So, I sort of wrote a Prequel to: A promise. It can be read as a stand-alone, but makes more sense if one reads A Promise first. Anyway, it is a part of the memories Merlin writes down after the wars, concerning the people he lived with in Camelot, and their fates.

So, as usual: SPOILER WARNING FOR MERLIN UP TO AND WITH SEASON 5

And, of course: English still isn't my first language, so feel free to point mistakes out to me. I'm always eager to learn.

More notes at the end. Have fun!

….

These are the memories of Merlin Emrys, concerning his youth, his first years in Camelot, and the people he knew during the Golden Age:

I grew up poor. In a village far away, where the grass was green, the forests vast, and the winters cold. My mother was a gentle soul, and my father long gone. Our lifes were hard, and food and warmth were scare. I did not know back then, the power within me, how waste it was, how strong. For me, it was, and is, part of who I am, as natural as breathing, as easy as thinking. Had I not grown to see how seldom such skills were, I would have thought it normal. But early on I learned that I was not, and there was a fear in me, always, a deep, ongoing fear, born out of the knowledge that I was different. That a man far away, who didn't know me, had never seen me, would kill me for the gift I had been born with. But back then, the shadow of a man, even one so cruel as him, seemed hardly more frightening than the cold grip of starvation, or the smell of sickness.
I do not know much anymore of this time long since passed. I think I may have had a friend. A feeling of hope in the long darkness of the days, a warmth of friendship and understanding in the loneliness dances in the back of my mind. But maybe I am just imagining it, the ghost of an old wish. I cannot know.

I do remember leaving, remember the fear and excitement, and the moment I first laid eyes on Camelot. How vast it was, how splendid, in these golden days.
I went to live with a very old, very wise man, who in time would become a father to me, and I a son to him. He would, from this day forth, be my mentor, and guide me in the days of youth and learning. And whose death would once, in a future not as far away as I had wished, or yet, even imagined, cause me a lot of pain.
My father too will die, some years later. I will meet him once, and when he dies, someone will tell me not to weep for him. It is strange, that I should remember that, and not my father's name, nor face, nor how he came about his death. I think it might have been Arthur, who said that to me. Why else would it have hurt so much?
My mother too, dies, of course, but many years later, and she is old and sick and her hands are weak. She has not seen me for a long time, and when I come to her young as I have ever been, having heard of her hovering end, she thinks me a ghost. "It is me!" I tell her, "I'm here!", but she just smiles at me, wistfully, and tears fill her eyes. She dies soon after, happy, but unaware of my presence, unaware of my hand holding hers. I remember because the shame is so great afterwards, the awareness that I had not been there for here in the last years of her life. But life had been hard back then, and Gwen alone, and Camelot close to doom, and there was much to do. But above all, I could not stand the pain of seeing here age, whilst I was doomed to be forever young.

The pain of her death took me one step further away from the people around me, taught me to not get close, to not expose myself to this agony. Today, I know that I should have cherished each moment I could have had with her, that the pain of getting close, of losing, belongs to human life. But I was younger back then, and bitter and weary of the world.

But at the beginning of it all, I did not yet think about pain and things ending, for I was young, and the world was fair. There was a girl with a kind smile and kind hands, who smiled at me, and made me laugh. Her name was Gwen. She was a lowborn, just as I, but same as me, she was destined to be great. But her power did not come from magic, or any such force. Her power was in her kindness, and passion, and wisdom, and her good heart. She would come to love Arthur for the love he bore his people, and he would come to love her because of the love she bore him, Arthur, the man, and not Prince Arthur, the future King. It is for the same reason he will come to regard me as his friend. Few people saw him then for who he was, saw the man behind the title and the expectations. Today, our names are legends, and our deeds woven into songs and stories. But we were not as grand as the stories say. We were human, and we lived and fought and laughed and cried, just as everybody else.

There was another woman in that time too, dangerous in her beauty, fierce, and yet compassionate and strong. Morgana. The warden of the king she was, when I first met her, and being empathetic and kind, she despised the kings cruelty and his hatred. But he loved her, and she knew, so she dared to love him back. She will later hate him because she knows despite this bond, he would despise her, if he knew the truth about her magic, and she will hate him, because he lied to her about her heritage, and she will hate him, because he makes her feel so alone, and so afraid. Her story, so often told in hate, is one of great tragedy. A tragedy in which I, to my regret, shall play a part.

