was dressed in garments of deep purple and silver silk; a dress the cut of a queen, and that she was at a loss for words. Her hands clasped and unclasped on the table between then as she began to speak and thought better of it, over and over again.
And then it would be obvious that this was not dinner, nor light conversation.
Merlin was thinking hard. Despite the logical side of Gwen's brain telling her that there was really no harm in him thinking, she was worried he'd somehow hurt himself anyway. He looked like maybe a strong breeze would hurt him, and the way his brows furrowed and his hands gripped the edge of the table made her nervous.
Gwen couldn't think of a single thing to say. She wanted to reassure him that she could be trusted. She wanted to ask him if he needed anything, if he was alright, what he was thinking about. She wanted to tell him how much she'd missed him over and over.
But the words escaped her.
"Merlin," she started, and he looked up at her with distant eyes. He was obviously thinking about something else, and not really listening to her at all. She supposed that was good, in a sense, because it meant he trusted her enough to not be on guard. But she wished she could talk to him like they used to.
Merlin cleared his throat. "Arthur's feet were burned," He said. He still looked deep in thought.
Gwen's eyebrows rose. "Yes," she said quickly.
Merlin nodded slowly, frowning. His eyes focused on Gwen's for a split second, then dropped again. "From the spell?"
Gwen heard the tentativeness in his voice as he asked the question. She took a deep breath through her nose. "Yes."
The frown deepened. He hummed a little.
"I don't—" He hesitated. Cleared his throat again. "I don't think I'm supposed to remember."
Gwen was afraid that if she spoke, Merlin would stop. He hadn't really opened up to her in a long time—even before the imprisonment, they'd been growing apart.
"I've thought about it a lot. Nothing makes sense. Since the spell, my magic—" he gave her a quick look, as if asking for permission to talk about it. Gwen nodded in encouragement. Merlin looked relieved. "My magic has been throwing information at me without any organization, yet it still reacts to my emotions—which is, um, normal—it normally reacts to my emotions," he clarified. "But— it's injured, yet it took down a wall? So it's not as if it's weak—it's just disorganized. And it feels intentional. I can't explain it, but I feel like it's trying to distract me. Like it doesn't want me to remember."
His eyes slid sideways. "I don't think it would be a good thing to remember." He absently touched one of the bandages on his forearms, and Gwen had a sudden flashback—of orange blossoms and arching backs and screaming— and wondered if she would want him to remember anything, either. He was already dealing with the memories of his imprisonment—did he really need the ones of his recovery, too?
"I don't know what happened during the spell. And I'm not sure what the spell was, either—nobody has told me the name, Gaius has only mentioned that damn metaphor about the bloody coin—" he paused, breathed, started again. "But it involved some trials, right? Because Arthur's feet are burned. And he doesn't want to talk about it. And if it does have something to do with that—with the coin, the destiny—" again he looked at Gwen for permission, shooting her a sideways glance threw his lashes, and again, Gwen nodded in encouragement, "then I'm not sure that what happened in the spell was for me. I mean, the rescue bit was, but maybe not the rest. Maybe not the trials, whatever they were. Because we carry the same magic, but it allows him to remember, and not me."
Gwen was looking at him with sympathetic eyes. None of what he'd said had occurred to her, but it sounded like he was onto something— hadn't Iseldir spoken about Arthur being the part of Merlin that wasn't trapped?
"It doesn't matter, really." He frowned. "Probably. Maybe it does. But I would appreciate it if people stopped waiting for me to remember. I don't think I'm supposed to." He paused, "Maybe it matters to destiny or something. But I don't want to. I don't want to know. Maybe not ever. Those were for Arthur, because Arthur deserved those trials. Not me." His eyes had gone distant in memory again. "I didn't deserve- I didn't deserve any of this, Gwen." His eyes found hers, and he was crying again. "Or maybe. Maybe I did. I don't- I don't know. But-" He took a shaky breath. "Did I?" he winced, looking away. "No, don't answer that. I don't want to-"
"Merlin," Gwen said, instinctively reaching to grab his hand.
Merlin pulled away before she could, and her hand remained hovering in the air between them.
"I'm sorry," they both said at the same time.
There was silence for a moment.
"I shouldn't have touched you," Gwen said, pulling her hand back.
Merlin blinked a few times, his eyes falling to the table. He swallowed.
Gwen cleared her throat. She looked at the wall as she spoke. "I don't know much about magic," she began. "But for what it's worth, I think you could be right."
She risked looking at him. He was staring at her already. His bloodshot blue eyes looked a little clearer, a little relieved.
"I mean— Arthur has obviously not told me a lot about the spell," she said. "Or anyone, actually. But it is plain for everyone to see that he was shaken by it."
Merlin was nodding. She continued.
"And if the two of you—and the magic—really are part of some grand destiny together, then it would make sense that the spell would test you and Arthur. Before the spell, Iseldir said that Arthur is the part of your magic that isn't bound. That you are two parts of the same whole. So maybe in order for you and all of your magic to truly be free, Arthur had to free himself, too."
She sighed.
"And it was hard," she said. She looked at Merlin and let out a tiny, tentative laugh. "I mean, that is an understatement if there ever was one, but—"
She stopped. Merlin had a little half-smile on his face, a real one.
"What?" She asked.
"Nothing," he said. "This is just the first time you've spoken to me like I'm not going to break."
She froze for a moment, processing. Then she smiled back. "That doesn't mean you aren't going to," she teased.
His smile broadened, showing his teeth, and Gwen felt a rush of relief that the joke hadn't fallen flat.
"I still might," he said, after a long, tentative pause, but he was still smiling.
"Well if you do, you can't blame me. Or this conversation."
"Fine, it's a deal," he stated, and the banter didn't sound forced the way it had when he talked to Gaius.
Gwen held her hand out as if to shake it, then stopped.
Merlin saw the aborted move, however, and after a moment, held his hand up, too.
"Right?" He said, his hand in the air above the table.
Gwen gave him a long look, then reached and gently shook his bandaged hand.
"Deal," she said.
They dropped their hands, and Merlin's smile fell with them.
"What is it?" Gwen asked.
Merlin let out a long breath. His voice got serious again.
"I missed you," he said finally. His eyes were shiny. Gwen felt tears prick the backs of her own eyes, and she swallowed, trying to force them away.
She was almost successful.
"I missed you, too, Merlin," she said quietly. "And I don't think you deserved any of it."
He nodded silently, biting his cheek, breathing through his stuffed-up nose. He hadn't missed the mourning cloths on the windows. He knew they'd thought he was dead. But he hadn't given himself the time to think about the implications of that. He wasn't sure he could take it.
But he could see it now, in Gwen's eyes. The grief buried there. She'd missed him. She'd missed him in a way without hope. Even after she knew about the magic, even after she knew what he'd done and what he was.
And that mattered. That mattered so damn much.
Please stay safe and healthy, everyone.