(AN: Sundays are a better day to post than Mondays. Note-I used maps created by Versaphile of Albion and Camelot as reference for this story. These maps can be found on Ao3. I decided that King Olaf is the ruler of Kent, and I subbed in Amata for Anglia)
Arthur held up his goblet again.
He knew Gwen was giving him a look. And he would switch to water after this drink. Probably. But his nerves were raw, and he needed something to help him get through this banquet.
A nameless servant obediently came forward and generously filled his cup. Not a single drop spilled, not a word was spoken, not an eyebrow quirked. It was infuriating. Arthur took a long pull of wine and pushed his treacherous feelings aside, surveying the scene in front of him.
The feast hall was as elegant as ever, the food sumptuous. It had been a good year for Camelot's farmers, and they had been proud to sell their wears to their sovereigns. The castle staff had outdone themselves. The silver gleamed, the meal was masterfully made, and the guests were attended with curtesy and care.
That was the good news.
Many tables surrounded the high table where Arthur and his honored guests were seated. Each realm's representative had brought courtiers and diplomats. And soldiers. Many soldiers. As if they felt they would need arms at this peaceful council. They all spoke of their high hopes for negotiations, but truth was plain. No one expected this council to end in peace. He knew most would prefer war; the soldiers were already clamoring for it. All around, men and women of different realms eyed each other with fear, mistrust, and dislike.
The high table was no better. All rulers had elected to send representatives rather than coming themselves, which did not bode well. The one exception was King Alined of Deorham, who was smiling in a distinctly reptilian way as he observed the young and inexperienced faces around him. After learning of his machinations during the council of the Five Kingdoms years ago, Arthur rather wished the man had stayed at home. And speaking of which…
"Arthur. Oh, Arthur," a singsong voice rang out from down the table. Though seated as far from him as possible, Lady Vivian was leaning toward Arthur once more, thrusting herself into his line of sight.
Her husband gently tugged her back into her seat, with a quiet, "King Arthur, Dearest." Vivian didn't spare a second glance for the haggard man as she fixed her sights firmly on Arthur and continued speaking.
"Is it true that you fought and slew the Sarrum yourself?"
Arthur resisted the urge to wince as all eyes shifted to him. King Olaf must have sent Vivian to this council as some sort of punishment.
"No, Lady Vivian," he answered, pitching his voice so everyone could hear. "He was slain by a man called Mordred, leader of a group calling themselves the Heoler, and we—"
"—you did fight him, though," said Vivian, looking eager.
Arthur did not rub his increasingly aching forehead, but it was a near thing.
"I was there with a small contingent of soldiers, securing the freedom of two of my knights," he said. "We were willing to bow to the Sarrum's authority, but—"
"But instead he's dead, and one of knights in question now speaks for the crown of Essetir," Sir Boris of Cornwall leaned forward as he spoke. Odin's representative was an imposing figure, wide shoulders casting a shadow on the table as the light glinted off the dark skin of his shaven head. "I certainly hope this negotiation goes better than your last, Lord Gwaine."
Arthur half expected a returning taunt from Gwaine, but the man just sat across the table, looking as stiff and wooden as a cobbler's bench. He hadn't touched his wine, and he looked on edge, overwhelmed, out of his depth. Not good.
"Si— Lord Gwaine is well aware of his duty, Sir Boris," Arthur said. "What happened in Amata was no fault of his."
"How noble, King Arthur," King Alined's voice spread like oil staining a cloth. "I've always heard you were very protective of your knights."
Damn.
If Arthur kept stepping in to defend Gwaine, it would weaken Essetir's standing. The other rulers would see it and Amata as two weak nations ripe for the plucking, or worse, lands that Camelot had already all but taken for itself. But for the love of God, Gwaine needed to stop looking so scared.
"I—" Gwaine swallowed, looking at Gwen, then glancing away. "I'm not a Knight of Camelot."
Eloquent.
Arthur looked around for anyone to help. He had seated Elena of Gawant next to Gwaine. He remembered her as a spirited young woman, and had hoped she and Gwaine would get along. Unfortunately, she had been all but silent since her arrival, grim-faced and distracted. Equally silent was Caedmon, Annis' son. Arthur had never me the boy before, but he was sharp-eyed and observant. Arthur could read his smooth, crisp features no more easily than he could read the Queen of Caerleon herself.
"Let's save the politics for tomorrow, shall we?" Princess Mithian said, smoothly stepping in. "Prince Bearn, I heard tell that you brought down a wild boar single-handedly in the last fortnight. That must be quite a story."
As Bayard's son immediately launched into a tale of his own hunting prowess, Arthur shot Mithian a grateful look. She smiled, nodding almost imperceptibly as she turned her attention back to the Prince of Mercia.
Arthur, leaned back, taking Gwen's hand and relaxing marginally as some of the tension drained from the room. As the wine bearer moved forward to fill his goblet once more, he put his hand out, halting the action. He needed to stay clear-headed. He had called this council for a purpose, and he had friends here, allies who believed in what he was trying to do. They were willing to help, and he could not let them down.
"Ignoring me won't make me go away."
