A Once and Future Destiny

by wryter501

Arthur stood as if frozen in time, as if the ceiling had dropped down, or he'd been hit over the head with a … tree branch, or… "Don't you know who I am?" he blurted. "Don't you remember me?" Merlin concluded shortly, "Nope." If Destiny has returned the once and future court of Camelot to the world, what does it mean that Merlin doesn't - or won't - remember them?

6. The Sorcerer's Shadows

Here's where my "T" rating comes in, for descriptions of past horrors. Not so bad as some, but bad enough…

Chapter – The Sorcerer's Shadows

Gaius started the morning coffee brewing, while Arthur slouched on a bar stool across the counter, cradling his aching head in his hands.

His pain wasn't due to the discomfort of spending the night on Gaius' couch in the next room – actually, the beige-upholstered furniture was surprisingly comfortable. His pain was not due, either, to the small amount of alcohol imbibed at the pool hall.

It was due, entirely, to the aftermath of the pleasantly boisterous evening.

The coffee-maker bubbled and puffed softly, filling the kitchen nook of the townhouse with a rich aroma, warm as the morning sun streaming through the window. A white Scottie dog jumped up on the second bar stool beside Arthur, nametag jingling against it's collar. It eyed Arthur – Arthur eyed it back momentarily, before closing his eyes.

Against the black backdrop of his eyelids, his mind played the bizarre scenes from memory. Percival atop the overturned car, yanking the door open – upwards – and reaching in to help the driver, the sole occupant. Gwen and Kathryn clinging to each other in shock, Leon pacing, on the cell phone with an emergency response team. Gwaine hoisting Merlin up from the pavement with gentle care.

Arthur had ducked under Merlin's other arm, helped Gwaine support the limp form of their friend to the back seat of his own Mustang, arrange him for a comfort he could not feel.

Lights flashed, red and blue. The EMTs and the officers made their rounds, asking questions. No one was hurt, not even the driver. No one had actually seen the car flip, though no one questioned the curb as the agent of displacement. No one had seen the second car except Arthur, who couldn't give a very clear description of it.

Except for the car on its side, the whole scene was rather mundane, from the official point of view.

Afterwards, Percival and Kathryn had gone home. Leon had taken both Gwaine and Gwen – who protested that she wanted to accompany Arthur and Merlin, still unconscious on the back seat of the Mustang.

"What about your parents?" Arthur had reminded her. "If you don't get home tonight, what are they going to think? They'll worry. And your father will never let me take you out again."

Gwen did laugh, didn't even smile. She was worried about Merlin – they all were. But she went with Leon without further argument.

The drive from Fast Eddie's to Old Town Commons was exquisitely torturous. Merlin was completely motionless, completely silent. Arthur drove with the dome light on, and several times stopped to turn all the way around, check his friend's pulse and breathing.

Gaius' eyebrows had climbed upon finding the two of them on his doorstep at 3 in the morning, Merlin draped over Arthur's shoulder. "What happened?" the old physician demanded, with equal parts worry and resignation. Arthur described the whole scene to Gaius, as they carried Merlin upstairs, removed his shoes and jeans so he could rest in t-shirt and boxers. He left nothing out, but it wasn't quite the same story as he'd told the officers. "You think he used magic?" Gaius asked, thumbing first one, then the other of Merlin's eyelids open.

"I – didn't actually see," Arthur said. "But yes – I think so."

Gaius held Merlin's wrist for a moment, laid his hand on his grandson's chest. "For now, I think he should just rest," the physician finally concluded.

Merlin stirred, briefly. His face turned to them, and his mouth dropped open as he moaned. His eyelids fluttered. "Arthur?" he whispered hoarsely.

"I'm here, Merlin, you're all right," Arthur said.

Gaius had a better understanding of Merlin's concern. "Arthur is just fine, Merlin," he reassured his grandson, leaning over him tenderly. "You rest now. You're both safe."

