Author's note: Sorry about the delay! I've been struggling to put together this chapter (and also struggled with attacking plot bunnies which has resulted in the posting of another fic – 'Uther Pendragon's Guide to Handling Reincarnation') and hope it's adequate. Just after seeing 5x01 and 5x02 I was struck by so many feels and needed to wind off a bit, read and write some fluffiness unable to handle writing anything serious. But I'm back now.
(Oh my god, I'm looking at the word count just now... 11 000 words in one chapter! Is it too long…? Also I'm not entirely sure about the ending of the chapter, I just needed to get a Merlin/Gwen scene in. Is anyone else missing their friendship in the later seasons?!)
Thank you all my patient readers and everyone who've reviewed, faved or added to their alerts! I wouldn't be able to do this without you guys!
()()()
I Am the Embers of You Fire - You Are the Breaking of My Dawn
Part 12
()()()
"Arise sir Lancelot, knight of Camelot," the King commands and Lancelot obeys, his hauberk gleaming in the light of the hundreds of candles spread throughout the hall.
Applause bounces between the walls. Merlin joins them heartily but Arthur, standing next to him tall and princely with a simple golden crown upon his head, looks thoughtful and does not cheer as loudly. When catching the expression on the Prince's face, guilt begins to gnaw at the warlock's insides. Yet another lie to add to the list …
But letting Arthur or anyone else know the truth would be to crush Lancelot's dream. It would be irrevocable, and Merlin is certain that the feeling that would cause, the knowing that he's responsible for ruining Lancelot's knighthood, would be ten times worse worse than what he's feeling now – he can't let himself delve on it. Not now. Tonight is a night of merrymaking, not dark afterthoughts.
So he turns to the Prince with a wide grin, hiding any earlier thoughts. "Why the long face, sire?" he asks cheerfully, just loud enough for only the Prince to hear.
"Never mind it, Merlin. Go and enjoy yourself tonight. Just do not act like a complete idiot - you are my servant after all, not court jester even if you could apply to such a position without trouble," Arthur says straight-faced.
"Ha ha, very funny, sire. I mean – of course I'll behave," Merlin adds when the Prince glares at him. "No acting like a dollophead. Sire."
Arthur gives him a final warning look before he adopts a calm, collected expression, a small smile on his face. He looks the perfect proper Prince and his gait is certain and strong as he walks up to congratulate Lancelot, as the King finishes the dubbing.
It's like a signal, and people begin to disperse and chatter: the celebrations have begun.
Right before he can get lost in the crowd and search for Gwen, Merlin stands aside for a moment with Gaius. Despite the cheering around him the old man looks grim.
"Look at him, Gaius." Merlin gestures at the knight, who is joining Arthur and conversing with him contently. The man seems to be basking in the glow of renown. "Doesn't Lancelot deserve this moment?"
"I never said he didn't. But destiny and desserts is not the same thing. You played God, Merlin: you set him on a path of your choosing," Gaius warns him quietly, so they cannot be overheard. "Tonight you brought him triumph, but who knows what the future may hold?"
His mentor is always so serious! He's been really careful when choosing the name and bloodlines for Lancelot, the magic's subtle and no one knows, and Lancelot's dream is coming true: the thing he's fought for so long.
"I don't know what it said on your invitation, but on mine it said celebration," he says, daring to be tongue-in-cheek, and Gaius' serious face cracks into a faint smile.
"Point taken," the physician admits and starts drawing away, but not before reminding him: "Don't come back too late tonight."
Merlin grins. "Don't worry, I won't."
()()()
The night is one of light and joy and fine ale. Arthur cannot believe his, or Camelot's, luck; Lancelot seems to have appeared out of nowhere and taken the city by storm, even if Arthur has some private doubts about the man's bloodline ... But one does not simple lie about such a thing!
For a moment, Arthur thinks of it and frowns. The circumstances are admittedly curious - and convenient. Almost too convenient. But Lancelot does not strike him as a liar. Neither does Merlin, even if the boy was very eager to see Lancelot become a knight. That might just have to do with the fact that the man fought the winged beast and thus saved the servant's life, a thought that makes the Prince's frown deepen.
How exactly had Lancelot fought the beast and escaped still alive, while so far the creature has completely evaded his knights' every attempt to kill it? And what was his idiot servant doing that far into the woods all on his own? Arthur hadn't even been told he'd been outside the city! Oh, the fool. He was damn lucky Lancelot showed up the moment he did.
Besides of already having proven to be an incredibly good swordsman, Lancelot is also gallant and honourable, and knows well about propriety (unlike some people), and there's just an air about him that makes Arthur feel confident that the man is capable and trustable. Admittedly, Arthur is curious. The man has mentioned travelling far and wide, but given little detail, and the Prince has a sense there's something dark, a memory behind the brown eyes shadowing his past.
However, he is far too polite – well, not as far as the King is concerned, but the man should need to loosen up some, at least in the presence of his equals and during a feast like this. Tomorrow will be a day of fighting, as the beast must be taken care of. Tonight is a chance of relaxation and carefreeness that is rare in court, which Lancelot soon shall know if he doesn't already.
The Prince lets his gaze slide across the room. It is crowded but feels more open than at the most recent feast, since the tables have been moved to the sides giving room for a large dance-floor. Musicians play in a corner, and more than a few couples have begun to dance. Others stand around and converse with the people around them. The atmosphere is one that Arthur loves.
Three people on the other side of the room catch his eye; two women and a young man beside them. Arthur furrows his brows. So that's where Merlin's snuck off to, instead of staying nearby to keep his cup filled! Honestly, that lazy servant. He's the worst one Arthur has ever had.
The boy is talking to Morgana's maid, Guinevere, quite vividly he can tell by their hand movements and facial expressions. Most surprisingly however (or, on afterthought, perhaps not) is Morgana herself, joining the two smoothly. While she wouldn't mind talking to commoners, she usually avoids doing so while in the same room as the King. Then again, Uther has had a few cups of ale and is in deep conversation with Geoffrey of Monmouth and isn't looking their way.
She's wearing a very revealing dress again, blue and fiercely golden, with low hems and delicate edges – gorgeous as always. But the sight does not send the Prince's heart aflutter. Perhaps, one time, long ago it would have – when Arthur was younger and more naïve, as he'd watched her from afar and wondered if they had a future together. Most people definitely thought so. His father had not spoken about it aloud, but the kingdom expects their Prince to marry soon and Morgana would be a perfect match in the people's eyes.
Once he'd probably also be disappointed to know that he now would find that the woman couldn't spark such passion in his heart or soul, that he saw her beauty but never felt any urges or desire. It's … strange. How can he not? Every man who's ever laid eyes on her probably wishes to have her! And yet, Arthur feels no such stirrings when thinking of, or looking at her. He cares for her dearly, even if he'd be the last person to admit it, but still. No carnal desires fill his body at the mention of her name.