Merlin kept walking. He was obviously going mad, but he wasn't mad enough to speak with his own delusions. Yet.
"And walking faster is just going to tire you out quicker."
It was probably silly to try to outpace the illusion. Still, the voice behind him sounded slightly out of breath, so that was something.
"Merlin."
Merlin stopped in place, breathing hard. That tone. It was firm and unyielding, but somehow still full of warmth. He'd heard it so many times. It belonged to someone he had always confided in, the person— still the only person he had really shared his secret with. But he was dead.
Will was dead.
But he was also standing next to Merlin, and Merlin could picture the look on his face. The look that said just talk to me.
Eyes still fixed on the ground, Merlin swallowed.
"Why are you here?" He asked.
"Because you need me," Will answered.
Merlin nodded, still not looking up. He set off again, this time at a slower pace as his companion fell into step beside him.
Names and faces blurred together as Morgana made her way through the camp. The sounds and colors became less overwhelming throughout the day. Speaking became easier, but understanding the expressions and tones of those around her took longer. Even before the Sarrum had left her in that hole, she hadn't spent real time with people in… so long. Too long.
They were nervous around her, but gradually accepted her presence as she sat silently. She let their gossip, the quiet sounds cooking and sewing and work wash over her. Focusing on them helped keep the visions at bay. After weeks trapped with only Aithusa's presence to shield her from the intensity of her Sight, it was still hard to separate reality from her dreams. She had seen herself do dark things, and didn't know if they were remembrances of the past or future. She had felt warm hands pulling her from the darkness, seen a familiar face looking at her with impossible, unwanted compassion. It was all so muddled…
Soon, she would need to ask questions, seek answers. For now, she watched Win and Tom play with the other children as their mothers and fathers sat and worked and talked of small things. Everyday things.
It reminded her of the kitchens in Camelot, and sitting with Gwen after dinner, and the days she had spent with the druids, and childhood days spent by the brook, with Arthur.
A desire she hadn't felt in a long time stirred. She didn't have name for it. But it was warm and soft.
She sat with it quietly.
Gwaine was an idiot. He knew this. Usually, he enjoyed it. Follow his mates, swing a sword and save the day, get a drink or ten, fall asleep, and try to figure out where he was when he woke the next day. That had been fine with Gwaine. But now, his mates weren't his mates, swinging a sword would not save the day, and getting a drink was out of the question. He had gone into one tavern, and everyone had been so nervous and edgy around "Lord Gwaine" that he'd left almost immediately.
So he'd gone for a walk.
Bridget recommended walks.
Bridget wasn't always right.
He let his feet lead him through the dark streets of Camelot. His home. But, it wasn't. Not anymore.
He breathed the cold fall air, enjoying the warmth of the muscles in his legs, catching glimpses of hearths and families through windows. Rolling his shoulders, he changed direction, heading to a stable on the far edge of the city. He smiled, cheering slightly as he remembered at the panicked look on Arthur's face when he and Daisy made their entrance. It was fun to watch the princess twitch as he tried to be kingly while keeping a close eye on the dragon.
Other memories weren't as bright. The closed faces of the other knights. Gwen looking away as he was introduced by his new title. Realizing that he was the only representative to come without a parade of soldiers and courtiers. When they'd gotten the message from Arthur, Bridget had chosen him as Essetir's emissary. He had been confident, certain he could simply come to Camelot and talk with Arthur. He though it would be easy. And his sister had trusted him.
Bridget wasn't always right.
As he approached the stable door, he was surprised to see torchlight flickering within. All the other beasts had been cleared out of this stable, and none of the townsfolk had seemed keen to get close. His surprise morphed to shock as pushed open the door and saw Princess Elena leaning over the large white beast, rubbing the dragon's belly as Daisy lolled happily on her back. At the sound of the door, both the dragon and the lady looked up in surprise. After a brief pause, Daisy sprang toward Gwaine joyfully, tail whipping as her entire body squirmed with delight. Gwaine obliged his scaly girl with neck scratches as the princess shook out her skirts and approached.
"Sorry," she said, sheepishly. "I heard you'd come on a dragon. I just couldn't resist…"
"Don't apologize, my lady. You've a right to travel freely in the city." Gwaine bowed as he spoke, then canted his eyes up to meet hers. "Besides, Daisy likes you."
"Ah, Daisy, is it?" The dragon turned again to face the lady. Large, stormy gray eyes met the princess' own in a moment of sudden gravity. Elena reached a gentle hand up to stroke the beast's warm muzzle. "She's not quite what I expected."
"Yeah, well," Gwaine said as he sat on a nearby hay bail. "I think there's a lot of that going around recently."
"You're feeling it too?" Elena said, casting Gwaine a shrewd look.
Gwaine nodded. The pair sat in silence for a few moments, before Elena spoke once more.
"I believe in what Arthur's trying to do," she said, eyes still on the dragon before her. "Bringing peace, bringing the kingdoms together. But some see it as weakness. They wouldn't attack Camelot outright, but Gawant, Essetir, Nemeth… Bayard and Olaf already see us as weak. If we side with Arthur, we leave ourselves exposed. Can Camelot protect its friends? Can we risk our kingdoms for Arthur's ideals?"
