Last chapter! Please enjoy :)
Merlin watched distantly as the drop of salty water began to soak into the crisp white fabric, the liquid worming its way between the fine threads of Gwen's under-sheet.
Absently, he traced a finger through the droplet, sketching half-formed images in the shining silk. Ghosts and dragons, knights, queens, sorcerers and dying kings raced around his head, whirling with a thousand half-remembered stories. Out of habit, he tried to snatch on to them, to make sense of them, but his weary consciousness could not keep up. Too exhausted to think, he let go, giving over over his mind to a comforting idleness and letting the images float softly away like the sweet smoke that still pervaded the room. The first grey streaks of the false dawn were fingering their way across the floor towards him, inching in a new day that ballooned into the bedchamber, distant birdsong slicing through the silence. The silence that had not been there before.
Merlin's head snapped up abruptly, his hand flying to Gwen's forehead. It was cool to the touch, like the fresh caress of the morning breeze. And just like that, his last best friend was gone. Once again, his mind tried to make sense of what was happening, but all he came to was a numbness that coated everything, like frost on a pale winter's morning. Nevermind, he had an eternity to find his grief. With a heavy sigh, Merlin ran his face through his hands, trying to shake off the last grasping clutches of sleep. He would need a clear head in the hours to come. Impatiently, he tapped the side of his jaw, as if trying to remember something. It must have come to him, because he breathed a soft spell and a shimmering disc rose in front of him like a mirror, blue and clear as a summer sky. "It's time," he muttered, as if to himself.
Casting the spell aside with a wave of his hand, Merlin returned his attention to Gwen's body. In death, she seemed somehow smaller, as if the magnitude of her life had been squeezed out of her. Taking her soft, wrinkled hands in his, Merlin gently folded them over her chest, clasping them just beneath the heavy golden ring that hung around her long neck. Her seal of office, the last gift she would ever receive from her long-dead husband, and the last thing Merlin would take from the woman who gave so much. Ever so gently, he untied the soft, leather cord on which it was hung, and slid the seal of Camelot into the pocket of his threadbare breeches. Merlin trailed his fingers over her narrow shoulders, pausing for a moment to flick away a tear that had fallen into her silver hair. In a fit of sentimentality, he reached up and slowly untied his neckerchief. He looked at it for a moment, face unreadable, feeling the soft, worn fabric brushing over his fingertips, before tucking it neatly in the pocket of her skirt.
"She's dead?" came the high, wavering voice from behind him, and Merlin jumped. Inwardly, he cursed himself; he should have been used to it by now. "Queen Guinevere is dead?"
For one last, lingering moment, Merlin allowed himself to gaze at the empty shell that was once his friend, before wiping his cheeks and turning to face the small, quiet shadow standing in the doorway. "Yes, Arlais" he said, his voice an exhausted monotone, dusted with just a hint of annoyance, "you must have known that's why I sent for you."
"I did" said the girl, stepping into the dim light. She looked up at him expectantly, her round face shining with pale, anxious anticipation behind soft mahogany waves of hair. Not for the first time, Merlin was stunned by how much she reminded him of her. Thin eyebrows rose above gentle, brown eyes that radiated all the innocence in the word, and not just a little vulnerability. Downturned, rosebud lips pursed, and high forehead creased in concern, the child's face was the splitting image of a girl he had known long, long ago.
Arlais frowned up at him, imploring. 'What now?' she seemed to ask. Merlin sighed again, and strode away from her to the Queen's writing desk, where a black-and-white missive already lay ready. With a golden-eyed glance, he lit the candles and began rummaging around in the shallow wooden drawer, producing an oiled leather pouch and a stick of crimson sealing wax. "You brought your cloak, and three days' supplies?"
"Yes, Emrys," said the girl, biting her lip. Merlin could tell she was holding back a hundred questions, but if there was one thing he had taught her, it was how to bide her time. With an inward twinge of satisfaction, he thought that she would be well served in the political storm that was to come.
"Good, come here," he said, pulling the royal seal from his pocket and pressing it firmly into the soft, warm wax. Arlais approached warily, but by now Merlin was sure she understood what was coming. Wrapping both the seal and the scroll tightly in the leather pouch, he placed the unassuming package into her small hands, painfully aware that he was handing the future of a kingdom, his kingdom, to a child. "I want you to take this to Arthur's cousin, Constantine."
Solemnly, the girl gazed at what was in her hands, and her frown deepened. She knew what it was, knew that taking it meant that she had to guard it with her life. "Where will I find him?" she asked, swallowing.