Momentarily his eyes flit over to Morgana's maidservant, standing next to the lady. She's rather pretty, he guesses, dark curls bouncing around her face as she laughs at something Merlin's said – if it turned out she had a man interested in her it wouldn't be surprising.
Merlin grins at whatever it was; an internal joke probably, one that Arthur would never find amusing. The boy's whole face seems to light up, and his cheeks are slightly rosy as if he's already had too much to drink (he's probably a terrible lightweight) and the skin around his eyes crinkle slightly as he laughs – the sound is too far away to hear, but he doesn't need to, for the boy is always full of smiles and laughter and the Prince can recall it clearly, the sound bright and uplifting.
Sharply Arthur looks away. Whatever paths his thoughts had begun to thread, he's not ready to follow them yet. Maybe he'll never be ready. He forces his focus back onto Morgana and her infuriating cunning mind and how she so often annoys him, and finds it slightly calming to his suddenly racing heart.
He turns to his companion who is fully unaware of any of this, struggling to find distraction.
"Tell me, do you think her … beautiful?" Arthur asks and takes a sip of his ale. Truly, one would be a fool or completely blind – or both - not to think of Morgana thusly.
Lancelot follows his gaze, albeit it's not entirely focused, as if he's not looking at the lady but at someone else. "Yes, sire," he answers simply. "I do."
"… I suppose she is."
Morgana, sensing his gaze, shifts to meet it with a questioning yet cunning stare and Arthur wonders what she's thinking. They've already talked about this, behind closed doors. Morgana would never be happy to marry him, and she at least deserves some happiness. Besides, Arthur thinks it'd probably be best if she married some weak lord and took over his kingdom – it wouldn't surprise him if she did. She is that kind of woman: strong, independent, dangerous.
"Are you and the Lady Morgana – if I may imply such, sire …?"
Arthur startles. The reply comes out sharper than first intended: "It does not matter. We'd not … be happy with each other, but it's a thing to think of the future, not now."
"I'm sorry, sire," the knight hurries to say. "I meant no offense."
"Calm, sir Lancelot. I know. It's simply … The two of us have a complicated relationship. Please don't think of it." He turns to look at the newly-knighted man. "Do you perhaps have eyes set on anyone?"
The man might already have a sweetheart or be betrothed or even have a wife, waiting for news of him in Northumbria or some other land, albeit he's not mentioned it.
"… No, sire – well, I do not know her to be interested, and it's too early for any kind of advances either way."
Again, the knight's gaze flicker toward the table where Morgana's just been but now is leaving, a smug smile on the lady's face as if she's realized something she oughtn't (again). Arthur narrows his eyes momentarily; even though clearly trying to guard his emotions, the Prince doesn't miss the expression flitting over the man's face, almost darkening it. The maid and the manservant are still chatting amiably with one another, neither of them noticing the eyes on them, and Merlin smiles that stupid wide grin - Arthur's pulse staggers again against his will.
It's almost ironic; two knights sitting here staring at a pair of servants like distraught fools, Arthur thinks bitterly, but his voice betrays nothing.
"I see. Well, I wish you the best of luck, sir Lancelot." He raises his tankard at the man, who does the same and the pottery clinks together.
"And I do the same for you, sire," the knight answers almost like he can read minds.
()()()
"My lady," Merlin greets her courteously but she simply laughs.
"Oh, please don't. I know you prefer not to, anyway. Tonight no one will notice," Morgana says. She holds a dainty goblet of wine in her hands instead of a cup of mead, and her dress is as daring as ever: Merlin does his best not to stare. But back in Ealdor no woman would ever go out dressed like that, their elbows naked and the hem of the necklines going so low. "I have heard you know our new knight rather well," the lady continues with a small secretive smile.
"Uhm, quite, I mean – he saved my life," the servant says.
"You never told me that!" Gwen cries, immediately demanding more details, visibly not happy that he forgot to tell her this earlier. After all, it's been several days since Lancelot's arrival, and as his best friend Gwen should've been the first to know.
"Sorry, Gwen, but it didn't seem that important. That beast appeared in the forest when I was picking herbs for Gaius. There'd probably not be much left of me if not for Lancelot."
She stares at him. "'Not that important?'"
"Well … uhm, maybe a bit." Awkwardly he scratches at the back of his neck.
"You're unbelievable," Gwen chides, shaking her head. "A nobleman saves you from a savage beast and it's 'not that important?' Oh Merlin, you…! You ought to have told me!"
"I'm sorry. Really I'm sorry. I just – it slipped my mind, all right? Since Lancelot got injured I was more worried about that, and then the knighting and everything…"
The maid sighs. "All right. I've forgiven you. It does not mean you do not have to tell me the details later, though!"
Morgana, who's been watching the exchange with a smile on her face, grins wider. "Ah, I believe I shall leave you two to it." She walks away from them with incredible grace in each step, earning quite a few stares from various courtiers and jealous looks from the courtiers' wives.
Merlin seizes the opportunity to change the subject. "You know what? I think sir Lancelot might have eyes for you, Gwen."
"Oh don't be silly," she says. "I'm just a maidservant, and he's a nobleman; why would he even look my way?"
The warlock has to bit his lip to keep the truth from bursting from his lips.
"So what if he did – would that really be so bad?"
To his surprise the woman only sighs again. Then, he realizes sharply why and wants to lay an arm about her to comfort her, wants to tell her that Lancelot isn't out of her league at all and that he's seen the man look at her, that Lancelot has asked about her even after such a short while. That there's a chance for them and he's certain of it already and the two can have a future. The words form on the tip of his tongue.
To his surprise, Gwen continues; "He's not really my type."
Is this a defense mechanism?
Recalling a similar conversation many weeks before, in this very hall, his face suddenly flushes. Did it mean she…? No, she couldn't. Not to him.
But she doesn't know – doesn't know what he's hiding. No, to Gwen, he's just a normal, if a bit odd, peasant turned servant. A very male servant. It's very, very plausible. The thought makes him suddenly self-conscious, like he wants to draw in on himself. He's not thought of her like that; she's a dear friend and he's simply not before considered the possibility of her fancying him. But then, there are her warm glances and the nervousness that seemed to swell sometimes … It makes sense. Merlin bites his lip.
In attempt to hide this reaction, he tries joking. "Oh well, there's a surprise. Sometimes, Guinevere, I wonder if you'd know what your type was if he was standing right next to you."
She glances at him. Obviously it hadn't worked. "You're probably right."
Merlin reaches out to grab another drink from the nearby table. He's seen dozens of servants to the same during the night, so there's no one stopping him. Even Gwen has had some even if she's so careful.
"So, come on," he says, "Just for the sake of argument. If you had to: Arthur or Lancelot?"
Finally, she laughs, the lines of worry on her face relaxing and disappearing. "But I don't have to and I never will!"
