Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin
Aithusa stood aside, trying to catch her breath; her wings drooped to the ground as she stared at what remained of the army ahead. Minutes ago, the chimeras stopped to shake their heads and stumble about. The creatures, those closest to the city, were first affected and spread outwards to the rest, like a visual wave. When the change swept through the battlefield, the men found it easy to kill, the creature's hide no longer difficult to pierce. With whoops of joy intermixed with relief, everyone began the final push to defeating the enemy, the chimeras brought down as if they were nothing more than rabid dogs. In the midst of battle, Kilgharrah stood, grounded, where he mauled all his opponents into pieces, killing several chimeras with each swipe of his claws rather than the occasional kill he had been doing previously. While he preferred to fight from the skies, the long battle took its effect and the elder dragon eventually had to land to rest his tired, old wings.
Of course that was not the only break they were given from the onslaught. Before the obvious signs of the destroyed anchor, they had been struggling to maintain their ground. No matter how much they fought, Aithusa watched from the sky the closing distance between their forces and the tree line. No matter how hard they fought, if they were pushed into the trees, they may as well retreat; outnumbered and overwhelmed, they would be slaughtered in the trees, plus the chimeras held an advantage in the trees. Those creatures could easily navigate the trees with ease rather than their soldiers cumbered by their armor. Neither did they want to endanger the injured; issuing a retreat would allow those in the tents to evacuate before the battle pushed into the camp. It was just as the dragon began to wonder when the Kings and knights would order a retreat when a group, small in comparison to the battling armies, appeared from the city that flanked the opposition.
There must have been quite a group of sorcerers because she noticed a good portion of the group split and stand back, allowing the others to engage in combat. Instead, those separated began spouting their spells; each one targeted either Morgana's men or shielded their own. They held the advantage of not only surprise, which allowed them to take out a good sizable portion of Morgana's army, but also in position away from the chimeras. Morgana had sent her creatures to the battlefront, most of which concentrated on the dragons; none of their enemies imagined that there was a possibility they could be flanked. Though the battle was still a struggle, the reinforcements distracted the opposition enough to prevent the army from being further pushed into the trees. It was enough time for the anchor' destruction and ensured their victory.
When they slaughtered the weakened chimeras, much of Morgana's army turned tail and ran, few returned to the castle while many ran for the forest. Others still laid down their arms in surrender, choosing to give up peacefully rather than attempt to continue fighting. It had shown much to the dragon that Morgana's creatures was what kept her men in line once it became painfully obvious that the witch cared little for them.
The witch's sorcerers also dissolved into chaos. Half the sorcerers proffered peace with hands raised in a placating gesture and the others turned against the sorcerers who pleaded for peace. They cursed their former allies and released their incantations in full. Though they were reluctant, the sorcerers reacted in self-defense and soon inched their way to merge with the opposing side. They would willingly fight for a side more in line with their views than the likes of Morgana. Though they weren't sure if King Arthur had changed his mind about magic, they would rather take their chances and not miss this opportunity to escape Morgana's control.
Now the battle dwindled into small skirmishes across the fields as one by one the men who were unable to flee got captured. Even the sorcerers, who previously were a great threat, soon fell with the combine forces of their ex-allies, druids, and imprisoned sorcerers. Any chimeras that were still alive no longer had enough strength to keep on their feet now that they lost their connection to their own world; the remaining few peppered the ground as they panted in the effort to rise to their feet. Groups of soldiers were already searching through the bodies, dispatching the remaining chimeras while also pulling out the gravely wounded for immediate help or comfort until a mortal wound took them.
With a great push from her hind legs, Aithusa threw herself into the sky to observe the fields from above. Though confident that the battle was for the most part over, she circled above to ensure there was no one else in need of her help. She tilted her wings and caught the warm updraft, launching her further up into the air. High above by the clouds where the air was thin, she began to notice that general state of the weather. Rather than the bright blue skies and occasional fluffy cloud that contrasted against the grime of war, the sky had darkened and the once white clouds grew grey and heavy with rain. In the distance, Aithusa heard the dull rumble of thunder as the wind around her began to intensify.
Something was wrong. The world felt unbalanced. The storm was but an omen of things to come. Powers unknown could be felt drawn towards a single point at the center of the citadel. It weighed Aithusa down and permeated the air with trepidation. Unsure on the cause, Aithusa knew that she must get out of the air before the wind grew further in its ferocity. She would rather not be caught in the storm when the wind was strong enough to rip her wings from her body.
From above, Aithusa spotted the two-legged creature, one of the knights, and directed her body towards him. She pulled in her wings and allowed herself to descent before opening her wings out and giving them a flap to cushion her landing. The knight, the one she knew as Leon, looked up to her with a frown on his face.
