A/N: you won't even read this bit. I bet you all just wanna see what happened to Merlin. So onwards! :)
Title: Portents and Prophecies
Author: FlYiNgPiGlEtS
Summary: is it too late, or can Arthur save Merlin?
Ratings: T
Characters: Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, the knights and Gaius. Also a few OCs.
Pairings: no slash. Gwen/Arthur.
Spoilers: Set between series 4 and 5.
Warnings: blood. Not as much as the last chapter, though.
Disclaimer: unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.
VI: Portents and Prophecies: Part V
His grief manifested into anger, and his anger into motivation. Nothing could stop him. Nothing would stop him. The guards were smart enough to move out of his way, despite their own efforts to capture and kill the escaped prisoner, and soon he found himself in the cells.
Arthur knew Lord Lucius had escaped, but something was drawing him into the deep depths of the palace. It was the same kind of buzz he felt when Merlin had performed magic, the overwhelming feeling of power bubbling over like boiling water, dangerous yet useful all at once. Whether Lucius was there or not – and he had a feeling he was – Arthur needed to find out what was going on.
A thin veil of smoke swirled around Arthur's knees as he proceeded cautiously into the cells, Excalibur raised at the ready. The feeble, fading cloud wasn't natural and, as the air around him became clearer, he soon saw the full extent of the damage to the cells, presumably also a result of magic.
Each and every cell had been torn apart, the bars mangled and doors hanging off squeaking hinges. Thankfully, Lucius had been the only prisoner because, had there been anymore, they would have all escaped. The damage was extensive and would be expensive to repair, but Arthur would worry about that when he found Lucius – and killed him, like he had done to Merlin.
Merlin. His stomach turned and his heart clenched, pounding painfully against his ribcage. For a moment, he couldn't breath, couldn't think. All he could see was Merlin's blood and all he could feel was the warlock's tiny, breakable body in his arms.
Then, yet again, fury replaced his sorrow and he pushed forward, shaking with anticipation rather than shock now. He had killed Merlin's murderer once, and would again; he would not rest until Lucius was dead
Reaching the gloomiest depths of the cells, the parts that Arthur reserved for his worst, most despicable prisoners, he prepared himself for whatever he would find. The strange, magic-fueled feeing multiplied, reaching an uncomfortable crescendo as he rounded the corner.
What he saw made it rather clear he hadn't prepared enough.
Lucius was writhing on the floor, nails scraping against the stone floor and mouth open in a silent scream, a small, almost inaudible whistle of a cry sliding past the gaps in his yellow teeth. His black eyeballs rolled uncontrollably, as though searching for a restless firefly in the shadows of the cell. It would have been disturbing, if Arthur didn't believe he deserved to be in such agony.
The inflictor of Lucius' pain was what shocked Arthur the most. Edgar stood over his master, hands outstretched and eyes glowing gold. The expression on his face was one of disgusting pleasure and intense anger. Though Edgar seemed to enjoy torturing Lucius, the hateful words he spat at the warlord overshadowed most of the sadistic glee on the servant's contorted face.
"P-please!" Lucius managed to hiss, voice choked as though someone was strangling him. "I didn't know it was him! I didn't know!"
Edgar curled his fingers jestingly and a loud scream ripped from Lucius' throat. "Save your breath. You're going to need it."
"What… what are you going... to d-do to m-me?" Lucius wheezed.
"You'll see." One of Edgar's hands clenched into a fist and Lucius' hands shot to his throat, face turning bright red and then fading to blue. The servant stretched his fingers back out just as Lucius turned purple, and the warlord gasped desperately for air. "Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise now, would we?"
"Help!" Lucius screamed. "Help me!"
"Do you really think anyone will help you?" Edgar sneered. "After you murder one of their own? Not even the druids would take you now."
"I didn't know he was Emrys!"
"Shut your mouth, or I will do it for you!" Edgar bellowed, so loudly and ferociously even Arthur recoiled. It was not the way he was used to hearing anyone talk, let alone someone who, a few moments ago, Arthur would have sworn was just a servant.
Lucius was chanting, "I'm sorry" over and over again between anguished cries, but Edgar was focused on Arthur now, a strange kind of smile twisting his features into something that made the king decidedly uneasy. Arthur couldn't tell how long Edgar had known he was there.
"Arthur," Edgar said slowly, drawing out the word in a curious, calculating manor. He had not used titles, an informality that he managed to make sound wholly, deliberately disrespectful. "How lovely of you to join us."