"I don't want to do this," Merlin whispered, his eyes falling shut once more. "I can't do this again." There was silence for the space of an indrawn breath, then Merlin whispered his grandfather's name – not "Gaius", not "Gus", either, but a word slurred somewhere in the middle.

Gaius had motioned for Arthur to follow him and leave Merlin's room. He had paused at the doorway, glanced back in the light from the hall, at his friend's lanky sprawled limbs, untidy room – so familiar it had made his throat ache.

He found it still ached, this morning.

"Gaius, do you suppose," he began, without raising his head, "would it be – kinder, to leave him without his memories?"

Gaius sighed. "Coffee, Arthur," he said, and Arthur raised his head to accept the mug pushed under his face, fragrant steamy tendrils brushing his nose.

"Kinder – I couldn't say. But possible? I have my doubts – you will need him. I'm afraid Destiny has never been kind to Merlin," Gaius said. "Will the addition of memories from his first life in Camelot be hard for him to bear – yes, and rightly so. He saw much and endured much that I would have spared him if I could have. But he entered his destiny willingly. He could have chosen at any point to leave Camelot – to leave you –" Gaius stopped, frowning at a memory.

Arthur said, "Tell me."

"Well, once – and only once, very early on in your service, I should add – he did intend to leave… with a girl."

That woke Arthur more swiftly than the coffee. Merlin – with a girl? "What happened?"

"She was killed," Gaius said simply. "He never stopped loving her, but – he remained in Camelot, by your side."

That explained, Arthur thought, Merlin's seeming obliviousness to the opposite gender. Loved and lost. "But this time…" he encouraged Gaius to continue.

"You know as well as I do, sire, that there are many many good memories that wait in his subconscious mind. Times of laughter and triumph, victory and light-heartedness and hope. If our Merlin never regains those memories, I believe some part of him will miss them and mourn them. Much of his pain stems from the suppression of those memories and his magic, also, I suspect. He will never feel whole, in acceptance of who he is and what he can do, without the joining of those two lives."

It was Arthur's turn to sigh. "I'd bear that burden for him, if I could."

Gaius' look was sympathetic. "I know you would, sire. And my hope is that good friends who already know and accept who he is and what he is, will make the difference." The old man took his mug in one hand, beckoned to the former king with the other. "Bearing that in mind, there is something I must show you, Arthur."

Arthur followed to the living-room – desk on one wall, couch, coffee table, armchair in the corner, tv mounted on a bookshelf against the widest wall. Gaius indicated the blue folder on the coffee table, lowering himself into the armchair.

"Do you recall the police report for the night of – the murder?" Gaius said, and Arthur nodded, remembering that the victims were Gaius' daughter and grandson. "The emergency call center received twenty-two calls from the apartment in the space of five minutes, and fifteen more in as many minutes following, even to the point of multiple lines in use at once – though no words were spoken," Gaius said. "They found Merlin unconscious but unharmed in his bedroom – he didn't wake for another two days."

"You think that was him, calling for help?" Arthur said. "His magic?"

Gaius nodded towards the folder. "I've correlated the hospital records to the dates of his transferring from one foster home to the next. Occasionally – though not always – an injury would result in the transfer."

Arthur picked up the file, began to page through. "You mean he was abused?" he said, horrified.

"At least once," Gaius said carefully, "though none of the accidents were simply – accidents. The interesting thing is, I could find no reports that Merlin ever was blamed for any injuries to others."

"And the once?" A page fell open, and Arthur gasped. The photo showed a smaller, skinnier Merlin, recognizable by his jutting bones and mop of black hair, welts and contusions marring the white skin of his back and legs – one mark even requiring stitches. The picture was from behind, Merlin's face unseen. Arthur wondered wrathfully what expression the boy had worn, that day.

Gaius said, in the clinically detached way he sometimes spoke of Merlin's hurt, "A belt, my lord."

The next page showed the bottom outside of a boy's leg, patches of blisters and raw open flesh crawling upwards from ankle to knee. Gaius leaned forward. "The family claimed Merlin had set the fire on purpose," he said only. "Another transfer."

