Chapter 8

The Funeral: Arthur

Arthur stood on his father's balcony, the same balcony where Uther had stood so many times as he had ordered the death of a sorcerer. It afforded the best view of the square. The irony smote Arthur like a blow, but his heart was strong. He was dressed in chainmail, but the cape that hung from his shoulders was a simple fall of black. He was unarmed. No insignia, nothing indicated who or what he was, He was not wearing his crown, but the simple circlet he had worn the first time Merlin had saved his life from the witch, Mary Collins.

A crowd of people was gathered below, just as it had been on that first day Merlin had arrived in Camelot. But this was a far different group. Despite no official word from the castle, all of Camelot was gathered to mourn alongside the king. The king was giving his manservant a funeral.

Arthur had heard the stories from Guinevere. The market place had blazed with gossip; it appeared that all of Camelot had heard the tale. Arthur had ridden into Camelot, holding his badly injured servant in his arms. This was well known. But the story had darkened with speculation. Officially, there had been no word from the castle on the fate of the the king's manservant, but the stories had grown and swirled.

Merlin had died defending the king with his magic and their young monarch was inconsolable. The king had killed his servant himself, when he discovered he had magic and was paralyzed with remorse and betrayal. Merlin had survived the initial injury, but had died at the hand of a a banned witch healer, brought into the castle by the Queen herself in the dead of night. But in all the stories there was agreement, the boy had died. Stories were told of the king, lost in his grief. Neither could he eat nor sleep. The king had lost control in spectacular fashion while training with his knights. Gaius had been seen late in the king's chambers following the breakdown in the training yard. All the kitchen help spoke of how the queen had been trying to get Arthur to eat, but plates and chargers had been sent back to the kitchen, dented and bent. The Queen had been seen in tears. Rumors had poured out of the caste and into the lower town. Each one ending with a tale of a king, broken and lost, by the death of his servant. The boy had magic, whispered the servants. Magic.

In the crowd below, the faces were solemn, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity. Tristan rode guard over a a platform cart, that stood at the foot of the stairs below. Behind the cart stood a servant in a dark hooded cape, holding the reins to the king's horse. Guinevere stood at the head of the steps, dressed in blue with a transparent veil of black that covered her from head to toe. Behind her stood Gaius and Alice.

To Arthur's pain, Gaius appeared bent with sadness, as if all his years had fallen on him in the space of one night. Slowly they descended the shallow steps, until they stood beside the cart. The Round Table Knights, Leon and Gawaine, Elyan and Percival,appeared at the top of the stairs carrying a fur draped litter. As they began their slow march down the stairs, the crowd could see the still figure on the litter was covered completely by the cape of a knight of Camelot, the dragoncrest picked out in gold embroidery. Some in the crowd burst into tears. The knights carefully slid their sad burden onto the cart where Tristan waited and then stood off to the side.

Arthur trembled as he had never trembled before battle. The wave of sadness that swept the crowd as the litter had appeared on the steps had shaken him. He carefully kept his mind from the possibility of the reality he was miming. Guilt ate at his gut. He began to understand the true weight of a lie. He wondered how Merlin had been able to bear it for so long. He told himself he was going to be as honest as he could. Perhaps that deeper truth would be evident to his people as other parts of the scene about to unfold would fall into shreds. He hoped the truth of his words would convince Merlin of his sincerity. While his confidence in Merlin's loyalty had only increased, his servant still seemed stunned, almost unwilling to believe that he accepted his magic

He looked across the courtyard to the boy holding the reins of his horse. The creature was nuzzling at the boy's shoulder roughly, pushing him a bit off balance. The servant's head turned minutely, looking at Arthur directly and nodded his head in the direction to his right. Seeing the arranged signal, Arthur regained his composure. This was a mad battle, a calculated insane risk.

"People of Camelot, " he began as he took a step forward on to the balcony. His gaze was fixed on the figure under the dragoncrest. "I speak to you today about my servant, Merlin," He let his eyes rove over the crowd. "About my friend, Merlin."

The crowd murmured.

"He served me for many years and he was my constant companion. But I did not know, I could not understand..."His words trailed off awkwardly, but he forged ahead. "Merlin was brave and loyal, wise beyond his years and his station. He lived with a secret he kept from me. Merlin had magic. For years, knowing he could be discovered and executed at any time, he stayed at my side. He served me in secret, rescuing me and defending Camelot countless times. In the end, he gave his life for me. " He was thankful that he kept his voice steady until the end of his sentence. Arthur had anticipated that it would be difficult to speak about Merlin and his sacrifices. He knew with a sinking certainty, that if Merlin had actually died, he would have been incapable of saying any words at all. His heart was still torn by what had happened, and the hemorrhage of grief that would have drained him, was held back only by the knowledge that Merlin was still by his side. This was an exercise in horror to trap Morgana. She was somewhere in the crowd.

Arthur slowed his voice, his eyes still fixed on the golden dragon emblazoned on the scarlet cape.

"He was.." He stopped himself and began again. "Merlin will always be one of the greatest knights of Camelot, although he wore no armor and carried no weapon. He asked me once, if he died, would I call him a hero?" In Arthur's mind he recalled that moment with shame, because he had not answered honestly. "I cannot explain or question why he did these things for Camelot." Feeling the tightness of tears, Arthur forced his voice to ring deep and true. "But I know he was a hero in every sense, unsung and in the shadows though he may have been." The faces in the crowd stared back at him; many of them were wet with tears, other faces struck dumb by the King's shocking revelation.

"Merlin of Ealdor was a warlock," the king paused, looking at the crowd once more, "my loyal and trusted servant, my protector ... my dearest friend."

He turned from the balcony, following a route that would take him to the steps where the funeral cortege waited. His boots rang loudly as he approached the portal. The crowd was silent as he stepped forward into the light. He could feel himself shaking as he went down the stairs and stopped next to the scarlet draped litter. Arthur could not bring himself to look at it, but reached out to Gaius, embracing him with such fierce emotion that the people murmured in sympathy. With visibly trembling fingers, he took the circlet of metal from his head and paused for a moment before he placed it on quietly on the dragoncrest.

He froze as he heard a high pitched, inchoate scream of anger explode from the swirling darkness that burst into his vision. Morgana gazed at him with unparalleled venom as the smoke swirled around her. She would hide no more.

"Hello, brother," she whispered.