"He never escaped," Arthur whispered, almost to himself.
Edgar shrugged. "No; that was a decoy, so I could punish him myself. Though I sense you've come for the same purpose."
Arthur said nothing, but based on the telling way Edgar was looking at him, he knew he didn't need to.
"The Once and Future King, avenging Emrys. Oh, how poetical," Edgar murmured merrily, a dark twinkle in his eyes, which had now returned to their normal color, a brown so close to black that Arthur couldn't see his pupils.
Again, Arthur didn't reply.
Edgar stepped away from Lucius, hand sweeping over the warlord's convulsing body. "If you would do the honors."
Gripping Excalibur tightly, Arthur took a cautious step forward. Lucius let out another small cry, hands reaching out towards the king, fingers crawling across the stone as if to grab his ankles. For a moment, all Arthur saw was the warlord's sadistic grin as he twisted the knife in Merlin's gut. He heard the crunch before he even realized he'd slammed his boot down onto Lucius' wrist. There was another long, drawn-out scream as Arthur dug his heel into the broken appendage.
Then he raised Excalibur above his head.
"Take caution, young king," Edgar said, and Arthur froze. "For the Prophets do not lie – your blade can slay even those who are immortal, but it will not save you. The task will be passed on to another."
Arthur plunged the sword through Lucius' chest. This time, he knew the warlord would not rise again.
The warning bells continued to clang nosily. Sounds of pounding feet echoed through the cells. There were shouts from above and orders were given but not followed. It was pandemonium in the palace, yet deep within the murky cells, an unsettling calm had fallen over Arthur and Edgar as they stared at Lucius' body.
Arthur had expected to feel some kind of relief – for the pain in his chest to lessen slightly, for the tightness to fade. But as his anger dissipated, his grief returned in a fresh, painful rush. He swallowed hard against the scraping, burning pain in his throat and took deep, shaking breaths. It was all he could do not to collapse. Suddenly, he was exhausted, his body sagging tiredly, objecting to even the slightest movements. But that didn't matter, not really. There was nowhere to go. Without Merlin, he there was nowhere he wanted to go.
It had been unrealistic, to hope killing Merlin's murderer would bring him any kind of comfort or closure; even more so to hope that it would bring Merlin back. There was nothing he could do; there had never been. Excalibur was too heavy in his hand, but nothing compared to the weight of his heart. Merlin was gone, and Arthur wished he was too.
His mind ran wild. There was nothing to distract him, no dark corner he could recede into this time. Arthur was almost relieved when Edgar spoke, voice low and even. "Take me to him."
The king's eyes opened, then widened. "What?"
"Merlin," Edgar said, as though the name was foreign to him, like he had meant to say something else. "Take me to him."
Excalibur stopped shaking in Arthur's hand. His knuckles begun to turn white. "You're a sorcerer."
"A warlock, like your servant," Edgar snapped. "And you will take me to him."
"Why?"
Arthur thought his heart was going to explode when Edgar hissed, "So I can save him."
The warning bells had stopped ringing now. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Arthur didn't dare breath, didn't dare hope.
"Would you stop me?" Edgar asked, finally. "Let him die, because of your foolish hatred of magic?"
"He's already dead."
"I can save him."
Arthur shook his head. "No. No, it's impossible. You can't-"
"I can save him."
Arthur simply stared at Edgar, searching for the telltale signs of a lie, of misguidance or betrayal, but finding nothing but determination and an odd, compelling look on the servant's face. Yet Arthur still hesitated. Not because he didn't want to save Merlin – no, he wanted that more than he remembered wanting anything – but because Arthur knew Edgar would use magic. If he allowed it, then he would have to make the same exception for everyone. How could magic be illegal, when he himself would have used it? Arthur didn't know if he was ready, if Camelot was ready, to welcome sorcery again.
But it was Merlin. His friend. And sometimes, for your friends, you have to do what's right and damn the consequences.
With one last glance at Lucius' body, Arthur sheathed Excalibur and turned to leave. "Follow me," he called over his shoulder, finding his own determination and will once more.
Though, in his grief, Arthur had earlier buried himself into a state almost catatonic, some part of his brain must have been taking in what had happened, because he knew exactly where Merlin's body was.