"What else?" Arthur said, dropping the file on the coffee table and settling back on the couch, leaning his head against the back.

"Toes broken in a runaway lawn tractor accident," Gaius said. "Wrist broken in an altercation at school – he said he fell, but at least one anonymous call made to the school office claimed he was pushed. Each time he was moved on to another family. I think – I am afraid – well, let me put it this way. An ordinary family taking in a boy like Merlin – extraordinary in a way only we can begin to comprehend – but troubled with nightmares and random – occurrences, for want of a better term – even the shoplifting and vandalism charges, well, it's not quite fair to expect them to cope, do you see what I mean? Ordinary foster parents wouldn't understand what was happening, wouldn't be able to help and guide him, wouldn't even believe him when he claimed innocence."

Maybe, but – a belt?

"He was moved, and moved again," Gaius said sadly. "Shunned and ridiculed, I imagine, though that must be the least of it…is it any wonder, really, that he has done his best to rid himself of the magic, to deny the dreams?" He pushed himself up abruptly, and returned to the kitchen.

Over the noise of Gaius shuffling and opening cupboards, Arthur didn't notice any other noises, until the bottom step creaked, and Merlin's voice said, sleepy and confused, "Dr. Gus?"

"In here, my boy," Gaius called from the kitchen. Arthur watched as Merlin – still in the black winged-skull t-shirt, and green plaid pajama pants – rubbed his eyes with his fists like a child, and shuffled into the kitchen. "How do you feel?"

"Tired." If Arthur closed his eyes, subtracted the coffee smell and added a warm-tea scent of dried herbs, he could almost imagine it was 1500 years ago, in Gaius' familiar chambers. "Have you eaten?" Merlin added.

"No, but – you don't have to –"

A pots-and-pans clatter interrupted the old man. "I don't mind," Merlin said. Arthur heard the refrigerator open and shut, the cracking of eggshells, the sizzle of breakfast frying in a pan.

Arthur stood and wandered to the doorway of the room, watched Merlin's hands – black nail polish and studded leather wrist-band – deftly scrambling eggs, while Gaius hovered, still worried about his health.

"Do you remember what happened last night?" Gaius asked.

Merlin swung around, reaching for the vertical handle of the refrigerator. His eyes connected with Arthur's – surprise, wariness, acceptance – and he bent to retrieve a carafe of orange juice.

"Did I get in a fight?" Merlin said.

"Why do you ask?" Gaius said blankly. Merlin gestured to a faint purple bruising on the side of his face, one cheekbone. In his mind's eye, Arthur watched Merlin tumble face-down in the parking lot.

"Do you get in fights often?" Arthur said, genuinely curious. The Merlin he remembered had avoided conflict like – well, like the plague, he supposed. The ten-inch tv set next to the microwave behind Merlin popped on to show a scrawny cartoon boy scrambling through a dark wood, chased by a gaunt cartoon wolf.

Merlin shrugged, hunching his shoulders as he stirred the cooking breakfast. "Whenever I can't avoid it." The radio next to the coffeepot whispered of static. The scrawny cartoon boy fell through a roof, and a blue-robed old man coughed in the dust, saying, So you did drop in for tea after all. Arthur met Gaius' eyes, and one eyebrow rose above the black frame of the old man's glasses.

To hide his uncontainable grin, Arthur sauntered back toward the couch, idly running his eyes over the titles printed on the spines of Gaius' books, the collection of stones and pottery and photographs of dusty villages and sharp-edged cities. The tv on the bookshelf behind him blinked into life, and he was distinctly aware of – and amused by – the cartoon that came on. Two lion cubs were singing and dancing, being chased by a grouchy, squawking bird. Oh, I just can't wait to be king…

Geez, Merlin, tell me how you really feel.

Merlin came in from the kitchen, plate extended to Arthur. "Your breakfast, my lord," he said caustically, shoving napkin-wrapped silverware into Arthur's other hand.