"You are no fun, Gwen," he says feigning a pout and takes another deep drink.
"Well…I suppose they're both rather handsome and good fighters, very strong men…But they would never give me a second glance, so it doesn't matter."
It might be the ale loosening his tongue. "Look at it this way then: Arthur's a total prat, while Lancelot is kind and selfless and noble and …"
"All right, all right!" The maidservant concedes and rolls her eyes. "I get it. But it doesn't matter. How much have you had to drink?"
"Not that much!" Merlin protests. Really, he hasn't, even if there's been more than three cups and he's got a bit of trouble focusing and there's a pleasant buzz in his head.
That moment there's a pounding sound as if someone's hitting a table catch their attention and they lift their heads toward the main table, where the Prince is seated rather unceremoniously atop of the table itself instead of on a chair. Arthur stands and raises his voice with a smile: "Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in a toast to our new recruit, our new knight of Camelot: sir Lancelot!"
The people cheer again, and Merlin lifts his cup in acknowledgement as Lancelot looks straight at him. The man's neck bows slightly back at him, a brief silent exchange of understanding.
"Live Sir Lancelot!" echoes through the hall and Merlin merrily joins in: "Live sir Lancelot!"
()()()
Outside the large windows the sky has darkened. His head is definitely buzzing by now. Everywhere he looks there are colours and people and laughter, and he thinks that maybe it'd be wise to sit down for a moment, to clear his head. But when he's offered another tankard (which one was it? The fourth?); he can't say no and he doesn't find anywhere to sit anyhow, all seats are occupied by the nobility. Since he's a servant he is expected to remain standing the rest of the night, on duty or no.
While Gwen left some half an hour ago to attend to Morgana, who'd decided to retire, several of the servants no longer were required by their masters and mistresses to stand two feet away constantly ready to attend to whatever needs they have. For once they are allowed to make the most of the night - for tomorrow will be another ordinary day with another early morning.
So when one of the servants notices him standing uncertainly in a corner for himself, the man approaches, asking; "How is it being the Prince's manservant?"
Merlin vaguely recognizes the man addressing him. Doesn't he serve Sir Leon? His chin is clean-shaven and his clothes are finely woven: not matching those of a noble, of course, but better than most commoners'. The warlock can't help but glance down at his own clothes; Arthur hadn't demanded him to wear anything special for the occasion (Merlin's glad he won't have to wear that silly hat) but now he feels underdressed in his simple brown jacket and tattered neckerchief.
"It's all right," he replies and grins, "even though he's a giant prat."
The man stares wide-eyed. "He lets you call him that?"
"Not really. I mean, he's kind of fond of sending me to the stocks."
The man laughs, and the lines of age that's darkened his brow melts momentarily. "My master's been his comrade for a long while, and I have seen his Highness often; I'm aware he has his … moods sometimes."
"Most times," Merlin corrects him without hesitation, the tone not unfriendly, and the smile remains like plastered to his face. But seconds after, he sobers abruptly, that warm feeling spreading through his blood and bones, it's a good feeling but it hurts a bit too. "But he's a good man really. Not just a dollophead. Inside he's really a good man."
The man smiles; it's a nice and steady smile, it's trustable. "I'm terribly sorry for my manners. My name is Edric. And you are Merlin, correct?"
"Yup, that's me. Merlin. I mean." His ears go red. He hadn't meant to almost start prattling like that. Must be the mead. "You serve sir Leon?"
"Yes, I have since I was thirteen."
Merlin makes a face. Thirteen? "Must've been annoying. I mean, not to speak ill of sir Leon, or you. I'm just glad I haven't had to serve Arthur for that long." Oh, that probably came out wrong. He's always had this ability to put his foot in his mouth as soon as he opens it.
"I can see why the Prince keeps sending you to the stocks! Most masters don't like their servants being too honest in their opinions."
"What, they want them to lie?" Merlin makes wide eyes. That makes no sense!
The man sends him an odd look. "Not out-rightly lie, but some opinions are better kept to themselves."
"Oh."
Suddenly Merlin doesn't feel that much for talking with the man anymore. He just can't understand how nobility expects all servants to be like doormats to walk upon, when they're human beings just like them! And it angers him a bit to hear a servant expression thoughts that it's right, that they should be treated like that. They shouldn't. It's not right.
He might've said that last bit out loud, because the other servant responds humourlessly; "It's the way things are."
"…Yeah. Well, I think, I think I got to go now." He inches back, not missing how the other man looks at him, intense for a moment, and it's a bit startling. It's difficult to read the man's face and Merlin turns away before he can determine.
()()()
He's lost sight of Arthur nearly one candle-mark ago (he's not that certain of the time) and isn't that bothered, not until he realizes that he still needs to ask for the Prince's permission to leave. After all, he's still technically at work, even if he isn't working. Thus he begins to look around starting to look for said prat.
He's nearly crossed the hall when he turns to the left and accidentally walks straight into something quite tall and solid.
"Watch your step you bumbling fool!" the person cries angrily, wine sloshing dangerously near the rim of the fine goblet in his hand, and a few red stains lands on Merlin's jacket before he can react.
"Hey! I just cleaned that!" the servant exclaims.
"You can do it again, I'm sure. It is after all your job."
The Prince stands tall (but, the warlock notices slightly smugly, he's still a bit taller than him) and looming, arms crossed over his chest. He also stands close, the warmth of the man's body melting into his side and their chests nearly brushes, and Merlin pulse unwillingly speeds up.
Swallowing, he instinctively takes a step back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to." His hip bumps into a nearby table, pain spreading beneath the skin sharply at the impact and from the corner of his eye he's positive he sees the prat chuckle. "Ow!"
Arthur rolls his eyes. "Of course you didn't. You're a terrible lightweight. I am retiring, and you're to help me prepare for bed."
"Um, of course."
The Prince glares at him admonishingly, but without much heat. "'Of course, sire,' Merlin – it's sire. Will you ever learn? Oh, don't answer that question, it was rhetorical. I bet you've never heard of that word before."
"Why, no, sire. You'd be surprised to find how wide my vocabulary is."
"That might only be because you peasants have a dozen different words for dirt," Arthur retorts dryly.
"We also have many different words for 'Prince'," Merlin informs him good-naturedly. "Like 'Prat' and 'Dollophead'. I'm surprised to see so few court people using them, sire."
"You'll be in the stocks for that!"
All right, Merlin admits that he exaggerates it somewhat. But seeing Arthur sigh and roll his eyes looking like he wants to tear at his hair, never ceases to amuse him.
()()()
The corridors are dark and gloomy compared to the feast but it's also a bit soothing on Merlin's eyes, and the crisp air is refreshing after being in the great hall for hours. And he realizes how tired he is and that he promised Gaius not to be late – a promise that's now been badly broken. Hopefully his mentor won't be that angry, but there's no telling with Gaius. So once he's left Arthur after making sure the Prince had settled in for the night, he hurries back home and carefully, carefully opens the door and tiptoes into the chamber.