"Aithusa?"
"Sir Leon," Aithusa said and greeted the knight with a slight bow of her head, "How are matters here on the ground?"
"We are still clearing the fields of Morgana's men, why? Is something wrong?"
"I don't know," Aithusa murmured, her eyes searching the skies. "Something's bringing in the storm."
"What-" Leon couldn't finish his question for at that moment the world began to quiver. The rumbling of thunder in the sky matched the rumblings in the ground where the ground seemed to shake beneath his feet. The force of the earthquake left Leon placing a hand on Aithusa side to steady him while everyone in the battlefield began to panic. Up ahead, clouds accumulated around the castle, swirled into the dark spirals; the unnatural formation unleashed a torrential downpour on the city as lightning struck the ground. Already, the two saw the glow of fires where the lightning landed. The wind grabbed at the soldiers, snatching away everything not secured.
Aithusa kept her wings firmly tucked to her sides and hunched her body into the wind. She glanced at the knight who took shelter besides her before turning her head towards where she last saw Kilgharrah. It appeared the elder dragon also managed to fold his wings before the storm had an opportunity to snatch them; however, his head was directed to the citadel with eyes that swam with horror. He knew what was happening, enough to scare him. That alone frightened the younger dragon.
Whatever Aithusa had felt in the air doubled in its intensity; magic itself was crying out, it made her scales itch. While the world around them appeared to dissolve into chaos, she could not squash the rising fear of the unknown cause. Magic in its purest form was a fickle force and when the air seemed saturated by its presence, when the very land felt threatened to collapse under the strain, it suddenly clicked in her mind what occurred. Something upset the balance, or more specifically, someone.
Only one could have such a connection to magic and only one was powerful enough to cause such a disturbance. The anchor may have been destroyed and the army gone, but the danger seemed to have increased. The dragon stood by the knight and the two looked on, one in confusion and one in concern towards the citadel at the center of the city. As intense as it was in the field, it appeared to be worse closer to the eye of the storm. They could not imagine how intense the storm was in the city and could only watch in shock as the force of the earthquake and storm began to crumble to city walls. A large section of the citadel tower broke away, exposing the stairwell inside; a stray thought flashed through Leon's mind as he hoped the debris hadn't landed on anyone.
Camelot was falling.
The screams that tore from the warlock's throat were unlike any Arthur heard in his life. It was one so full of pain and desperation, it made Arthur want to cover his ears from the harsh sound. He did not understand what happened. He had watched as Merlin squeezed the life out of Morgana, and just moments away from stepping in to stop the brutal display when the warlock's concentration was deterred away from the witch and to the empty space beside him. His eyes had widened in terror before he collapsed to the ground. Whether or not he was relieved that Merlin held back before mercilessly killing the witch, Arthur knew that something had gone wrong in that moment.
While distracted by Morgana, Merlin had curled himself into a ball, forehead pressed into the ground. His hand clenched loosely into his hair while his doubled over position crushed his limp left arms; his eyes were wide, dilated to the point that the blues of his eyes were just a sliver and the pupil dominated. Those eyes seemed to focus at a point ahead of him, what he was seeing was beyond Arthur; perhaps it was what caused his initial reaction. Whatever color managed to return to his face when they treated his injuries drained leaving behind deathly pale skin. He tightened his body further into a ball while his chest heaved, drawing in as much air possible past the screams that reverberated through his throat.
Then the screaming stopped.
His breath caught in his throat.
It was but a few seconds of calm, the calm that brought a silence that bore down heavily onto Arthur. In that moment time seemed to freeze as Merlin's body tensed and stilled, mouth still agape in his silent cries. Those eyes began to drift; panic grew as his glance swept through the room.
A slight tremble ran down his still body.
Then his eyes flared gold, brighter than it had ever achieved previously. Though the gold signified the use of magic of a sorcerer, nothing prepared the King for the shock wave that emanated from Merlin and swept through the entire cavern, throwing both him and Gwaine several feet away into the air. The knight landed dangerously close to the ledge while Arthur flew into the wall, forcing out the breath from his body and leaving him dazed on the ground. Gwaine tried to get back up, to try to make his way to the pained warlock, but barely managed a single step before the world shook from beneath his feet and caused him to crash back to the ground.
Arthur froze in fear as it felt like the entire world was collapsing around him. The walls of the cavern began to crack and crumble while the stalactites that hung from the ceiling broke away and fell the ground, splitting the stone. When the first one fell, Arthur's eye shot to the ceiling and he pushed himself off the floor and ran to the wall. Gwaine saw him move and he too ran for the King from the edge, away from the danger of falling rocks. Though the previous blow and the earthquake unsteadied them both, they managed to reach the edge of the room, in the entrance to the cavern. While not beneath the stalactites, Arthur vaguely wondered of the possibility of the hall caving in as he placed a hand against the wall to keep upright as the tremors continued.