The fluffy yellow eggs were speckled with green flecks of parsley, striped with melting cheese. Everybody look left, everybody look right, everywhere you look I'm standing in the spotlight… Merlin had never served such an appetizing breakfast, with so sour a face – Arthur thought he rather preferred a dry crust of bread and a wizened apple, with a cheerful "rise and shine"!

"This looks great, Merlin, thanks," Arthur said, preparing to seat himself at the couch. No one says do this, no one says be there, no one says stop that, no one says see here! The Scottie jumped up on the arm of the furniture, and Merlin fondled its soft ears absently, the dog leaning into the caress as if it was expected.

"You know this is a Hamlet story, right?" Merlin murmured, loitering at the other end of the couch. Arthur looked up in surprise. "Evil uncle kills king, takes over – young prince must decide whether or not to stand up to evil uncle…" His blue eyes looked lost and far away.

Arthur thought of another murdered king, another treacherous uncle, another young prince, and shivered.

"What the hell is that," Merlin said. Confused, Arthur glanced up, to see Merlin's eyes focused on the open file on the coffee table – printed photos of the belt marks, the burned leg.

The television screen flickered, changed to a night scene of a cityscape, burning. The caption at the bottom read October 30 – Devil's Night. Merlin came around the couch, reached as if to take the file, then snatched his hand away. His eyes met Arthurs guilt-filled ones with a flash of fury and – betrayal.

"What the f-"

"I've poured orange juice for the both of you," Gaius interrupted unwittingly, coming from the kitchen. "Merlin –"

Merlin wasn't distracted long. His eyes returned to Arthur, blazing. "You think it's funny, do you?" he spat. "Both of you?" His grandfather was now included. "When did my life become your business?" On-screen, a blood-covered woman screamed and struggled to breathe. The white Scottie jumped down from the arm of the couch and high-tailed it up the stairs and out of sight.

Gaius held up both hands to placate his grandson – holding juice glasses, the gesture was ineffective. "Merlin – it's not what you think."

"You can say Marvin," he hissed, crossing his arms over his chest and tucking his hands under his arms. The old man jerked back as though his grandson had slapped his face. Merlin turned his attention back to Arthur, for once struck silent. The dark bruise stood out, startling on his pale skin.

How did this morning go to hell so fast?

"Bit of light reading, huh?" His former servant said sarcastically. "A coffee table folio? Go on, then – tell me your favorite part." Behind him, a dark-haired man crawled from wet earth in a graveyard, screaming in the agony and confusion of rebirth.

Arthur stood. 1500 years ago he'd have grabbed his friend and held on no matter what, and Merlin would have felt the comfort. But this young man still looked at him as a stranger. His hands dangled heavily at his sides. "Merlin, I'm just trying –"

"Was it the hours spent locked in the shed on the back of the Anderson's eight-acre property in all kinds of weather? – 'Oh, I want to watch Wife Swap.' " He mimicked a high lady's voice. "'We can't have that kid around the remote never works when he's in the room.' Or was it the one after that - 'Our electric bill has tripled since he moved in – make him tell you what he does! Make him stop it! Well, use your belt if he won't talk!' "

The radio static fuzzed even louder. The printer on the desk whirred to life, beeping and blinking, and began churning out blank sheets of paper.

"Marvin, please calm down," Gaius called, setting down the juice on the edge of the kitchen counter.

" 'No, officer, that fire was all his fault – we won't keep a kid who's a fire-starter!' " Merlin was pacing, two steps right and two steps left, his eyes downward but unfocused. Beyond him, the television showed a massive explosion, a cop running down the street, a half-naked man stumbling barefoot and chilled and lost and alone. "Or how about – 'Teacher's pet, aren't you – break all the computers in the lab just so you can fix them again – well, fix this!' " Merlin shoved his hands in front of him as though pushing someone – and the middle shelf of books tumbled from their place. He didn't appear to notice. Red-hued flashbacks of a murder blinked on the screen.

A little voice in Arthur's head said, it better be good for him to get this all out. A lot of hurt and anger, all bottled up – this release damn well better do some good.