As he lead Edgar through the winding staircases of the palace, towards Gaius' quarters, his mind dangerously void of any other thought than save Merlin, Arthur begun to remember more of what had happened that night. Guinevere had cried, silently and softly, when she realized it was too late. She had spoken so quietly, so caringly, when she asked him to let go of Merlin. There had been no more begging, not from her. But Arthur knew someone had been sobbing pleas, over and over again, unreachable, inconsolable. It took him a moment to realize it had been him, as he clung to Merlin's body and rocked back and forth, begging him not to go. The knights had dragged him away in the end, when no one could get through to him verbally, and Arthur had still been crying when Gwaine carried Merlin out of the room. Someone had held him close, murmuring hushed condolences, though he didn't know if it had been Gwen or Gaius, or both. When he returned from Gaius' quarters, Gwaine had yelled and lashed out, until his knuckles bleed from pounding the wall and he had sat on the floor, sobbing quietly into his hands. Gwaine hadn't been the only knight crying.
Arthur was startled when he found himself staring at the door to Gaius' quarters. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn't even realized they'd arrived. Taking a deep, shaking breath through his nose, he reached out to open it – and froze. Inside, he knew what he would find, and he didn't know if he could look at… just thinking about it made him feel sick, and he found some of his earlier ambition washing away with the threatening tears behind his closed eyelids.
But he had to bear it. Edgar was going to save Merlin. Then this hellish nightmare would be over.
When he opened his eyes again, the door was swinging open without so much as a prod and Edgar's eyes were glowing gold. Shooting Arthur a dark grin, he paced determinedly inside. Arthur followed, heart pounding, but was barely two steps inside when he stopped again.
Merlin had been laid carefully on the patient bed, in new, familiar clothes, a blanket covering most of his body, but not his slack face. He was horribly pale and still, and Arthur wanted to turn and run, but he couldn't look away.
Edgar's smile had faltered, twisting into a look of pure, uncensored anger, and Arthur suddenly wanted to leave for a completely different reason. There was no doubt in the king's mind that Edgar was not only powerful, but could take him apart in one blow if need be, and without any physical weapon. It was baffling and terrifying all at once.
"Ready, Pendragon?" Edgar asked.
Arthur swallowed and nodded.
Carefully pulling the blanket away from Merlin's body, Edgar held out one of his hands so it was positioned directly over where the wound must have been and begun muttering odd words, in a foreign tongue Arthur didn't recognize. His eyes flashed gold, flaring menacingly, and Arthur held his breath.
At first, nothing happened. The room was quiet, save for Edgar's whispered enchantment, and nothing changed. There was no spectacular resurrection, no shift in consciousness; Arthur didn't know what he had expected, but it certainly wasn't the hideous emptiness that seemed to fill the room.
Then it happened, so quickly Arthur thought perhaps this time someone had accelerated time, rather than slowed it. Merlin jerked visibly on the bed and choked on a sudden, liberating breath. Already, color had begun returning to his face, his pale cheeks flushing an almost-unhealthy shade of pink, and there was no mistaking the rise and fall of his chest. Merlin was alive.
Arthur had been so fixated on Merlin that he didn't see Edgar raise his left hand, palm pointed directly at him. Thin tendrils of the cackling smog Edgar had conjured in the cells encircled his legs, bringing him swiftly to his knees. He looked up, wide-eyed, at Edgar as the warlock took a step towards him, golden eyes narrowed into slits and a smirk twisting his lips.
"What are you doing?" Arthur gasped. The smoke was wrapping itself around his neck and chest, tightening around his lungs.
"A life must be taken in order to restore one," Edgar explained. "Though I was thinking of taking another – the drunken knight's, perhaps, or the physician – this is far more convenient. What's the saying? Killing two birds with one stone?"
Shadows were creeping conspicuously across the sides of Arthur's vision. His veins felt as though they had been set on fire, as though the smoke was coming from inside of him. The fog had wrapped itself so tightly around his throat that nothing could get in or out of his lungs. Absently, he realized he was lying on the floor, the flagstones uncomfortably cold against his cheek, but his consciousness – and life – was already starting to fade.
"How easy it was, to bring about your downfall, Arthur Pendragon," Edgar cooed. "Any last words?"
Arthur could no longer see anything, his vision clouded completely by darkness, and let his eyelids fall closed. In his last moments, he thought of Guinevere, of her sweet smile, and of what he was dying for – Merlin. Merlin, his closest, dearest friend. Arthur didn't think of the betrayal he had felt when finding out his trusted manservant had magic. He didn't think about all the secrets Merlin had never told him. Instead, he thought of the friend and advisor he had treasured all of these years, of the first time they met and every moment in between. Of the insults and arguments, the jokes and laughter, of finally realizing Merlin was never at the tavern. He had saved Arthur every time before, but now it was Arthur's turn to save him. And Arthur didn't think of what he was going to leave behind – he just thought about how glad he was that Merlin was going to live in his place.