Then there was, of course Arthur. So young, so unburdened, when we first met. Still not quite grown up, but he will learn in time, and even then, in the days of our beginning there was greatness in him, for he loved his people, down to the last child, and he strived to be righteous and just. There was arrogance too in him, I think, and we fought often in the early days. But much happened, and he came to respect me for my honesty and my freely given friendship, and I him for the good in his heart and the bright future I knew he would bring. We were destined to bring great things together, but destiny is far away to those who live. We were not bonded by destiny, but by friendship and love.

Life was fast back then, and full of colour. The world was new, and hope was bright.
But where there is light, there must be shadow, and a lot of the darkness of these days came down to one man. Uther. Oh the coldness in this face, the cruelty in these eyes. A bringer of death he was to those like me, a figure of nightmares. Still I remember the pyres, the smell of burning flesh, the screams, and how he stood there and watched. Many things I have seen, but few so cruel, so barbaric, as the deeds of this man.
And yet I know, even knew back then, that Uther Pendragon was not, in fact, an evil man, nor had he ever been. He was a man made cruel by pain, but he loved his son, and Arthur loved his father. And even though I tried to hate him, wanted to hate him with all I had, I never could. For I too, loved Arthur, and I too was in pain. And soon I too would do evil things in order to do good. I too would kill to protect, would harm to shield the ones I loved. For what was an enemy soldier to me when I saw Gwen smile? What was a nameless bandit when I heard Arthur laugh?

It was I, in the end, who would bring Uthers death, though I know I didn't want to. I cannot fathom today how it happened, or what it was that I did, but I remember well the dread at the sight of his dead corpse, and my sorrow in the face of Arthurs pain.
It should have felt good. It should have been a relieve, seeing the man who would see me dead, pass away. But it did not, and it was then that I learned that revenge gives no satisfaction, and seeing an enemy dead no relieve.

We were all so young then, and in the blind optimism of youth, thought ourselves immortal. For even though we all had seen death, felt defeat, fear and bitterness had not yet touched our hearts, and life seemed good.

Arthur lost this innocence after Morganas betrayal. Gwen lost hers after Arthurs death. I lost mine when Freya died. Freya… It still pains me to think of her, and I would give all the treasures of the world, if I could only remember her face, the sound of her voice, or the feeling of her touch. I loved her then, when we first met. I held her when as she gave her last breath, and loved her still. She was much too young… and I am old now, and weary and my memories fade. But if I know anything, I know this: I shall love her even when the world sinks into flames, and all the ages of this earth have passed away, and never will there be someone else like her.

A lot happened back then, and there were many dangers and many cold days. Battles were fought, sometimes in the open, but more often in the shadows, and many lies were told. But there were many happy days as well, days were the sun was shining, songs were sung and life was good. Much of what we did has passed away out of my memory, and what remains is a distant dream of what was. Nimueh was there, I think, at the beginning, and it seems to me that I might have pitied her. But there was hate as well, and tears and pain. I think I killed her in the end. But I killed many, and regretted much, and their faces were something I worked hard to purge from my memory. So I cannot be sure.

I know that Gwen was not yet Queen, know because Uther would never have allowed it, but she grew to love Arthur in secret, and he loved her back.
I know that Mordred must have been there too, for I am sure I have known him before he became a knight. But the details of our first encounter have slipped my mind. Difficult it must have been, and dangerous. And disastrous in the end, because it led to mistrust and anger between us.

It was after some years, when Uther still was king, and Arthur a prince, that the story of Morganas betrayal began.
I had an open heart back then, and trusted easily. But yet, sometimes, it was not enough. And just then, when a scared, young woman, lonely and confused, needed my trust more than anything else, I let fear overcome me and turned from her, and, in the end, drove her away. She harnessed her powers for the dark and evil, and wished for nothing more than the throne of Camelot, the blood of those who had betrayed her. Into darkness and madness she went, and much pain she caused me before the end of days. I used to hate her. Even more so, because I loved her once, as a friend, and grieved for her as such, when she turned on us. I used to hate here because of all the pain she caused me, caused Arthur, and the lifes that she took. And I hated her because if not for her, Arthur would have lived. If not for her, Gawaine would have lived.