The question hung in the air between them. Gwaine wished he had an answer.
"Things were a lot simpler a few weeks ago," he sighed.
"I know," Elena said. "If only my father—"
She cut herself off abruptly, and Gwaine didn't push. Rumors about Lord Godwyn's failing health had been buzzing around the palace. But even though Gwaine was no longer a Knight, he'd be damned if he ever became a bloody court gossip. He let the silence settle, then stood to lean on Daisy's shoulder.
"Princess, I can't tell you what to do for your kingdom," he sighed. "Hell, I'm probably the last person you'd want advice from. All I can tell you is, I've followed Arthur many times. You wouldn't believe some of the scrapes he's lead us into. And it's been hard, and I've lost some friends along the way. But I've never regretted it. Not once."
Elena held his gaze with such piercing intensity that he felt his face flushing.
"I think I'm bad at diplomacy," he mumbled, turning away. "I'm pretty sure your supposed to keep things like that to yourself, try not to show your cards—"
"No, Lord Gwaine," a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he turned to face the princess once more. "I'm glad you were honest with me. It's nice to know I have at least one friend here."
Gwaine matched her warm smile with one of his own.
That night, alone in his chamber, after the two had bid goodbye to the dragon and made their way back to the castle together, Gwaine could still feel the warmth of that smile.
He wasn't alone.
"Why did you leave?"
Throughout the day, Merlin had gotten used to his traveling companion. He knew there was something strange going on; he could feel magic humming all about him, but it was hard to look beyond the fact that the friend he had lost was beside him once more. Will had kept pace with him, asking questions, and soon Merlin found himself reliving the years since he left Ealdor right up to his present circumstances. Will's questioning was as determined and infuriating as ever.
"You asked me that a long time ago," Merlin replied. "And I told you, when my mother found out you knew about my magic—"
"Right, right, she was scared, sent you away," Will said. "We'll pretend for now that I believe all that, because that's actually not what I was talking about. Why did you leave Arthur?"
"Erm, I didn't exactly leave him," Merlin said, irritably. "I woke up in a flaming castle, in a hole—"
"So you're heading back to Camelot now, then?"
"…I am heading toward Camelot."
"Big difference between going 'toward' something and going 'to' it. I'm sure your destiny would agree."
"I'm sure you don't know how destinies work."
"I could say the same for you," Will smirked. Merlin had thought he'd never see that smirk again, which was the only thing that kept him from smacking it off Will's smug face. "But back to the question at hand. Why have you left Arthur?"
"Arthur doesn't need me around," Merlin snapped. "I'd make things complicated for him."
"You made things complicated for me too. That didn't mean I wanted you to leave."
Merlin sighed, closing his eyes against the light of the setting sun.
"What was I supposed to do, Will?" He said. "Watch you get more and more alienated as you stuck up for me? I had already been written off, but you had a chance at a life in Ealdor, a family even—"
"My life. My choice," said Will, stepping in front of Merlin and forcing them both to halt. "You want to be a friend? That means letting your friends help you. That means when a friend wants to stick up for you, you say 'thank you!' When a friend gives their life for you, for your destiny, you respect their choice— you don't carry it around as another excuse not to let people in!"
At that moment, a crossbow bolt whizzed over their heads, sinking into a nearby tree. Merlin reacted instantly, pulling his friend down and guiding them both to cover on the side of the road. Several bandits appeared from the darkness, examining the bolt and looking for signs of their quarry. More voices sounded from the surrounding woods. It seemed that the men he had chased away earlier were back in force. They were confused for now, but it wouldn't take long for them to find their prey's hiding place.
"Stay down," he whispered to Will. "I'll get their attention and draw them up the road. Then you run."
"Like hell!"
"Shh!" Merlin pushed Will down as a few bandits drew close, then passed by. Once they were out of earshot, Will popped back up, fire in his eyes.
"Your magic isn't enough to save you right now." Will whispered, eyes determined in the fading light. "Face it, Merlin, you need my help."
"It doesn't matter what happens to me. I'm going to get you out of this," Merlin hissed. "I failed you once—"
"No!" Will whispered fiercely. "No, you don't control who lives and dies, Merlin. I made a choice. That choice had consequences, but it was worth it, because you are my friend! Be my friend now. Let me fight with you."
Merlin stared at his friend for a long moment.
"You're right. It's your choice to make, and I'm sorry I didn't recognize that. You deserved better."
Will nodded, meeting Merlin's eyes and smiling.
"Together?"
Merlin nodded. As one, both men burst from the undergrowth. With his friend at his side, fighting as his equal, Merlin felt the flicker of a new power growing within him. His magic sang.
He spun, looking for his first target, but the bandits melted into shadow around him, fading from existence. He glanced over at Will. His friend turned to smile at him, even as he began to fade into the last rays of the setting sun. Merlin began to reach out to stop this, to pull his friend back to him, but paused at the look of peace on Will's face.
"Thank you."
The words echoed in the air around him as the day sunk into twilight as Merlin stood on the road, alone once more.