SUMMARY: The key characters of Camelot each cope differently with the consequences of a tragedy.
An idea from a friend has inspired me to make this story a bit different than it was originally intended to be. Yes, this chapter is depressing, but bear with me! The climax will come in the next part, but this part is definitely key to understanding the actions that will follow. Thank you so much for the lovely reviews thus far! This has been extremely fun to construct. As always, all comments are appreciated and highly encouraged! They really help me grow as a writer. Cheers!
I do not own Merlin or any of its characters.
Previously...
"Well then, you might as well just tell me what to do, Gaius, because I'm not going anywhere. Merlin lives, you hear?"
And just like that, the cogs began to turn. Both men burst into action, gathering supplies and provisions from all around the candle-lit chambers.
On the other side of the room, beside the dying fire, the young warlock's heart stopped beating, taking with it a final, definitive shudder.
With a surge of renewed determination, Arthur whipped his hands through the collection perched on the physician's rickety cupboard shelf, an assortment of glass bottles and clean cloths filling his arms one by one as he gathered the various items that Gaius had asked him to collect for Merlin. To his left, the old man pored over one of his many potion books, the crisp flipping of the yellowing pages the only sound that pierced the atmosphere as he worked feverishly to prepare an arsenal of various remedies for his ill ward. The two worked in urgent but comfortable silence, both moving with the fervor of resolute hope.
There had been a moment when Gwen and a few of the knights had burst into the chambers, frantically pleading to offer their help, but Gaius had only shooed them away. It had been difficult enough trying to persuade Arthur away, and now that they had found a comfortable rhythm, he wanted nothing there to distract them. So the small group had retreated, reluctantly settling themselves outside Gaius' door until further notice. It really was quite a sight: the queen of Camelot and some of the finest knights in the kingdom, rubbing their faces anxiously as they sat on the cold hard stone outside a simple serving boy's door.
Once he had gathered everything he needed, Arthur turned around and began to approach Merlin's bed.
He froze, dead in his tracks.
Arthur felt hot blood rush in his ears and cold sweat erupt all over his body as he took in Merlin's still form.
"Merlin?" Arthur meekly whispered.
He mentally slapped himself and settled on one knee beside the bed.
"Merlin," he stated authoritatively, forcefully shaking a thin shoulder.
It didn't matter. Merlin wasn't breathing. Arthur heard the load in his arms clatter to the floor, but failed to feel it leaving his grasp.
"Gaius!" Arthur roared, no longer trying to mask his fear. The physician appeared beside him instantaneously, as if conjured from thin air.
"He's not breathing," Arthur frantically gestured towards Merlin's still chest.
Gaius hurriedly pushed Arthur aside, expression stony and unreadable. Gripping Merlin's wrist and unable to find a pulse, he pressed his ear into the middle of his chest, listening desperately. Silence.
With practiced hands, Gaius began to press rhythmically against Merlin's sternum, immediately followed by two long breaths into his airway, causing his chest to rise slowly with it. Over and over again he did this. Arthur, feeling completely helpless, could only watch, becoming progressively more unsettled as he saw Gaius' expression falter.
Suddenly, Gaius stopped. He rose, slowly. His mouth was slightly agape, and tears flowed freely down the crags of his weathered face as he stared at the dust on the floorboards, dazed.
Confused, Arthur rushed to Merlin's side, trying to mimic Gaius' actions, using his own hands to try and pump life back into his manservant.
"Gaius, help me! Please! I don't know how to do it properly!" Arthur cried, but Gaius only shook his head.
"He's...dead." Gaius whispered, speaking with an air of curiosity, as if he didn't quite believe the words coming out of his own mouth.
Arthur stared up at him, eyebrows furrowed, waiting for the "but". "But we can still save him." That's what Gaius was supposed to say. That's what he always says! But the "but" never came. Nothing but a long moment of suffocating silence filled the dusty air.
"No," Arthur scoffed, shaking his head and frowning. A mistake, this was just a misunderstanding. He looked to Gaius again, waiting for him to take back his words. The old man continued to stare at him vacantly.
"No!" his voice rose, mimicking that of a petulant child's whine. He looked between the two, Gaius and Merlin, frantically, refusing to acknowledge the truth. "Gaius, you're wrong! He was just here, he was alive, just a second ago!"
Still no response.
"NO!" He was screaming now, flinging himself back over Merlin's torso. He gripped the servant's face between both hands, noting that it had gone completely white. The sharp cheekbones, which had been flush with fever, teeming with life, only minutes before, were no longer warm. His entire body, in fact, was growing colder by the second.
"WAKE UP!" He was hitting him now, whacking his chest with all his might as Merlin's head lolled about lifelessly on his neck. Arthur felt the ribs crack beneath his hands, but he didn't care.
"COME." Thwack. "ON." Thwack. "YOU." Thwack. "COMPLETE". Thwack. "IDIOT!" With the final whack, the group from beyond the corridor burst through the door into the chambers, tumbling in at the sound of the king's hysterical screaming. Leon and Percival rushed to restrain him, each of them taking an arm and dragging him backwards, away from the bed, while he thrashed about viciously, trying to make his way back to Merlin's side. Gwen stood beside Gaius with her hands clasped to her mouth, while Gwaine slowly backed his way into the corner, looking as if he'd just seen a ghost.