"Arthur" Gwaine said, his voice held an edge of hysteria, "we need to do something."
"And do what?" Arthur shouted, his anger taking over to deal with the fear.
"I don't know! I don't like the way he was screaming earlier and it feels like he's going to bring roof down on us!"
"I-" Arthur stopped before he could form his thoughts. From the corner of his mind, as though waiting for this particular moment, he remembered the words of a young girl; a seer who found it important for Arthur to know of her vision.
The power that you seek is your hope; in it is Albion's salvation.
The druids called him his protector and, by extension, Camelot's as well. His compassion was unparalleled and he stood fast to his belief. He held his chin high against all dangers, not even once had he left Arthur's side in the face of danger. Not even once.
In Albion's times of need, Merlin would always be there.
However, it is not to be taken lightly. It is like a double-edged sword, when not treated with care, it can cause more harm than you can ever imagine.
Taken, imprisoned, and tortured for four months by no other than Morgana, even Arthur's strongest knights would not be able to stay sane after such an experience. The King wondered how the servant was coherent enough to speak to them, even when they treated his wounds; after so much suffering, how could he still be here fighting?
Arthur felt himself move forward, his legs taking hesitant steps as he navigated through the room. Gwaine tried to hold him back, screaming that it was too dangerous, that they needed a plan, but Arthur brushed him aside. When the knight tried to follow him, Arthur gestured for him to remain where he stood while his eyes stayed glued to the warlock at the center of the room.
Gusts of wind began to pick up and swirled around the room and the rocks that had fallen previously were airborne again, making the trek to the servant treacherous for the King. Still he moved forward, arm lifted to protect his face and crouched with legs spread wide to maintain a stable stance as to not fall from the quakes and wind.
Beware, my Lord, that when the time comes, when all is beyond control, only one thing can calm the storm.
He needed to stop the warlock, but how? In the midst of the whirlwind, Arthur did not know where his sword was and even if he did, he would rather not run his friend through with the blade. Killing his friend was not the solution, not when such an action would not only anger the druids for killing such a notable figure in the prophecy, but also instill a guilt in him that would consume him for the rest of his life. Yet only thing he had was himself and Arthur doubt he could get close to the warlock.
Or could he?
How often had Merlin and others around Arthur reminded him of the servant's loyalty? This was the man who lived in the very heart of the kingdom who would see him dead to ensure Arthur was safe. He could have left for a kingdom friendlier towards his kind, such as Nemeth, rather than suffer in silence. He had the power to fall the biggest armies and not once had he thought of aiding fellow sorcerers against the Pendragons. The one who tagged along on missions and quests, defenseless for even if he did have magic under his command, secrecy limited him; he supported Arthur at his lowest and spoke his mind when the King was at his worst. He was the most loyal of all of Camelot. Even though he was just a servant, his loyalty put those of his best knights to shame.
I'm happy to be your servant, till the day I die
He would always be there, working to his fullest in what matters most. He always complained, yet he never did. He was always clumsy and lazy, yet he worked harder than anyone did in the royal household. He mocked and insulted the King, yet spoke words of wisdom and encouraged the compassion in Arthur. He only gave the King the respect he deserved, based on his actions rather than titles. He served no other and neither wanted to serve another.
And he would never harm his King.
Even until the end of his days, even as he took his last breaths, Merlin would always be loyal.
With one final burst of strength, Arthur pushed his way through the rocks and wind, the stones scratched at his face and slammed into his body where bruises would likely form, and fell to his knees beside the warlock. Merlin had not moved an inch from where he was curled. His breathes were shallow and eyes were still gold from the magic, burning just as fiercely as before. Though Arthur never used magic in his life, he could feel the power that bled out of the warlock, feeding energy into the elements around them.
"Merlin!" Arthur called out as he rested his hand firmly on the man's shoulder. He ducked his head beside his friend and kept his back to the brunt of the rocks. The elements continued to buffet against him, but none reached the warlock next to him.
The corner of Merlin's eye twitched but otherwise he made no other reaction. Though the wind continued around him, the rocks stopped crashing into him, encouragement Arthur needed to continue.
"Damnit, Merlin, listen to me," Arthur said, louder than before as he leaned closer to Merlin's ears. It was enough to cause the servant to turn his head, neck stiff, towards the King.
Merlin's lips quivered as he said, in a soft voice, "Arthur…"
"Merlin, you need to stop this."
"I-I can't"
"Yes you can."
"N-no."
"Merl-"
"I CAN'T DO THIS ANY MORE!" Merlin screamed. The storm only intensified around them, forcing Gwaine further into the hallway and Arthur closer to Merlin. While he was no longer being pelted, the gusts of wind weren't comfortable.