The physician has fallen asleep already, but there's a candle burning on the bedside table. Thanks to the faint light Merlin manages to get up to his room without incident – the glow spills onto the floorboards. The mattress on the floor is empty; Lancelot must still be at the feast.
"Merlin," a tired voice suddenly says.
He groans. "I thought you were asleep."
"My intention was to wait for you. Obviously you must have had a good time." Gaius doesn't sound angry but still a bit upset. "You're very late."
"Sorry." Just how many times had he apologized this night?
The old man appears in the doorway and smiles. "Just make sure to catch some sleep. You'll certainly need your energy in the morrow when you are to help with cleaning up the Hall tomorrow."
()()()
When Merlin wakes up next morning, the sun far too bright, he finds Lancelot's there and awake. The man is lacing his boots as the warlock heaves himself out of bed, scanning the room for his own shoes. "Good morning, Merlin," Lancelot says warmly. "How are you feeling?"
"Like my head's been run over by a horse cart," the servant replies with a grimace. "I hope Gaius has some medicine for headaches in stock."
The knight seems to be very much of the same opinion, and they share the same relief when coming down to find that the physician, foreseeing as he is, has already prepared some foul-smelling concoction.
"Morning, gentlemen," Gaius says and hands them each a cup. "Here, for the headaches. Don't smell it, don't taste it, just down it in one."
It tastes foul as does most, if not all, of Gaius' medicine and Merlin doesn't complain but cannot hide a grimace.
"We cannot have you nodding off on the first day on the job, Lancelot," the old man continues with a small smile and Merlin grins. Despite his mentor's reluctance about the whole affair he still supports them.
"That is sir Lancelot, if you don't mind," Merlin inserts and grins almost stupidly. He can't almost believe it, but Lancelot's a knight now! Never again will he be treated like a simple peasant.
Two things happen at once:
Gaius chuckles warmly and says: "Indeed it is."
And the door slams open by two armed guards, their faces grave, led by sir Leon. Silence fall over the room and Merlin's throat constricts.
No. No, this can't be. This can't be happening. He'd been careful with forging the seal – no one should've found out … This shouldn't be happening!
"What's this about?" the physician demands to know as one of them nearly knocks over one of the precious bottles sitting by the edge of the nearest table. The guards stalk forward and grab Lancelot's forearms in a tight grip.
"This man is under arrest," sir Leon says, not sparing Merlin a glance even as the servant steps forward, exclaiming: "No! You can't-! Stop!"
Lancelot remains quiet, his head bowed, but Merlin doesn't miss the look the man sends him. It's a warning, nay, a plead: stay out of this.
"It is the King's orders," the knight informs them. It sound almost like an apology. "You are under arrest for treason of the crown."
()()()
"This seal is forged. Truly an astounding forgery, but a forgery nonetheless," states Geoffrey of Monmouth, presenting the parchment. It's for show, Arthur knows, of course: the King has discussed with the Historian along with the rest of council for hours beforehand. They have all the evidence they need to pinpoint Lancelot's betrayal.
Arthur bites his cheek to keep down the words. It's simply so unfair. Lancelot is a better swordsman than most and his heart is good; he's strong, loyal, dependable. Just the kind of man that Arthur needs among his knights. Lancelot has proven himself trustworthy - despite the lies. The Prince had an inkling that the man hid something all along; but he'd decided to ignore it, to give the man a chance. When Lancelot had come to him dressed in armour and bearing the seal, he'd seemed confident and it'd just felt right to trust him.
"Do you deny these allegations?" the King demands.
The kneeling man bows his head. "No, sire."
"You have brought shame upon us and yourself; you are not worthy of the Knighthood which has been bestowed upon you. You are a traitor, a traitor of this Kingdom. And you shall be punished as such." He gestures at the guards. "Get him out of my sight."
The guards grab Lancelot's forearms and haul him roughly to his feet.
Arthur can't keep still any longer. "Sire," he says stepping forward, "Lancelot only wishes to serve. His deception is inexcusable but he meant no harm, I am sure of it."
Uther turns toward him eyes ablaze. "The First Code is a sacred bond of trust that binds the knights together. How can you trust a man who has lied to you?"
How indeed?
The sting of the words is more painful than he's expected. But it's true, is it not? He is meant to trust the Knights with his life and his kingdom. How can he do that when one is a liar and deceiver?
()()()
When he's supposed to be delivering the Prince's dirty clothes to the laundress, Merlin sneaks down to the dungeons. Visitors haven't been completely forbidden, not yet, perhaps because the King doesn't believe that anyone would want to visit the prisoner - the traitor, the deceiver. Traitor. The thought leaves Merlin feeling bitter and ashamed. He'd promised to help Lancelot, he'dtried - and all he'd managed to do was to have Lancelot locked away awaiting his sentence. They might even execute him!
The man looks up as he arrives, almost questioningly. "Merlin, what are you doing here?" he asks. Lancelot doesn't sound angry or resentful, but what if he is? He has every right to be. Knighthood was his dream and now Merlin's crushed it, forever.
Merlin leans against the bars. They are cold and unforgiving under his palms. "I wanted to see you. And apologize."
"Do not apologize," Lancelot cuts in hurriedly. "Please. I brought this upon myself."
"But I pushed you, I made you lie."
"The choice was mine. My punishment is mine alone to bear." His voice is so steady and convicted. So accepting of the doom which has been placed upon him. How can he do that? How can he just sit and bear it and do nothing?!
A miserable sigh tearing out of his throat, his chest burning with guilt; Merlin pleads. "I wish there's something I could do..."
"There is." The servant stares at him expectantly. "You can stop blaming yourself."
"It's my fault. If I hadn't ..." Merlin murmurs and glances over his shoulder, at the guard who stands five feet away in an alcove, but the helmet hides the man's face and betrays nothing. "If I hadn't done what I did, you wouldn't be a prisoner now."
"Merlin," Lancelot says shaking his head. "You never wished to do ill and I know that. You have a pure and good heart, and it shouldn't be darkened by guilt for my sake. Please, now go and do not worry about me."
()()()
It's during the middle of serving the Prince his evening meal that the warning bells suddenly start ringing. Arthur is on his feet at once, food forgotten and Merlin nearly drops the pitcher of water he's holding.
"Dress me in my armour. Qiuck!"
Merlin abandons the pitcher and rushes to the chest next ot the fireplace which holds the chainmail and armguards. As he's fumbling with one of the straps, the door opens and sir Leon enters the room.
"Sire, the winged beast has entered the city! It's nearing the courtyard."
Arthur curses foully. "Merlin, would you hurry up? We need to fight it today!"