"No." Merlin stopped suddenly, pointed at Arthur as if making some great discovery. "I bet your favorite part was reading about this." He snapped the wristband off, displaying three jagged scars on the inside of his wrist, one long enough to show below the band, two others crossed to follow the length of a vein, instead of slicing across the network of blood vessels. Arthur dimly recalled reading that the difference between the two directions showed the intention of the attempt – a cry for help or a serious no-turning-back vein opening.

Did each line represent a separate occasion when his friend had tried to end his life? Flicker – flicker – the half-naked man watched as cuts on his hands from a broken window healed themselves, sealed themselves shut.

Merlin watched his reaction, and smiled, an empty, hollow, skeletal smile. Arthur could see that deep darkness that Gaius had mentioned before, and it was staggering to view.

"No? Still not the best part? Could it possibly be the eighteen months of psychiatric treatment, this drug, then this drug, then this drug – the freak of Adams Middle School. The zombie."

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly, trying to salvage the situation. "I just want to help. I just want to be your –"

"Do not say 'friend' to me!" Merlin roared. Tears shone brightly in sea-blue eyes. "This is not what friends do!" The file on the table burst into flames, and Arthur stumbled back, not because of the proximity of danger, but from shock.

"Marvin!" Gaius cried, and Merlin rounded on him, as more than one smoke detector began to shriek a warning.

"And you – I trusted you!" His voice was hoarse. "Why did you tell him, why did you show him? I have had fourteen 'new starts' shot to hell, and guess what?" Tears spilled down Merlin's face. He took a deep breath, and the flames disappeared, leaving the air smoky and the file a charred mess. "There goes number fifteen." He stalked toward the glass sliding door that led to the backyard, furiously scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of both hands – not looking where he was going, not slowing – on the television screen, the dark-haired man punched a mirror, shards fragmenting everywhere.

"Merlin – the glass!" Arthur shouted over the wail of the smoke alarm, reaching out a hand as if he could physically pull his friend back from across the room.

Merlin flicked one hand into the air as if tossing a small object lightly aside – and stepped right through a slider-sized gap of thin air. He picked up speed as he crossed the back lawn, and vaulted over the back fence.

Arthur persuaded his feet to move, and approached the sliding glass door – he put his hand on the full-size window, solid and cool.

"Did he –" the smoke alarms cut out with a choked squawk. "Did he just walk right through this?" Arthur demanded of Gaius, slapping his palm against the glass.

"Damn, damn, damn," Gaius said. "As if I haven't done enough to him already."

Arthur turned as Gaius eased himself down into the armchair. The room was silent but for the cartoon in the kitchen – no radio static, no printer chugging away living room television black and dead. Come on, came from the kitchen, we're packing to leave…books come first… Not knowing what else to do, Arthur began to pick up the books.

"I – don't know what to say," he finally broke the silence. "Was it true about the – medication? In middle school?"

Gaius propped his chin on one hand. "The Jones family," he said. "I believe that was their response to his dreams."

Arthur winced, imagining doctors – adults, psychiatrists, telling Merlin the child calmly and earnestly that he was not the Merlin of the legends. Over, and over, and over… with who knows what kind of drugs in his system. Probably attributing it to the trauma he'd experienced when his family died. Probably telling him with just as much certainty that there was no such thing as magic. "And after?" he said, replacing the last book and beginning to collect the scattered papers.

Gaius heaved a sigh. "People don't believe in magic anymore," he said. "Fifteen hundred years ago, people hated and feared it – but at least they didn't deny its existence. I should have been there for him, I should have taken him and taught him – but I didn't even know it was him!"

"Gaius," Arthur said, returning to the couch, "if we get started talking about what should have been done for Merlin, I'm sure my list would be much longer than yours."

They both stared in silence at the blackened pages of the file – charred fragments of paper, all the information destroyed. If only, Arthur thought, it were so easy to remove the effects of those events from Merlin's life.

"Will he be okay?" Arthur asked. "He wasn't even wearing shoes."

"He'll be back," Gaius said with weary confidence, and Arthur shot him a hopeful look. The old man grimaced in response. "His computer is here."