Tears began to fall from his wide, golden eyes as Merlin spoke again, "I don't want to do this anymore. I can't, I just can't"
"What are you talking about?"
"I can't keep going, not like this, never like this. I'm just like her, just like Morgana. A monster."
Arthur took a sharp breath as he realized what happened.
Nothing scared Merlin, nothing but those that threaten those he loved. What more could cause such fear in the servant but the very idea that Merlin himself was dangerous? That he was a monster like all the others; it would like living nightmare for him. Should a monster or avenging sorcerer threatened the safety of Camelot they must be stopped. If he became that monster then he must accept his fate; like all the others, he must stop himself the best way he could.
Suddenly, Arthur realized just how dire this situation was.
Merlin wasn't thinking. He was lost in his own mind and horrors brought on from the effects of the torture, from the effects of that dark bracelet. Torture broke down a man, made him believe he was insignificant and left him nothing more but a sniveling mess. What happened when such an idea, combined with the deepest regrets and fears, was placed on someone such as Merlin, the most powerful warlock on the land?
Gwaine's off-handed comment was right; he was bringing down the ceiling, forcing a cave in.
He was trying to kill himself to rid the kingdom of another monster, to protect everyone as he had done in the past, even if the one he was protecting them from was himself. He was frightened, and while his magic protected him from the projectiles, out of some kind of instinctual need of self-preservation, it would be too much of a strain to save three full-grown men if the cave were to collapse. Arthur doubted Merlin would cause his and Gwaine's death; if he allowed the warlock to continue, he knew only them two would be the only one climbing from the rubble.
Arthur needed to stop this.
"No."
"W-wha-"
"I said no," Arthur said again, more firmly. "You are many things, Merlin, but a monster you are not."
"How would you know," Merlin said, bitter. His body began to rock back and forth and curled into a tighter ball as if trying to make himself as small as possible.
"I may not know everything, but I know you. You are strong and kind, clumsy and brave, idiotic and wise. You are loyal," Arthur said, his voice shook with his emotions. "Tell me, does any of that describe a monster?"
"But-" Merlin started, his eyes clenched. Suddenly the wind dropped and the rocks stilled while smaller quakes continued, as if waiting on bated breaths for their master's command. The magic saturated the air and left a heavy feeling as Arthur placed a firm hand on the servant's shoulder.
"You are an absolute idiot! Have you ever met an idiotic monster?" Arthur joked past the lump in his throat and attempted a small smile.
"How would you know? You have no idea what I have done," he shook his head violently and agitated his magic into action once more. In that second, Gwaine had attempted to approach the two but was forced back under the shelter of the hallway in irritation.
"You have done enough, so much more than anyone should ever do. We all make mistakes, whatever transgression you have done in the past were done with the best intentions, you are too kind to harm without cause," the King grabbed ahold of the servant's chin, stilling him.
"The same could be said about Morgana," Merlin jerked his head away from Arthur and disentangled his hand from his hair; he stared at his palm. "There is blood, so much blood."
"No, you're mistaken," Arthur reached for his hand and tugged it to him. He inspected it with care, before he looked up with determined eyes. "I see nothing but hope and kindness in these hands, not blood, never blood. You have done more than your duty asks of you; you protected Camelot and kept us safe from Morgana's actions. Now, it's time for you to rest."
"What about the-"
Again Arthur interrupted, "Don't worry, I can take care of everything else, the worst is over. I know you never follow my orders but follow this one: rest"
It looked as if he was about to protest but the tension drained from his body as Merlin's eyes began to droop. His right hand went lax and fell into his lap before sliding off to rest against the ground. While his body relaxed, he began to tilt over. Arthur's hand turned from comforting to support as he caught Merlin before he fully fell on his side.
The gold finally began to dim, all around the pair the wind died down, and the rocks fell to the ground. Beneath them, the tremors also halted, leaving the cavern strangely quiet. With one last flicker, Merlin's eyes returned to their normal blues and his eyelids slipped shut. Arthur pulled the servant closer to him, brushed the dark stands of hair from the warlock's brow, and watched, with relief, as Merlin's breath began to even out. Though he was still far from healthy, the King knew that he would survive once he was brought under Gaius' care.
"Thank you, friend," Arthur whispered, "for saving us again."
There were many injured, far too many, enough to occupy Hunith's time to give much needed aid to the men and women under her care. She worked for well after the battle had ended, caring for the steady stream of injured brought in by their fellow soldiers. Everyone had an injury of some sort, from harmless bruises and cuts to the more life-threatening gouges and rends. Much as she wanted to quickly finish, she knew she could not rush through proper care, not if she wanted to avoid chances of infections and unnecessary pain for her patients.