"I'm trying!"
Finally he manages to get the armour in place. Arthur doesn't wait, drawing his sword and marching out of the room. Merlin hesitates for a moment; should he go after him, or stay here? The Prince didn't give any direct orders about that.
Making the decision isn't that tough.
When he catches up with him, half a dozen men in cloak and armour have joined the Prince and they are heading the fastest route for the courtyard, crisscrossing through the maze of corridors in the castle. Arthur catches a glimpse of him and scowls darkly, probably mentally calling him an idiot for following them: inside it'd be much safer. Merlin ignores him and keeps following.
Outside, people are rushing around in panic, screaming. Salesmen have abandoned their wares in the open street and doors and window-shutters are being closed tight.
"On me!" Arthur cries, holding up his sword. The knights form up behind him. Some are armed with long dangerous spears, and one also has a crossbow.
The warlock waits half-way behind a grand column on the east side of the courtyard, from where he can see all of the knights. The beast is circling overhead, screeching loudly, diving down now and then. It must've spotted the scarlet cloaks, because it whips around and heads straight for them. A cry of warning escapes Merlin's throat, but it's unnecessary because the men have already noticed.
The knight with the crossbow aims at the creature, and releases a bolt – it's looks like it's a perfect hit. Merlin holds his breath. But the bolt bounces off the beast's neck without having hurt it. There is no blood.
The creature comes down upon them. Arthur swings powerfully his sword at it but misses; the creature is swift. The next time however he does not miss; his whole arm vibrates at the force with which he strikes.
The weapon is torn from his hand. Using its momentum the creatue lashes out with its wings and manages to knock several of the men, including Arthur, off their feet.
Panic rises in Merlin's throat and he reacts with the first spell he comes up with, hissing under his breath: "Ácwele!"
But just like before the magic has no effect. However it makes the creature pause as if it's feeling the spell and it gains Arthur enough time to come to his feet and grab a nearby spear lying on the ground. With a battle-cry he launches the weapon at the beast.
The spear breaks.
"Damn it," Merlin breathes. They need to drive the creature away somehow! Even if they can't kill it, they can't let it stay in the city any longer.
"Sire!" sir Leon shouts. He rushes toward the Prince, who now stands a bit apart from the others, completely without weapon. The knight bears a torch, which he waves at the beast. That makes it halt: it screeches at them, before taking a leap into the sky.
"Sire, all you unharmed?"
"Yes," Arthur responds. There is no blood on his clothing. "See to the others."
()()()
Weary and hungry after yet another long day, Merlin returns to Gaius' chamber when nightfall is near. The old man us hunched over another book, just like he's been for the past few days when trying to pinpoint exactly what kind of creature has been attacking the kingdom's villages. Without ado Merlin grabs the nearest bowl of mushy stew – the only dish that's regularly served in this house – and digs in. The physician doesn't look up from his work, turning the pages with quiet raspy sounds, his eyes narrowed in a frown.
Merlin remains quiet as well, not mentioning his visit to Lancelot in the dungeons. Gaius would only start worrying and he's got enough on his hands already. He's treated the knights who were inuued while fighting the beast today. Fortunately none of them were gravely wounded: just cuts and bruises.
But suddenly the old man's eyes widen as he opens another page. "Come and take a look at this," he exclaims and curious the warlock edges over to him. "I have realized my mistake."
"What mistake?"
"I've only searched for living creatures that are known to be in this kingdom, but the search remained futile," Gaius says. "But then I thought: what if the winged beast is a creature of legend, of myth? And see what I have found ..."
Gaius turns to the book for Merlin to see, and next to the old small script on the left side of the page, the parchment worn and yellow, there's a finely detailed drawing of a creature with the wings of an eagle and the fur on a lion. The warlock recognizes it at once. "That's it! That's the monster we saw in the woods!"
"The griffin is a creature of magic; at least that is what the story says. It makes sense. You said Lancelot's sword broke when it touched the griffin's hide, and all villages have stood defenseless before it, also the towns that have access to small amounts of soldiers and weapons. This would mean only magic can destroy it."
"But my magic was useless against it," Merlin recalls, uncertain, remembering the incident in the woods – no matter how he'd pushed his magic at it, the beast hadn't been harmed, merely halted for a moment. "I couldn't stop it."
"Perhaps we need to find a spell strong enough," the old man says seriously, pinning him down with his gaze. "You said yourself you used instinctive, wordless magic and while yours is remarkably powerful it might not be enough. A spell is the solution."
"That'd take days! Arthur and his knights are planning on hunting it down and killing it soon, we don't have enough time…"
A heap of heavy dusty volumes land with a thud right in front of his nose, making Merlin cough at the dust they cause to swirl in the air.
"We'd better start looking for that spell then."
()()()
The physician approaches the King later that night, bowing before Uther and the council before explaining about the griffin – how it would be useless to go against it with mere mortal weapon. The King pales and his knuckles tighten; barely anyone but Arthur who's standing next to him and Gaius who has known the King for so long notices the amount of tension building up in the air; the rest of the people in the room only sees Uther's dark frown.
"You are mistaken, physician," the King says. "It is a creature of flesh and blood like any other. Arthur has proved that."
The Prince steps forward then, and Merlin turns his eyes to look at him; Arthur isn't wearing his cloak today, and he looks unusually weary. "I am not so sure father; there might be truth in what he says. My men's weapon seemed useless against the beast when we fought it in the courtyard."
"Useless? I think not."
Merlin bites his tongue to keep quiet and no yell at the King at how blind and arrogant he's being; how can't he see what's right in front of him?!
"No," the King continues, "it has tasted our steel before and next time shall be its last." He turns to his son who acknowledges him with a bow of his neck. "When will your men be ready to ride?"
"In an hour, maybe two."
It'll be dark then, Merlin quietly thinks. Isn't it risky enough to face the beast? And to do it without daylight is like suicide! Arthur can't ride out there, if he does he can't defend himself or his men and they'll die – an icy invisible hand clenches around Merlin's throat at the thought – they'll die before he's found that spell to defeat the griffin. They can't go! Not yet!
"Good. We finish this tonight."
()()()
Merlin has felt panic many times in his life. Like when Will went missing when he was fourteen and half the village went out to search for him and it turned out Will had decided to take his father's bow and go out hunting by himself. Or more recently when Arthur's hand curled around the poisoned goblet and he nearly drank the wine that Nimueh had tainted with a dark spell.
His heart races and he can't sit still – the ancient script on the book in front of him dances, he can't make sense of it.
"We'll find it, don't worry," Gaius tries calming him.
But it's just a few minutes left now. Merlin's already helped Arthur into his armour and now the Prince is down below in the courtyard along with his men, regrouping and mounting their steeds. They'll be off any moment now before Merlin can stop them.