"Should I stay?" Arthur asked. "At least, if he comes back to get his things and leave for good, I could –"

"Could you stop him?" Gaius questioned with a rueful chuckle. "I daresay none of us could stop him leaving. If that's what he decides to do."

"So we tried to take one step forward, and ended up sliding three steps back," Arthur said. "Why, dammit? I don't understand. Here we all are – except Elyan, except Lancelot – what good does it do for him to return, and then die so young? Was the purpose of his life only to help Percival remember?"

"Not only, sire," Gaius said softly. "He must have saved many lives during his active-duty service. Once again sacrificing himself so that others might live."

"But – Merlin?" Arthur questioned.

The tv from the kitchen spoke into the brief pause, I'm a germ… a rare disease – and you caught me!

Gaius clasped his hands together. "I told you before, Merlin's character in Camelot had much to do with his mother's influence – the generosity that needed no return, the unconditional love, even that willingness to sacrifice himself for something he believed in. You would have given your life for the betterment of your kingdom – every day Merlin gave his life for the betterment of his king."

"I know," Arthur said. "I know he did, but I didn't thank him til it was almost too late. I teased and I mocked and I –" he laughed bitterly. "I rewarded him with extra chores!"

"This time," Gaius said hesitantly, as though trying to express a thought that had only just occurred to him, "this time, the two of you are on more equal footing. He believes nothing of Destiny. You cannot count on his loyalty to keep the two sides of the coin together – you will have to do that."

Damn it all, Arthur thought, I may have just thrown away my chance.

"This time," Gaius continued, "as we have just seen, he is more ready to let his hurt and anger show, instead of hiding it away. He is – less naïve. He has seen the darkness there can be in this world. It maybe be, that he is more prepared to handle whatever Destiny has in store for you. It may be that he has traded some of his tenderness and sensitivity for a tougher skin – and it may actually help him, in the end."

"What now? He's going to hate me, just for seeing that." Arthur gestured to the burned file. "How am I supposed to gain his trust and confidence – remind him of who he is, who we were? He probably won't even talk to me."

"I don't know, sire," Gaius said. "You'll have to try, that's all I can say."

Music ghosted from the tv in the kitchen as the cartoon ended. This boy is our king… Hail King Arthur!

But, Arthur thought, Merlin hadn't been blown to Bermuda when the sword was pulled from the stone. He was at my back. As he always was.

He thought of how Merlin had spoken to his grandfather when he thought they were alone in the house. "I won't stay," Arthur said. "Just – let me know when he comes home, and if he's okay."

"I will do so, sire," Gaius said, and rose to usher Arthur to the door.

He turned back a moment, one foot on the porch and one on the threshold. "I wonder," he said. "Merlin, and Gwen, and I are all new to Camelot, but the only thing new at Camelot is this DoD contract. Percival came as a military liaison, and Gwaine was hired as extra security because of the project."

"You think the drones may have something to do with the reason we all returned?" Gaius said.

Arthur looked at the old man, surprised. "You know about the drones?" he said.

Gaius gave him a stern look. "Confidentiality," he said. "If it becomes important for you to know, your highness, rest assured I will tell you. But know this much – the laboratory is also involved."

"It's the one thing that seems to be in common," Arthur said.

"It bears consideration," Gaius agreed. "And – Arthur. Don't despair. He saved your life last night, after all."

Just wish he remembered doing it, Arthur thought. And I will return the favor. Somehow. "I hoped Merlin's back in time for whatever's coming at us," Arthur said.

"Indeed."

A/N: Couple disclaimers – Merlin does not belong to me, or anyone else I know.

Also, this fic is not meant to show foster care in a bad light. I'm almost 80% sure I'm going to be a foster parent someday. However, I do believe Merlin, because of the dreams of being Merlin, and because of the magic that wants so badly to come out, would have had a rough time. I don't want this read as though every family was abusive, just ignorant, and some of the injuries were, in fact, accidental. So hopefully no one finds this chapter offensive.