Once the flow ebbed and the healers gained a semblance of control over the situation in the infirmary, Hunith snuck from the tent and sprinted through the woods towards the city. It had been nearly an hour since Arthur had entered the tent bringing news of the events at the battlefield and city. Covered in grime, Hunith watched with a watery smile as his tired eyes softened in relief as he spotted Gwen standing in the corner of the infirmary next to a cot; no one moved to help the still figure in that cot, it was already too late to save him.
Arthur noted the tension of the Queen's shoulders and started towards her until he spotted Hunith. With slight hesitance, he turned to the village woman, grim determination set on his face when he approached her. With carefully chosen words, he told her they had found Merlin and that he had left her son safely under the care of a healer in the citadel. It took all of her self-control not to sprint from the room then. Finally free from the camp, Hunith couldn't have waited any longer to see her son.
With adrenaline rushing through her veins, Hunith did not notice the curious and wary looks shot towards her, her eyes remained firmly on the looming city ahead. She could not keep her speed for long and stumbled right at the edge of the forest, landing on her hands; fallen branches scraped her palms and slightly tore her skirt. She paid it no mind as she shot back to her feet and chose to go at a brisk walk, bordering at a jog; she wanted to get there as fast as she could without wasting time by falling every few feet.
In the city, she dodged the scurrying people clearing the debris from the street, launched herself up the castle steps, and charged down the hallway until she reached the familiar wooden doors of her old friend's chambers, where Arthur claimed to have brought Merlin to. Pulling the door open, she jerked to a stop, her eyes searching desperately for the one person she yearned to see since the knights had shown upon her doorsteps. Inside, she saw a young girl grinding herbs with a pestle and mortal, a small furrow creased between her eyebrows. At the sound of Hunith's entrance, the girl looked up, smiled, but remained wary of the woman.
"Hello?"
"Whe-"
"Hunith!" The two looked to the back room where Gwaine stood at the doorway. He had heard someone enter the chambers and wanted to be sure that it was nothing of import.
"Sir Gwaine," Hunith smiled, though strained. It did not take long for the frown to return. "Arthur told me he… where's Merlin? Where's my son?"
The girl's eyes widened while Gwaine's lips tightened into a thin line. He sighed, rubbed his face before he gestured to the room behind him. Hunith felt a lump in her throat as she climbed the steps and brushed past the knight, who stepped aside and joined Alison in the main chambers. He did not want to disturb the woman's reunion with her son.
Hunith glanced around the room, taking in the lack of clutter she usually associated to her son's living space. Rather than the precious few articles of clothing scattered haphazardly on the floor, the floorboards appeared to have been recently swept. The small cabinet set into the wall, usually with doors ajared, was firmly closed; she knew that if she were to open it, she would see the organized belongings of whomever Morgana had chosen to live in this space. It felt wrong in an odd sense, an unfamiliarity in the room that her son had called home for years.
In the center of the room, laid atop the bed with thin blankets pulled over and tucked around, was Merlin. His skin was paler than usual and his face flushed with fever. Peeking from beneath the covers, she could spot the whites of bandages that wrapped his torso and shoulders; his left arm appeared to be folded over across his chest while his right was stretched, straight, outside the sheets, by his side. By the bed, on the opposite end of the room, was an empty wooden chair, perhaps where Gwaine had chosen to keep watch over his friend.
She stumbled closer, moved around the bed, and fell into the chair; she pushed the ground with her fee, bring both her and the chair closer to the bed. Her hand, shaking, reached for her son's while her other brushed the lank locks of hair from his face. Closer, she noted the gaunt cheeks and dark bruises beneath each eye; it appeared he had lost weight he didn't have to lose in his imprisonment. She ran her fingers through his hair, watching the downward twitch of his lips and the movement of his eyes from beneath his eyelids.
With a sigh, she dropped her head, her forehead resting against Merlin. Relief filled her as she felt the rises and falls of his chest beneath, though it was short lived, seeing as the warlock wasn't in the best condition; it would be a long while before he was back at full strength. Tears leaked from her closed eyes, absorbed into the blanket as she stayed there, now with both her hands clutched at Merlin's hand as she cried. The woman sat there for the gods know how long, only that she was happy to finally have her son back.
"Mother?"
Her head shot up and found wide blues as Merlin tilted his head to the side to watch her. Disbelief filled those eyes as if he could not accept or dare to hope that what he was seeing was true. He withdrew his hand from his mother's and struggled to sit up right, his arms not quite strong enough to push himself up. Hunith tried to keep him from moving, but the desperate shake of his head made her relent and help him instead. Sitting upright, his arm rested across his lap, right hand twitched nervously while his left arm settled into a sling that wrapped around the opposite shoulder; the slight hunch of his back the only evidence the warlock gave that he was still in pain.