"We'll find a way," the physician murmurs again. The warlock glances at the window. The sky looks murky and wet. "Don't worry, Merlin."
()()()
They are just minutes from leaving when Arthur pauses and hands over the reins to sir Leon. The man startles. "Sire?"
"Wait. I shall be back momentarily. Prepare the men."
The knight bows his head, asking none of the questions that the Prince is certain he's wanting to ask. "Sire."
Getting past the guards is easy. The men bows as he passes and he nods back, giving them some encouragement. Everyone in the city now knows of the attacking beasts and that it might return again, if the knights fail their mission. Arthur shouldn't let his mind linger on that possibility – it is far too distracting - but the city's safety is his duty and he can't help but fear what would happen if he and his men are killed out there. What if there's more than one beast? What if it comes back to Camelot and kills its people?
At the back of the cell, Lancelot is sitting slumped over, like his will and energy is slowly slipping through the crack of the stone walls. But when the Prince opens the cell door and steps in, the man fly to his feet.
"Sire," Lancelot breathes and bows; the Prince shakes his head.
"I should have known. You don't sound like a knight – you don't look like a knight. And yet I fell for it."
It's almost like a lie. He'd suspected … and Lancelot made a convincing knight. He's noble and strong, well-worded and a good warrior, all of the strengths which Arthur seeks among his men. Still – he is a traitor.
The man hangs his head in shame. "I'm sorry."
"I am sorry too. Because, Lancelot, you fight like a knight. And I need – Camelot needs …"
"The creature?" the man inquires.
"We could not kill it. I have never before faced its like; none of our weapons had any effect on it."
"I faced it myself, sire," Lancelot replies. "I struck it full square, and I wondered how it endured."
Arthur is aware of the guards, knowing that they are giving room for this conversation but still, his father must not know of this. "There are those that believes this creature, this griffin, is a creature of magic, that only magic can kill it."
A strange light comes to Lancelot's eyes. Perhaps the man has suspected this himself. "Do you believe this?"
"It does not matter what I believe; the use of magic is not permitted." For the first time his tone slips, a twinge of regret colouring the words. Because if… if there was a sorcerer out there that could help them, for some mad reason, they could succeed. But they cannot for any sorcerer near Camelot is already dead or have fled faraway. Only a fool would aide Camelot using magic!
"The knights must prevail with steel and sinew alone." He looks the man in the eye. Lancelot stands straight and attentive, like a loyal man awaiting orders; not like a traitor facing his judge. "There is a horse waiting outside."
"Thank you, sire, thank you-!"
"Lancelot, take it and leave and never return to this place."
A shadow falls over the man's face, confused more than hurt. "No. No, please, sire, it is not my freedom I seek. I only wish to serve Camelot."
A regretful sigh passes Arthur's lips. "I know."
"Then let me ride with you, sire."
"I cannot. My father knows nothing of this. I release you myself, but I can do no more. Now go before I change my mind."
He steps out of the cell before Lancelot can respond, and mutters an order to the guard whose eyes widen, but there is no other reaction before the man bows and leaves. Arthur doesn't look over his shoulder as he ascends the stairs to rejoins his men in the courtyard.
The cell door remains open.
()()()
"Merlin! Look."
A book is thrust in his hands and Merlin lets his gaze skim over the page. The words are clear and bold and though he's still not learned to translate the language of the Old Religion completely, he instinctively understands how the words can be used in combination with his magic. So he knows at once that this isn't as simple as levitating an object or enchanting a broom to do the sweeping on its own.
"The only enchantment that I've cast before that's that powerful was when I made the snakes on Valiant's shield come to life," Merlin mutters and glances at the old man. "Gaius, that took me all night to learn!"
"Yes, but you are extraordinary Merlin. A night? For most sorcerers it would take whole months, yes, years to master such a thing! I know, in my heart, that you can do this."
He hands him an old rusty dagger which probably hasn't been wielded for decades, the edges completely dull. "Nothing less will kill it. Now try."
Merlin bites his lip, but accepts the weapon and summons his magic, taking a deep breath and reciting the words off the page: "…Bregdan anweald gafuelec."
Magic vibrates beneath his skin but nothing appears to happen. Again, he tries, forcing more depth into his tone, commanding the magic forward – "Bregdan anweald gafuelec!"
But nothing happens.
"Don't worry, we have plenty of time," Gaius says quietly but it's not much of a reassurance.
()()()
The Prince's voice rings across the courtyard as the men mounts, their cloaks billowing in the cold evening breeze. Torches are being lit across the castle and soon the sky will be entirely dark. "It is time."
()()()
Frustration is boiling just beneath the surface of Merlin's skin. It's just not working! He's losing patience and is growing more and more strained with worry; Arthur's probably already left with his men and if they manage to find the griffin ... They can't defeat that thing on their own!
For the umpteenth time the warlock grips the knife and stares at it, power trembling under his fingertips. The words roll off his tongue. But still, nothing - nothing but silence and disappointment and the thudding of his heart against his rib-cage. If only there was more time for him to learn the spell! But there's no more time. There is no more time.
Gaius hovers near the window, glancing out of it now and then as darkness falls and Merlin remains kneeling on the stone floor, chanting the words again and again with no effect but a slight meaningless tremble.
Suddenly the door flies open and Merlin, startled, drops the knife with a clatter. Gwen's face is pale and her tone frantic. "Gaius! Lancelot's riding after the knights to face the winged beast!"
The warlock's fists clenches. This is it, this is his chance; perhaps Lancelot could help - somehow - even if the man might find out about his magic and denounce him for it. If he doesn't act, Arthur and Lancelot and the other knights might die and Merlin won't just sit here and warm his feet by the fire if he can do anything about it.
"Where is he now?"
"By the royal stables. He came to me and asked for armour and weapons." Gwen bites his lip, staring at the physician almost like pleading, needing an answer. "Is it true that the winged beast can only be killed by magic?"
Merlin meets his guardian's gaze. If they manage to get rid of the beast then someone might get suspected for sorcery, not perhaps the right person and it's not something they can risk. Gaius seems to understand, because he says, vaguely; "We aren't quite certain yet. Arthur might be able to defeat it."
There's no more time. The warlock rushes out of the room, down the corridor following familiar paths that he by now must've walked hundreds of times before. The town is quiet at this hour, only a dog barking in the distance, and the air is cool. The area around the stables are lit by a handful of torches but all guards have cleared the area; perhaps, since Lancelot's out jail, that might be Arthur's doing because Merlin has an inkling King Uther wouldn't be too fond of a man he's just sentenced for treason is now dressed in fine armour and mounting one of the royal warrior steeds.
He reaches the man just as he's pulling himself up in the saddle. "Merlin! What are you doing here?" he exclaims.
"I could ask about the same," the servant retorts.
"Prince Arthur let me go."
"Gwen says you're going after him, to face the griffin."