Then, through the eerie silence of the in-between place Arthur had slipped into, ripped a yell so strong and sorrowful that he forced himself to cling to the land of the living for just a moment longer.
"No!" Merlin screamed.
Edgar's spell wavered and Arthur gulped air into his lungs as though he would never get the chance to again – for all he knew, he wouldn't.
"Emrys," Arthur heard Edgar say and, through the thin cracks between his drooped eyelids, he saw the warlock step towards another blurred figure with a mop of raven hair and a wonderfully familiar red neckerchief. "Do not be foolish. This is our destiny."
"My destiny is with Arthur," Merlin replied, his voice never wavering in its certainty. "And it always will be."
"Think of what we could do together, untied. We would be unstoppable."
Merlin shook his head ruefully. "I am loyal to Arthur."
"You are loyal to a king who despises magic, who would have those who posses it executed out of hatred and fear. Your king is a coward and a tyrant," Edgar spat. "And his crown belongs to me. Together, Emrys, we can restore magic to Albion. You would be free – free to use your talents as they should be used; free from the prejudices the Pendragon dynasty has cast upon us. Is that not what you want?"
Arthur forced his eyes open when the silence dragged on for too long. His eyes wobbled to Merlin's thin figure, searching his face for the answer that had not yet come. The look of conflict on his friend's face shattered his already-broken heart.
Merlin's eyes glistened with yearnings Arthur could not begin to understand, bubbling underneath the surface. There was so much pain in those blue pools, a burden the king knew he had bore alone, and Arthur found himself wondering how he had ever overlooked it. He wanted to stand up and go to his friend, to apologize and promise him that he would never have to hide again, but his limbs refused to cooperate.
But Merlin was looking at him, with wide eyes that told Arthur he understood. And then the determination and surety returned to his eyes, and Arthur realized that he would always have Merlin's loyalty, no matter what.
"That is what I want," Merlin said levelly. "But I cannot let you kill him."
Merlin raised his hand. Sorrow and determination molded his expression into a mask of both power and fragility, but he didn't hesitate. The blue of his irises melted into gold and Edgar fell to his knees.
"The Pendragon is no friend of yours," Edgar hissed. "Let me kill him, Emrys!"
Merlin looked away briefly and shook his head.
"You will die if his life is not taken!" Edgar cried.
Softly, between the words of his enchantment, Merlin whispered, "Not if I take yours."
There was a brilliant flash of light, and Arthur had to close his eyes. He thought, briefly, whether Merlin had struck Edgar down with lightening, before a gentle feeling of warmth nudged him into an almost-thoughtless state of consciousness. Waves of magic rippled through his body, cooling the effects of Edgar's spell, healing his broken wrist and even the week-old bruise he had obtained while training. He had never felt so relaxed, his whole body void of pain or exhaustion, an exhilarating feeling of weightlessness coursing madly through his veins. He was half tempted to lie there forever, bathing in the sweet feeling of rejuvenation, but then he remembered Merlin.
Arthur scrambled to his feet and instantly searched the room. By his feet lay Edgar, very much dead, but Arthur was more focused on the other warlock in the room. Merlin was looking at him with an expression that was happy and sad, fearful but sure. For a moment, they stayed like that, too stunned or scared to move, and then Merlin toppled forwards as though his legs could no longer hold him.
Scrambling forward, Arthur managed to catch him just in time. He lowered his friend carefully to the floor, fear grasping at his churning stomach, and begun searching rather irrationally for some kind of injury he may have obtained, until Merlin began to sob. Before he even realized what he was doing, Arthur pulled him into a hug.
"I'm sorry," Merlin chocked against his chest, hands balling around the king's shirt.
"Me too," Arthur whispered, arms tightening around him. "Me too."
"The p-prophecy, Arthur. I… I had to. He was going to kill you. He was going to-"
Arthur closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the top of Merlin's head. "I know."
"He was going to kill you. I couldn't let him do it. I couldn't…. I had to…"
"It's over now, Merlin. Lucius is gone."
"It's over?" Merlin croaked, sounding so small, so young.
Arthur nodded, and Merlin begun to sob harder. The king was crying too, but he paid little attention to the tears dripping down his cheeks. "It's all right," he soothed, over and over again, until his friend's sobs turned to whimpers, and his whimpers to deep, shaking breaths. "It's all right."