Merlin looked his mother up and down. His eyes took in her every features, distrust replaced the disbelief while tears pooled in his eyes. Hunith, her eyes widening at the reaction, stretched her hand out to rest it against his cheek and gave him a reassuring smile, silently telling him she was here; like instincts, she felt the need it was important for him to understand the notion.
That contact was all he needed to convince the warlock his mother was there. A smile broke across his face as the tears fell and he slumped forward. Not needing any more encouragement, Hunith wrapped her arms around her son and drew him into a tight embrace. It had been far too long since they last saw each other; time spent worrying and despairing over each other's safety. Together they sat, not needing any words to express the relief, only the comfort of each other's presence, to know they were safe.
They kept silent vigil over the fires that burned in the courtyard that morning. A funeral fit for the most noble of people, people who gave their lives for the kingdom. There were funeral pyres built for even the lowliest people; it would take a while to burn the bodies, but the respect must be paid. At one side of the courtyard stood the druids as well, heads bowed as they honored the death of their own people while on the opposite was King Arthur and Queen Guinevere. The Queen's face was stained in tears and her eyes red as she stood straight, chin held high, and watched as her brother's body was burned upon the pyre.
They had dressed their dead in the best of clothing, or at least the best they could manage; knights who had fallen were clad in the armor they wore as they braved the battle. Much like the other knights, Elyan was laid on his back on a pile of wood, straight, and with his hands wrapped around the hilt of his sword. His cape, the crimson of the Pendragon colors and crest stitched on the front, was arranged around him with care. The knight's face was peaceful, with a small smile across his face for he died knowing he had protected his sister. When the pyre was lit, Gwen's tears only fell down harder while Arthur's own glistened.
He thought back to when he had found Gwen after the battle, relieved from his fears to see her alive and safe. He remembered rushing into the tents, searching for his wife as he was surrounded with the mournful cries of the dead's families and friends that accompanied the screams of pain. It was a while after the last of the skirmishes and still the men were bringing in the dead. They did not comment to their King when he stood in the middle of it all, but merely pointed to the direction in which he could find his Queen. Arthur strode to that direction, his heart clenched as all around him he could hear his people's pain. No matter who won, war always led to this, and while they were able to reclaim Camelot, the King felt as if he had still lost in the end.
Arthur remembered when he found Gwen, still covered in the grime and blood from her own battle as she held tightly onto her brother's hand. As he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, she turned and buried her head into Arthur's shoulders, and her silent tears turned into sobs. The King wrapped both his arms around Gwen, drawing her close, and buried his face into her hair as he allowed the day's events wash over him.
He felt incredibly tired at that time, especially after he emerged from the cavern, Merlin held between him and Gwaine again, and swamped by the people who had finally left their rooms. Nobles and servants alike cried out in relief and joy at seeing their king and receiving the news that Morgana had finally been driven out from Camelot. They knew that there was much to do, damages to fix, from Morgana's reign but they wanted to celebrate their newfound freedom. Arthur smiled and nodded to each one and refused one of the servants who offered to take Merlin from him. Arthur wanted to make sure himself that the unconscious warlock was safe in his own room.
He pushed his way through the crowds, issuing orders to commence the rebuilding of the city before he made his way to Gaius' chambers. There he found Alison who gasped at the state Merlin was in and rushed to the servant side where Arthur and Gwaine and laid him on the cot. She took over immediately, checking the wounds that had reopened while also inspecting his shoulders, all the while Gwaine stood by and watched over her. The knight's eyes assured Arthur that he would keep Merlin safe as Alison worked over him. He wondered how Hunith reacted to seeing her son so injured for the first time after she had gone to see the servant.
Then, after checking on Guinevere, he continued the painful process pulling the kingdom together post-battle. They continued to collect the dead, burning the bodies of the enemy while taking the injured, friend or foe, to the tents. After meeting with the other two Kings, it was decided to maintain the infirmary at the camp due to its proximity to the field and the people too injured to be safely transported; many of the women and children travelled between the campsite and city to bring sufficient medication to the wounded. Leon and those who came out of the fight relatively unscathed kept those of Morgana's army under watch; the sorcerers, however, proved to be a different matter altogether.
Many were uncomfortable with the druids' presence but did not comment in part for the help but also because they were the only ones capable of keeping Morgana's loyal sorcerers under lock and key. They managed to capture most of them and those who had never wanted to serve Morgana stood by to help, nervous of the distrustful eyes casted upon them. They did not want to fight and in fact seemed to want to aid those they had harmed as a means of redemption. At the head of their group was the sorcerer who had protected the Queen.