Lancelot nods solemnly. "It is my duty." Before the man can say goodbye and turn away, Merlin launches forward and grabs the reins.
"I'm coming with you."
The man stares at him incredulously at first and then shakes his head. "Merlin, you cannot, you are no solider-"
He meets Lancelot's gaze head-on and there must be something, something there, a glint of steel in his eyes that makes the man falter. "Just try and stop me."
()()()
The screams reaches them first as they ride through the dusk, an eerie glow from the moon spreading through the trees; ahead there's a wide path leading to a clearing. When they arrive there is no sign of the beast and the clearing lies still and quiet. Merlin feels a bit sick when seeing the sprawled out bodies and the blood and the dead horses. At least one knight is definitely dead.
Beside him Lancelot holds in his reins. "You should stay here. See if there are any survivors."
Merlin slides off the saddle with surprising ease and doesn't hesitate, crossing the clearing avoiding to look at the destruction around him. His eyes land on a heap of chainmail glimmering faintly and a red wide cloak. The blonde man is lying on his back, half-leaned against a stone as if he'd been thrown there haphazardly, an arm slung across his chest. He's still holding to his sword, however weakly.
Fear wrap around Merlin's chest as he kneels next to Arthur, struggling to find the man's pulse at that spot which Gaius has taught him.
From in the woods an eerily familiar shriek rings out.
There is a heartbeat and suddenly Merlin can breathe again. "He's alive," he murmurs, relief washing through him and he blinks at the suddenness and the strength of the feeling.
Lancelot moves closer, his horse shifting restlessly. "And the others?"
The warlock checks on the nearest man, whom he doesn't recognize. His heart doesn't thrums as loudly with either fear or relief. "He is as well, but he's injured. We need to get them to Gaius."
The shriek sounds again, closer this time. The servant glances around. He can't see it, but he can sense the griffin's presence, it's magic oozing like an aura somewhere in the undergrowth. He can almost smell it ... Can his magic really be strong enough to counter it? What if it isn't? What if the spell won't work?
"Stay here with the men," Lancelot says quietly. "We can't let the beast get any close to Camelot." Gripping his lance, he turns toward the path, tense and ready for battle; all left to do is wait. Merlin lingers uncertainly by the edge of the clearing, near the Prince's slumped body. This silence is deafening and his stomach churns anxiously as he slowly gathers his magic, the words resting on the tip of his tongue.
They do not have to wait long.
The griffin crashes into the clearing with a shriek, aiming right for them, obviously having caught their scent. Its talons dig into the dirt as it charges - Lancelot lifts the lance and turns toward it, ready to strike. He kicks his heels into the steed's sides.
This is it, Merlin, don't screw this up now, the warlock tells himself and raises a hand, pointing at the lance.
"Bregdan anweald gafuelec."
The murmur has no effect. Lancelot is steadily getting closer and within moments the beast will have overtaken him and killed him, if the spell doesn't-
"Bregdan anweald gafuelec."
A growl of frustration tears out of Merlin's throat. No! Why doesn't it work?!
Not bothering to keep his voice down any longer he repeats strong and clear and magic vibrates deep within him, tugging upward - "Bregdan anweald gafuelec!"
A white and blue glow surrounds the weapon the man's hands right as it lands in the griffin's body, as the beast leaps up to crush its prey. But instead of breaking, the lance pierces the creature's side and the momentum causes it to tumble over the knight and his horse, landing heavily behind them. It's wings flutter for a moment. Then, it shudders, helplessly.
It doesn't move any more.
"Yes! Yes! It worked! You did it!"
Lancelot slows down to a gentle trot and turns back around, nearing the clearing again. Upturning his visor his face appears aglow with wonder and awe. Then Merlin realizes the man is staring at him, and the joy crumbles and twists into that churning anxiety again.
But instead of coming with accusing, the man just nods. Nearly like he's understanding. For a moment Merlin stands frozen, not knowing what to do. SHould he just say it - Yes, I used magic to help you kill the griffin? Lancelot cannot be so stupid he missed that!
On his side Arthur begins to stir. Oh no! He can't see me here!
He starts backing away. "I, I must go." Before Lancelot can hinder him, he clambers onto his horse and hurries away, back to Camelot, panic still flaring at the bottom of his stomach.
Faintly (though it might just be his imagining), before he's completely out of earshot, he hears the Prince wake and telling Lancelot in wonder: "You killed it. You killed the griffin."
And the knight-no-longer replying: "I was not alone, sire."
()()()
Pain clouds Arthur's vision, a dull throb remaining by the edges constantly. His memory is blurry - he'd taken his men out and located the beast shortly. It was almost as if it had been waiting for them. It'd leapt from the sky, coming down upon them without mercy. He remembers throwing a spear at it, right before it lashed out to stab sir Lionel - his stomach wrenches at the thought of the faithful men who had lost their lives tonight - and then...nothing.
He staggers to his feet not entirely sure of his steps.
But sir Lancelot stands now before him, clear in armour and fully armed. For a moment Arthur willingly forgets the man's betrayal and banishment, for it is truly a knight in front of him, not a simple commoner.
There's a large carcass within Arthur's field of vision and he stares at it in wonder, then turns to Lancelot.
"Sire," the man acknowledges, bowing his head.
"You killed it. You killed the griffin."
"I was not alone, sire. You and your men became before me and weakened it." His tone is slightly mysterious but it might just be his heavy head, and the Prince doesn't want to linger. There's already too much he's let his thoughts wander as of late. Anyhow, secrets are better kept as such.
Arthur shakes his head, incredulous Most men would boast after such a kill, but not Lancelot, the noble and modest commoner-knight. "No. I am grateful, Lancelot." He adopts a more serious tone. "You should return to Camelot. I shall speak with my father of this matter. No matter past deeds, you have shown loyalty and dedication and now, you have just saved my life."
"Sire, I cannot ask it," Lancelot begins to protest.
The Prince will not have it. "I will make the King see sense."
()()()
"Are you certain he saw?"
"Of course he did! I wasn't exactly subtle about it! He knows, Gaius, he knows."
Merlin shudders at the realization. At the actuality of it. Lancelot knows of his magic, knows that he has this power that he should be executed for. Lancelot knows.
In attempt to comfort him, sensing his ward's distress, Gaius lays a hand on his back trying to steady him. "Do you believe he will tell anyone?"
"I ... No. He's much too goodhearted for that; he knows it's punishable by death. He shouldn't …" For a moment he falters. "But still, he's - he's loyal to Arthur and to Camelot. Then he should be loyal to its laws. Oh god, what if, Gaius...!"What if he tells Arthur? What if he assumes Arthur knows because I'm his servant and loyal to him? What if-?
The warlock climbs to his feet, resigned to whatever fate he'll meet by the end of this night. "I need to find him and talk to him."
Gaius frowns. "He might be long gone; he has no reason to return to Camelot."