"You'll know where to look," said Merlin softly, reaching out to grasp a thin shoulder. Arlais' eyes snapped upwards, and she searched his face carefully. Merlin watched as the weight of his task seemed to press down on her, and for a split second he was afraid she would refuse. But then something in her bright, young mind clicked into place and with an almost imperceptible nod, she tucked the oiled parcel into the inside of her cloak. Safe and out of sight.
Despite the mournful circumstances, Merlin smiled back at his protégé; his first true smile in many weeks. He knew she would not fail him. Rising from the desk, he turned to the window, looking out upon the courtyard, where the working day was just beginning to send servants scurrying across the cold, grey flagstones. To them, the palace would appear an indestructible and immovable fortress, the heartstone of Camelot itself. Little did they know that the Heart of Camelot was lying cold in her bed, high above them. But the news would soon reach them. It would spread like a disease, far across the land and beyond the safe borders of the Kingdom. Time was running out.
"I've arranged for a horse to meet you at the East Gate. You had better hurry, you must find Constantine within the week if Camelot is to avoid a war of succession." Merlin kept his eyes fixed on the courtyard. He wasn't sure if he could face another goodbye that morning.
Arlais was unmoving. "You're leaving too," she said, shocked realisation colouring her voice, "where will you go?"
Merlin swallowed, closing his eyes. "To wait," he said, only just loud enough for her to hear.
There was a lingering silence, broken only by the echoing noises of the wakening castle and the distant warbling of birdsong. Merlin even started to think that she had gone.
"Emrys?" She hadn't.
With a deep sigh, he turned to face her, and his breath caught. Two silver tracks ran smoothly down her face, ending in dark, wet patches on the collar of her green travelling cloak. Before he had time to react, she crashed into him, hugging him around the waist with all her strength. Mildly taken aback, Merlin stroked her long, knotted hair as wet patches seeped across his shirt from where her face was buried.
"Shh," he tried to soothe her, "don't be afraid." Against his chest, he felt her shake her head. "Arlais, you are powerful beyond what you know, it is your enemies that should be afraid."
"I'm not afraid for myself," she mumbled, pulling away from him and shaking her head again. "I just…." she wiped her eyes fiercely, as if angry with herself, then looked straight up at Merlin, fixing him with her gentle brown eyes. "Good luck, Emrys," she whispered.
A tiny smile twitched at Merlin's lips, he nodded, and gently pulled up the cowl of her cloak to hide her face. For a moment, his fingers lingered at her collar, where a dark, swirling tattoo lay half-obscured on the side of her neck. "Good luck, my child."
She pulled away from him, taking up her woven satchel, and just like the rest of them, she was gone.
Merlin cast another, fleeting glance out into the courtyard, which was quickly filling with the grey light of dawn, before snatching up his heavy travelling cloak and marching out the door.
The lower town was a hive of activity, despite the early hour. On any other day, Merlin would have been stopped by dozens, inviting him to join them for a bowl of porridge, or enticing him to buy their goods. But today he kept his hood lowered, and rode through the narrow streets with an air of lonely melancholy that discouraged any kind of delay. A flurry of memories assaulted him, brought on by a cocktail of familiar sounds and smells. The town cloistered a lifetime of stories, and each clamoured to be heard above the others, as if they knew that this was their last chance to be told. There was the tavern, where he had spent so many evenings drinking and joking with the knights, and there was the bustling marketplace, where he had wreaked havoc in his younger days. Merlin almost stopped outside the tiny workshop where, for the first time, he had been brained by the young Arthur Pendragon. But this morning there was no time for stopping or stories.
When, after what seemed like forever, he reached the city gates, he opened them effortlessly with a flick of his wrist. The bewildered guard ran shouting towards him, stumbling sleepily over his crimson tunic. But before the man got close enough to identify him, Merlin already had his mare through the sturdy, oaken doors. With a crash, they closed behind him in a whirl of dust.
Outside the walls of Camelot, the golden dawn was in full bloom, misty sunbeams streaming through the trees. Fresh air filled his lungs and the gentle orange heat warmed his tired face. It would have been a beautiful morning if it had not been so empty. Once again, Merlin let his mind slide into a numb oblivion as his horse climbed steadily up the first rolling, green hill. Nothing existed to him but the soft clop-clop of his horse's hooves on the white dirt road, and time seemed to come to a rhythmic standstill. But when he finally reached the summit, he stopped.
In the long, grey shadows of the morning, the city appeared half asleep, in a blissful cocoon of unknowing. Merlin could see them all still, rousing themselves to begin what they thought was just another day. But all that was about to change. None of their lives would ever be the same. Even as Merlin watched, the first mournful notes of a warning bell drifted up the road towards him. It spoke no words, but its message could only mean one thing: the Queen was dead.
And so it begins. With a final, resigned sigh, he turned to face the long, meandering road before him. Then, clicking softly to his horse, he took his first lonely step into eternity.