When Arthur met the man, he gave the odd sorcerer his gratitude, causing the sorcerer, who introduced himself as Aubrey, to fidget awkwardly. The man appeared uncomfortable around him, perhaps due to his status or connection to Uther. Somewhat eased with the knowledge that the one leading the group had saved Guinevere, the King decided to let them be for now. They had other matters to worry about and as long as the sorcerers kept the peace, Arthur didn't mind letting them be for now. Instead, he could focus on the other prisoners and the damages to the kingdom, not to mention the rest of funerals in the coming days.
People began to leave the courtyard, having paid their respects and gratitude to the men who gave their lives so that they may live free once more. In the end, there were only two groups left standing in the courtyard, the royal family and the druids. The druids were silent with their heads bowed as they mourned their chieftain and the six others who died in battle, including Samuel who succumbed to his wounds hours after the chimeras were killed.
Together they stood; equal in the loss they had suffered.
Arthur hesitated; his fist hovered over the door to the physician's chambers. He had not seen Merlin since the cavern a few days before since he was swept away in the politics that followed in the wake of battle. It was not until hours ago when he watched King Rodor and King Lot leave to their respective kingdoms with their men, holding promises to return for celebrations and the rewriting of treaties.
The King gave a sigh before he allowed his fist to knock swiftly against the door followed by him stepping inside. From the doorway, Arthur took in the room. Aithne, who Arthur gave her own chambers in the citadel close to Gaius' so that she may properly learn medicine and healing arts from said physician, worked a pestle and mortar under the old man's watchful gaze. At the sound of the lock, Gaius turned his attention from his new apprentice to the King.
"Sire?"
"Sorry to bother you, is…"
"He's in his room, with Hunith," Gaius smiled and gestured with his head to the door.
"Thank you Gaius."
Arthur strode across to Merlin's room. Again, he faced hesitation but didn't allow it to stop him this time, not when Gaius and Alison could see his uncertainty. He entered the room and beheld the sight of the two people inside.
Merlin lay in the bed, still pale, the bruises beneath his lidded eyes were darker from his past sleepless nights. Arthur heard how the man suffered nightmares; it was not uncommon for him to be found tossing and turning in bed, aggravating his wounds that caused him to wake. Bandages still wrapped around the worse of the injuries that magic could not easily remedy, particularly the carved dragon. The rest of his exposed flesh was marred with the pink skin of newly healed gashes and the mottled colors of fading bruises. The plethora of wounds served only to remind the King of the trials Merlin faced during the past months.
Seated beside him with a hand resting lightly on the warlock's forearm and head on his shoulder was Hunith; her other hand caressed the side of his head, with fingers running through his hair. With the amount of wounded men who needed Gaius' care, the physician reluctantly treated them over Merlin, comforted that Hunith and Alison could handle it with occasionally asking the physician for help. Some druids, under Arthur's request, visited the unconscious warlock and began mending the man's shoulders. While the joints had not reached full recovery, the King was glad that his servant would eventually regain the use of his arms.
The first day, the fever burned hotter and many feared he would not survive the night. Hunith gave him a concoction of caraway and honey with water for the fever while Gaius inspected the infected flesh of Merlin's chest. While Gaius prepared a salve of yarrow, Alison cleaned the wound, her small hands careful as she wiped the grit off with a rag boiled in water. Once applied, Gaius left aside the container of the salve for the women to use while he was at the infirmary. Together the pair worked, cleaning, treating, and dressing the other injuries that covered the warlock's body. They forced fed him broth to provide the body with much needed nutrients while washing it down with water to keep the man hydrated. They watched over as the warlock drifted in and out of consciousness along with a few others, such as Gwaine who never failed to visit at least once a day.
"Sire," Hunith greeted as she began to stand up. Her smile was tired and worry-lines etched into her face, though not as prominent as it was before the battle. Arthur gestured for her to remain seated, not wanting to disturb the two, but the woman had other plans. "I was about to go and get some food for him, would you like to stay here while I go?"
"Of course," Arthur said, giving a nod of thanks as the woman left the room. He vaguely wondered if she knew he wanted to speak to Merlin alone. The King tuned to the now empty seat and sat himself in it. He rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, as he watched the manservant. He did not know how long he sat there lost in his thoughts until a soft voice broke through.
"Arthur."
The King focused on Merlin's face whose tired eyes stared back. His voice was still hoarse from abuse and his eyes half lidded for he was still shaking the sleep from his eyes. His right hand twitched from where it laid closest to Arthur.
"Merlin," Arthur whispered back. They sat in companionable silence, neither wanting to broach the painful topics; however, after a while, Arthur knew there was no point in delaying the inevitable. He sighed and continued. "We need to talk."