"HE'S MY BEST FRIEND!" The king wailed. Nothing the knights had encountered in all their years of misadventures could have prepared them for this. Their king - their fearless, stoic, brave, dangerously self-sacrificing leader - wounded like they had never seen him before.
"Gaius..." Gwen whispered shakily, hesitantly placing her hands on the physician's shoulders as the knights continued to struggle with Arthur. Gaius jerked out from beneath Gwen's touch, jolting back into reality. He looked into Gwen's distraught face with pleading eyes before turning to the mess of limbs that was the hysterical king and his guardians. Numbly, he moved to his worktable and picked up a small green bottle, moving back to Gwen and pressing it into her hands.
Gaius quietly began to instruct. "Leon. Percival. Please escort Arthur back to his chambers. The king is in shock. Gwen, I need you to give him this sleeping potion once he is placed in his bed. He will injure himself if he continues in this state."
"But Gaius..." Gwen was openly crying now.
"Just do as I say. Gwaine, I need you to find Arthur's squire. Please tell him I need to get a letter to Ealdor as quickly as possible. Merlin's mother, she must...she needs to know that her son is dead."
"Perhaps beneath the oak tree. The one next to the training grounds? I think Hunith would like that. It's quite beautiful. Perhaps we can have it at dawn, when the sun is coming up. Is that okay? Arthur?" Gwen peeked out from behind her changing apparatus. She quickly pulled her black gown over her head before striding over to her husband.
Arthur was standing in front of the window next to their bed, staring out at the rain that had continually beat down upon Camelot for the past 48 hours.
Gwen stood behind him, snaking her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. "Arthur, I know it's only been two days..."
"Please don't, Gwen."
"We must discuss this, Arthur!"
"Let Gaius decide."
"You are the king, Arthur, and Merlin served in your court. He was also your friend. It is your duty to tend to his funeral arrangements. Gaius already has to deal with Merlin's mother, you cannot place this upon him too!"
Arthur abruptly disentangled himself from Gwen's embrace, striding to his wardrobe and clumsily pulling on a loose-fitting red shirt.
"Where are you going?" Gwen pleaded.
"Training."
"But-but why? Merlin's just died, surely training can wait a few days? At least put on a black tunic, you're supposed to be in mourning! Arthur!" Gwen was now begging her unresponsive husband.
Suddenly, Arthur gripped her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly as he looked into her eyes, speaking in a low hiss.
"It can't wait, Gwen. Training will not wait. Life in this kingdom will go on. Why? Because Merlin was a servant. That's it. And a poor one at that. He was...nothing to me. We must. Move. On." Arthur was trembling now.
"You should sit down, Arthur. You're shaking!"
Arthur straightened up quickly, wiping the shudder from his body before turning to leave. He whipped open the door, but kept his grip on the handle, slowly turning back to face his wife.
"It was his favorite color," Arthur spoke clearly, gesturing at the tunic before slamming the door shut, leaving Gwen with her palms pressed to her eyes, openly sobbing now with no one left to hear.
Miss Hunith—
On behalf of the King, it is with much sorrow the Kingdom of Camelot must inform you that your son, Merlin, has passed away. More details will be given to you when you arrive in Camelot with our escorts for your son's procession. His Royal Highness King Arthur sends his deepest regrets.
Gaius nodded his approval, handing the brief note back to the page to be delivered to Ealdor. Deep down, he knew the letter was much too brief. Hunith would be crushed. Gaius, however, simply didn't have it in him to make any changes. He knew he was a coward, not going with Arthur's men to retrieve Hunith, but he knew what he would see when they delivered the news to her. It would be Merlin staring back at him in her eyes, and that terrified the old man.
"Wait!" Gaius cried, quickly making up his mind and halting the man just before he made it to the door. "I need to amend it."
The letter was handed back, and Gaius reached for his quill and ink, leaning over the parchment. He hastily glanced over his shoulder, taking in the shape of Merlin's body, which had not been moved an inch since his death, but was now covered in a white sheet.
Gaius wrote quickly in the space beneath the body of the letter. His sprawling handwriting seemed ridiculously informal next to the sweeping regalia of the royal stationary.
Hunith
I am sorry I have failed you. He was a son to me. I hope someday you can forgive me. I'm afraid I never will. -Gaius.
The sting of the rain on Percival's face was nothing compared to the harsh, rhythmic pounding of the king's dulled sword edge against his muscled body. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes approached the hour mark, but still Percival stood there, motionless.
The training compound was soggy, the incessant downpour turning the well-maintained grass into nothing more than a muddy trench. The sky, despite the warm precursors of spring that had inhabited Camelot only days before, was now a dismal grey, spitting out the contents of its belly as if it were sick.