"Unless Arthur's found out who killed the griffin and wants to reward him," Merlin answers. Because no matter how much of a stubborn prat he is Arthur would not say no to this chance of such a good knight. "Maybe they'll pardon him."
But the physician's face only darkens. "The King is just as stubborn as his son, if not more. Once he has passed judgment he will not change his mind."
()()()
The guards bow as the Prince passes through the halls and opens the wide doors as he reaches the council chamber, where the King is waiting. A handful of his knights are with him, those who had survived the battle with the griffin and are feeling well enough to walk; the others have just been sent to the physician's chambers to be treated. Lancelot is among them and the men have already heard what has happened and are staring at the man in wonder. By morning, the city will be bubbling with rumours of his heroic deed.
But Lancelot does not look joyful or proud, his shoulders slumped.
King Uther looks up as they enter the spacious room. A few torches and candles along the wall are flickering. The room is silent and cold, the stone walls betraying nothing.
"It is done, father," Arthur reports. "The creature is dead."
Uther stands. "You did it, my son! You did it."
"Not I, father. It was Lancelot who felled it."
Then the King sees the battered company and the armoured man standing at the lead and a shadow falls over his face. "What's he doing here?"
"Sire, I can explain," the Prince begins but Uther holds up a hand, quieting him, and so the onslaught comes. Arthur's face remains stoic and the knights wait patiently, without comment or movement, but there is unease written in their eyes.
"You had no right to release this man! He is a traitor. He is a danger to this kingdom. How could you trust him
"I confess it, sire," Arthur answers. "I released him and I shall bear the consequenses. But surely Lancelot's actions would change things?"
"His actions change nothing! He broke the Code and the law."
"He laid down his life for me! He served with honour. Pardon him, sire. Let him serve our kingdom, for his loyalties lie with us. Restore his knighthood, I beg of you."
The King's voice is firm and emotionless. "Never. The law is the law. The Code bends for no man."
"Then the code is wrong!"
Lancelot can't stand it any longer. "Sire, please, if I may speak," he cuts in before the King can speak again. He feels ashamed to have caused his row between the Prince and his father; he understands Arthur's ire, the Prince is a good man with a fierce heart, but he can't let him take the blame for his actions. After all, he chose not to obey the law, he chose not to obey the Prince and leave the city upon his release. No, he chose to stay and fight.
Upon seeing him step forward without first being allowed several guards rush forward and seize the armoured man by the forearms. But the King halts them. "Wait! I shall hear him."
"Forgive me, sire." He bows his head, first at the King, then at the Prince. "But I must bear whatever punishment you decide for me. It is my responsibility." He looks Arthur in the eye, without hesitation. "I lied to you both and now there is conflict between you. I cannot bear that burden, as you should not bear mine."
This seems to strike a chord within the King. Perhaps it is this act of selfless nobleness, the laying down of his life before the King that makes Uther realize – Lancelot cannot tell.
"Then you shall be pardoned," Uther announces, annulling the sentence of death that would have lain the traitor's head. "But you must leave the city at first light and not return."
Lancelot bows his head. "Sire."
()()()
Just as he's about to leave the safety and comfort of Gaius' chambers, the man he'd search for appears in the doorway. He looks tired and weary, but relieved, as if he had previously carried a great burden and it's no longer weighing down his shoulders.
Sensing that this conversation needs to be private, Gaius draws back to the upper room with one of his books. Merlin hardly notices, eyes fixed on the man that's now turning to close the door behind him.
"Lancelot!" Merlin exclaims, flying to his feet. Despite his fears of Lancelot knowing, despite the gnawing worry, he's happy to see the man is well and free, without any guards dragging him back to the cells. "
"Merlin, I've come to say farewell."
Air rushes out of his lungs. "What?"
"The King has released me from my earlier sentence, but I still broke the law. I must leave Camelot at dawn."
"But you killed the griffin! You should have your knighthood restored!"
Lancelot shakes his head. "I was not the one to kill the griffin."
A sudden lump forms in Merlin's throat. So he knows then, he saw. "Th-that's ridiculous."
"I saw you, I heard you. 'Bregdan anweald…' Those are powers I cannot wield."
Merlin forced himself to stay still, fighting the tremble of his hands. Even if he'd been sure Lancelot saw he still had this hope, this faint feeling of maybe, maybe Lancelot didn't see. Maybe his secret was still a secret. But the shock of revelation rattles him to the bone. Oh, what should he do? What will Lancelot do?
The man notices his distress and says, calmly; "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. But I cannot take the credit for what I did not do. That is why I offered to give myself up to the King, not just because I wish no anger between the King and the Prince – they argued over my sentence. This is the best way."
"Thank you," Merlin breathes.
"No - thank you, Merlin," the man retorts. "Were it not for you, I would not be here today, and the griffin might not yet be dead."
When the man steps forward and pulls his arms around him the shock has begun to fade, though his hands aren't quite steady yet and he almost loses his breath. The steel of the armour is icy cold but Merlin doesn't mind – though despite the chainmail, a strange expression comes over Lancelot's face for a brief moment almost as if he notices something is amiss about their touching bodies so Merlin draws back quickly before he can comment.
"Will you ever return?" he asks. Lancelot is a good man. He doesn't deserve having to walk away … "You know, Arthur would want you among his knights. He'd welcome you back."
A small smile tugs at Lancelot's lips. "I am aware of that, and thankful. Perhaps one day I shall return, when Camelot is ready and most importantly, when I am ready."
"Until we meet again, then, sir Lancelot."
()()()
Having to watch Lancelot ride through the gates causes a painful sting to his chest – of regret, of sorrow. If there was just something he'd done differently, if he'd been more careful, perhaps Lancelot would be a knight now, not an exile. If …
"Oh, hello Merlin."
He swirls on his heel to come face to face with Gwen. A shadow has fallen across her face too, but for different reasons, and she looks almost confused as she joins him by the window to stare after Lancelot's retreating form. Merlin has a strong urge to hug her.
"Are you all right?" he asks gently.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Just…it's such a pity…"
"I know. Lancelot's a good man."
"Yes," she murmurs, eyes flickering. "He is."
Merlin smiles and lays an arm around her shoulder, to bring her some comfort. It's astounding but at the same time he isn't that very surprised to see how fast attached Gwen and Lancelot had become. It's almost like fate.
"He'll come back one day."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
Gwen lets out a little laugh. "How come?"
"Just a hunch."
"Oh, Merlin." She shakes her head, but her face is so much brighter already and Merlin's heart is not as tight in his chest. He takes one of the overloaded baskets offered and together they start walking away from the window. "Help me bring this to the laundress."
()()()
Old English/spells:
[1] Ácwele = Destroy. (A spell which Merlin uses in 1.11)
[2] Bregdan anwealdgafuelec = Move the powerful javelin.