"I know," Merlin looked away, pausing briefly at the corner of the room before turning fully to the small window set in the wall by his cabinet.
"How are you doing?"
"I'm fine-"
"Don't lie."
A flash of irritation, "I'm coping."
"If you need any… one to talk to…" Arthur began, fidgeting in discomfort in such tentative comments. However, Merlin chuckled and stopped Arthur from finishing with a slight shake of his head.
"That sounds like something girly! If I needed someone to talk to, I'll just go to Gwen. You're too prattish to be much help."
"You're too much of an idiot to treat your King with the proper respect," Arthur laughed as well before his face darkened and he grew somber. "Were you every going to tell me?"
"Eventually," Merlin responded quietly.
"When?"
"I," he paused, "I wanted to wait for the perfect opportunity when you were more forgiving towards magic."
Arthur snorted, "So you chose in a middle of a battle?"
"What other choice did I have? We needed get you out of there and there was no time to cower in the shadows and hope you didn't notice."
Arthur looked down, "Will you tell me now?"
"Tell you what, that I have magic? That I'm a sorcerer?" Merlin laughed again. "You already know."
"No, not that. Will you tell me all that you have done since coming to Camelot?"
Merlin sober up instantly his eyes became distant as he allowed himself to be lost in memories, "I have done much since I began to serve you, it will take some time."
Arthur unclasped his hands and crossed his arms across his chest as he leaned back in the chair and gave his servant a no nonsense look, "I have time."
"There is a lot I am not proud of."
"We all make mistakes in our lives, you are no different"
Merlin sighed and he turned his head back to the King. His blue eyes found Arthur's, "Very well, Sire."
Thus, Merlin started, his progress slow going as to not strain his still recovering voice. He began speaking of when he first entered Camelot, the execution he saw on his first day followed by saving Gaius from his fall off the balcony. He told Arthur how he really saved him at the feast and all the other times he saved him then after and of the nights he snuck to seek advice from the dragon. The warlock spoke of saving Uther and the kingdom when vengeful sorcerers contested for power and vengeance. He named each and every one he stopped, including the likes of Nimueh and Morgause and even spoke of his regret over Morgana's change of heart, how he pushed her away in fear. He talked of the deals he made and the consequences of each; the times when he and Morgana battled each other in secrecy and when the first druid called him by Emrys. For every triumph he told, he confessed his regrets and failures.
During all of it, Arthur sat and listened. He did not interrupt nor move but absorbed each piece of information with equal intensity. He made not a single comment, though various emotions sparked in his eyes at certain revelations. The King was not known for his patience but at that moment, he kept quiet and just listened. When the warlock finished, his voice hoarse from speaking too long, Arthur wasn't sure how to respond.
He was at lost as to what to say so he said the only thing he knew that mattered, "Thank you."
"W-what?" Merlin stuttered.
"I said thank you," Arthur said, his eyes honest, "for everything."
Merlin shook his head again, "I don't deserve it."
"Yes, you do," Arthur disagreed, "and much more."
"I've killed hundreds of people."
"And you saved thousands more twice over," Arthur snapped, silencing Merlin. "You once told me I must learn to listen and so you must as well. None of it was your fault; you only tried the best you could do with what you had."
"I could have done more, I could hav-"
"Stop," Arthur said, exasperated, "None of what happened before and now was your fault."
"I just- I can't- I-I," Merlin stuttered as tears began to well up in his eyes and he finally said, "I just so very, very tired, Arthur. I feel like I can't take it anymore."
Arthur's heart clenched as his friend repeated the same words he spoke in the cave. With hesitation, unsure on how the warlock would take his gesture and uncomfortable for he was not accustomed to consoling anyone, the King reached out and pulled Merlin up into a sitting position. From there he crushed the man into his shoulder. For a second the servant tensed, unsure on how to respond until he released the tension and leaned into the embrace. Beneath his hands, Arthur felt Merlin shudder as he dissolved into sobs.
As the tears soaked through his tunic, Arthur hated the helplessness he felt as the man he viewed to be one of the strongest and bravest man broke down before him.
AN: This chapter was a beast of a chapter o,O I tried to finish last night but I reached about halfway when I realized I was just too tired to continue :/ Oh well. Next chapter will be the last chapter, which is so weird thinking this is almost completed o,O A few have been asking me about a sequel so I'll say this: I will go more into any future plans I have on writing in the AN of the next chapter, including whether or not there'll be a sequel to Loyal. I don't want to promise anything yet until I got my ideas/plans organized.
Lastchapter will be by May 29th.
To everyone who reviewed/favorited/alerted so far, I know I said it a million times but even a million more times wouldn't be enough, thank you for the continuing support! We are nearing the end and it truly has been one heck of an experience ^^
As always, reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated ^^