Sometime later, when the knights found them, Merlin was asleep and Arthur was still holding onto him. They had helped both men into bed just as the sun begun to rise, and cried their own tears of relief.
For the majority next two weeks, Merlin slept. While Gaius reassured him that it was normal – Merlin was still recovering from his ordeal; Edgar may have healed the wound, but he had not completely replenished the blood he lost – Arthur couldn't help but worry, and was at the physician's quarters everyday.
During his time there, Gaius told him some of the basic things he needed to know about Merlin's magic. Arthur quickly found out Merlin had been born with magic, making him a warlock, not just a sorcerer. It was rare, but not unheard of, to be born with such powers – although none had come close to being as powerful as Merlin, Arthur was also rather shocked to discover – and quickly realized his father was wrong. It wasn't magic that corrupted; it was the power that came with it. But Merlin had a good soul and a kind heart. Arthur believed with all his being that Merlin wasn't evil, and wouldn't be tainted by his abilities.
Gaius also explained Lucius' apparent immortality. Arthur soon knew all about Edgar's tattooed enchantments and why he hadn't been able to kill him the first time. Excalibur, forged in dragon's (dragons – now that was something Arthur would defiantly be talking to Merlin about) breath, was the only weapon that could slay the immortal; the replica had had little effect on Lucius, because it was an ordinary blade.
And then there was the prophecy. Gaius told him that one night, around two months ago, Merlin had woke up shouting and sweating. It had taken his mentor a while to get through to him and when he had, Merlin told him about his dream, in which Lucius killed Arthur. It would have fulfilled itself, had Merlin not managed to slow time, a task Gaius originally thought was impossible. Now, with Lucius and Edgar gone, it was no longer valid. Merlin had changed destiny.
Arthur was well and truly in awe of his friend.
When he wasn't watching over Merlin, he was dealing with Lucius' men, who had been unaware of the warlord's plans. Some agreed to stay in Camelot and join the royal guard, but most chose to leave.
With them out of the way, Arthur finally got the chance to discuss Merlin's magic with Guinevere. They had talked for hours about how magic had affected them in the past, how it had influenced them both positively and negatively, and came to the conclusion that perhaps their prejudices had been wrong. They had managed to contact a few sorcerers still living in secret within Camelot, and talk with them. Soon, they had decided it was time to renew the laws on magic.
The Knights of the Round Table had been mostly accepting, but the Council were most defiantly not. Most of them had been advisors to Uther, and supported his prosecution of magic, but Arthur told them that he would be reviewing the ban on magic. It would take time, and the repeal would not be imminent, but he warned them that change was coming. And when it was, Merlin wasn't going to be a servant anymore. He would be one of them.
Arthur was still hurt. The betrayal still lingered. He wished Merlin had told him, yet understood why he hadn't. They had both told lies, and Arthur knew that now was the time to right them.
So, when Merlin was finally up and about, Arthur was the first one to visit him.
Merlin was sitting at the table, bowl of untouched soup placed on the table in front of him, and Arthur took a seat directly across from the warlock. For a while, they sat in silence, both struggling for words.
Arthur spoke first. "I'm glad you're all right, Merlin."
"You are?" Merlin blinked.
"Of course I am," Arthur said with a loud, patronizing huff, as if to say what do you take me for? He added a quiet, fond "Idiot" a few heartbeats later.
"So you're not going to have me executed?"
"No!" Arthur cried. "Wha-Merlin!"
Merlin ducked his head in shame.
"I'm not going to execute you, Merlin," Arthur said quietly. "But I am… angry. And hurt. And… I don't know how I feel. But I know I don't want to lose you again."
"I'm sorry."
Arthur chuckled softly. "You should be. All these years…"
"I'm sorry," Merlin echoed.
Silence followed. Then, Arthur said, "There's a lot to discuss."
"I have all afternoon."
The king smiled brilliantly. "Me too."
The tips of Merlin's lips turned upwards in reply. "Where should we start?"
"Dragons."
Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Dragons?"
Arthur nodded. "Dragons."
And so Merlin told him about dragons, and then about Morgana, and then about Uther, and everyone - Freya, Balinor, Lancelot - else. Merlin told him everything. They talked all through the day and all through the night, and when the sun rose the next day, Arthur felt like the truly knew Merlin.
Change was coming, and Arthur knew it would be for the better.
The End
Told you to bear with me! Reviews always welcome, and if any of you have any prompts, I'd love to hear them. Just PM me or drop a review :)