Up and down the sides of the field, the knights of Camelot formed a neat barrier, encompassing the boundaries of the sprawling turf. Each and every one of them was suited in a full set of armor, but their weapons lay limp at their sides, untouched. None of them had been expecting to be called in for a session. Ever since Merlin's death, a suffocating depression had encompassed the castle grounds, and a deathly quiet had emerged to accompany the rain, placing the kingdom in a state of stagnancy. Still, when the king had called them there early that morning, they had pushed their surprise aside and reported for duty.
Arthur was obviously distraught, and despite his efforts to appear unaffected in front of his men, the pain was evident, so much so that Leon had tried to coax the king back to his chambers at first sight of him. He obviously hadn't slept since emerging from the stupor of the sleeping drought, and his body had a continual, relentless tremble that coursed through him visibly. Still, Arthur refused to go with the knight, insisting that he was fine.
"Somebody spar with me!" Arthur had yelled, addressing the line of men. A few of them shifted uncomfortably, but nobody stepped forward.
"Come on, you bloody idiots! Quit treating me like a fragile maiden and fight me, dammit!"
Still, no one stirred.
"That is an order."
Slowly, Percival stepped out from the line, a perceptible squelch accompanying his gait as he made his way towards the center of the field. He faced Arthur, sword raised halfheartedly, and crouched into an offensive stance.
The two fought casually for a few minutes, engaged in their normal back and forth while the rest of the knights continued to watch from the sidelines.
Suddenly, images began flashing through Arthur's head. The rain became sweet morning sun, Percival became his manservant, and he was back. He was back in that moment, on that fateful day, sparring joyously with Merlin. And Arthur knew. He knew what came next. He could see the cliff, he could see Merlin's smile, right before he tipped back, back, back and over the edge.
Rage and guilt flooded Arthur's blood, and he re-emerged in his hellish reality, Merlin's face morphing back into Percival's. With the power of a thousand years' worth of inconsolable grief, Arthur unleashed everything he had upon the towering knight, relentlessly pounding blow after blow against the giant's torso.
On his part, Percival had quit fighting long ago, and he simply stood there, allowing the king to continually beat against his chest. Nobody dared move a muscle, the knights lining the field either bowing their heads or staring somberly at the scene before them.
And then it was over. Exhausted, Arthur fell to his knees, tossing his sword to the side with a loud splatter. He knelt, heaving in shuddering breaths and repeatedly clenching and unclenching his hands beneath his gauntlets.
He rose then, looking at no one and saying nothing, and simply strode off, a look in his gaze which told his men that he was not to be followed. So they remained, soaked in water and and the weight of Merlin's death, watching their king walk away from them, left with the knowledge that there was nothing they could do or say that would wake them from this nightmare they were all living in.
"I want you to use magic."
Gaius lifted his head in alarm as Arthur burst through his door, standing with his arms crossed and dripping a steady stream of rain water onto the physician's floorboards. Gaius had been sifting through an assortment of objects on his shelves, trying to find anything he could that had belonged to Merlin to give to Hunith when she arrived.
"Sire, what did you say? I don't think you—"
Arthur quickly walked towards the old man, gripping his shoulders with both hands as he closed the gap between him. Gaius looked up at him with a stunned expression, noting that the king was panting, blond hair plastered to his face with sweat and water.
"I know what I am saying, but I need you to listen to me. I want you to look at him—" Arthur whirled Gaius around so that he faced Merlin's covered body. "—and tell me that you would not do anything to have him back. If you can do that, then I will leave here and I will do all of the idiotic things that I know I should have done long ago. I'll arrange his funeral. I'll retrieve his mother. I'll wear black. And Gaius? I will let him go. But only if you say it."
Gaius closed his eyes and exhaled sharply.
"I cannot," he said, reopening them, eyes trained on Arthur's.
Arthur nodded sharply. "Then do it. Use magic. I grant you permission."
"It is not that simple, sire."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I am not strong enough. Merlin has been dead for too long, and I am not naturally gifted with magic. I simply don't have enough power."
"The druids, then. We can bring him to them. They can heal him, I know it's been done before."
"No, Arthur. It is more than that. Much, much more."
"What, then, Gaius? There must be a way. There must! There's a reason that magic's been banned in this kingdom. It is the most powerful weapon any man can wield. You are really going to tell me there is no way to bring him back? That—that is utter shit." Arthur shook his head before looking down at the floor.
"I cannot do this anymore. I need him to come back. He was…my greatest friend. A brother. I cannot go on without him." Arthur was whispering now, the words he had never spoken to anyone before now pouring out of him like an unstoppable waterfall.
Gaius stared for a moment before internally making a decision, escorting Arthur to a table and taking the seat across from him.
"Arthur, Merlin is—was—very…special," Gaius chose his words carefully. "To restart his heart would take more than just a powerful sorcerer. It would take a special bond, one intertwined with fate. You say you will do anything to get him back. Are you certain of this?"
"I swear it upon my father's grave."
Gaius took a deep breath.
"Then it is you, Arthur. You must be the one to use magic."
Oi, this will be interesting...what do you think?