But hate leads nowhere, and Morgana, even though she chose her path herself, was not a monster, never a monster. She was a result. A result of all the mistakes we made in our fear or pride. A result of pain and the hatred of men. A result of loneliness. And it pains me more than I can tell, to see the people of this world repeat the same mistakes we made over and over again. I see them, how they create their own worst enemies, out of their hatred and fear and cruelty, and I weep for the scared, angry souls lost to hatred.

Her betrayal and open declaration as an enemy of Camelot marked a turning point in our lifes. For afterwards, Uther was unfit to rule, and Arthur slowly assumed the role he is known for in history. And it was then also, that the knights of the round table were created.

Lancelot, I had known before. A most noble man he was, and just and kind, and endlessly loyal. He wished to serve, and protect, more than anything else. He was the first, after my mother and my mentor, to learn of my magic, and never did he betray my secret. He loved Gwen, but he loved Arthur as well, and for the sake of this love it was, that he forsook his own feelings, allowing them to be happy. He was the best, and most selfless man I ever knew.
And he came when I called to him in need, and in need it was that he went, for he sacrificed himself so others could live.

Then there was Gawaine, of course, who had been banned for reasons I can't remember. Who laughed often and spoke much, and who drank and gambled and did not have a care in the world, or so it seemed. And yet he was always there when someone was in need, was always there when injustice ruled or children cried. He died shortly before Arthur, and was not there when I needed him most in my grief. I remember being angry, because of that. How strange a feeling, to be angry at a dead man. But I was angry because I needed him, and I was angry because his death had been in vain, and I was angry because I missed him so much, and I could not bear to grieve for him as well, when all my being was filled with sorrow and pain over Arthurs death.

Then there was Elyan, brother to Gwen, who fought for Arthur and fought for Gwen, and who died protecting what he loved most.

There was one other member of the table, whose name I cannot recall, and no legend tells of him. So I will. He was a knight since Uther's time, but loyal to Arthur to a fault, and his life was dedicated to protecting the innocent, and upholding the code of the knights. Fight for the weak. Fight for the kingdom. Always be just and kind. His death years later was mundane and quick, but peaceful. He had seen too much to fear death.

And then there was Percival, often silent and pensive, but attentive and smart. Big and muscular he was, but there was such a softness in him, and he could not bear to hear children cry. It was this vulnerability, his capacity to love, that drove him to death in the end. A broken heart is a cruel thing and he deserved so much better.

Those are the knights of the round table as he was when Arthur created him, the heart of the kingdom, and my family in everything but blood. The best men I ever knew they were, and even though the time we shared was short, it was filled with wonders and glory.

And so it was that the golden time of Camelot came to pass, for even though Uther was dead, Arthur became the great king destiny had chosen him to be. The love between Arthur and Gwen was open to see for the world, and the people came to respect a serving girl as their future Queen. Morgana declared herself an enemy of Camelot, and we will grow under the challenges her wrath faces us with. And the knights of the round table were created, and the halls of Camelot were filled with our laughter and our voices.

And of more I will not tell now, for the story of our doom and how it came to pass is for another day, and another chapter. There I will tell of the years that came, of Arthur, and the king he grew to be, and the hope and light he brought back into the kingdom. I will tell of Gwen, and how she learned to rule. And there I will tell of Mordred, his dedication and loyalty, and the love that blinded him. But for now, rest assured in the knowledge that even though we suffered death and defeat in the end, our lifes were happy once, and not a second of it I would tread, even if I had to bear all the pains of the world.

….

Sooo, apparently, I'm not able to write anything that's not super angsty… sorry for that. Anyway, I don't really know if this stuff is worth anything. Contrary to before, I have had a lot of trouble writing this one down. I started out completely different, and the only bit that survived of that are some phrases and that I absolutely wanted some post-Freya-angst in it.

It was quite hard as well to define how much Merlin remembers and what he forgot. The way I have written it in A Promise, and the way I imagine how living a thousand years affects your memory, it should not have been much at all, but I had to have something to work with… so I decided he would mostly remember emotional context and few facts or events…

And then I suddenly realized that I'm basically recounting the series without much original stuff, so it must be dead boring to read. But then I was too far gone so now I'm posting it anyway.

And well, as usual, I had a lot of trouble ending this story, so, like always, I just cut it off somewhere… I'm crap at endings.

Review? Please? Honestly, leave me a review and you'll make my day!