Chapter 18: Homecoming and Hope
Midday, and the sun blazed overhead, the canopy of trees serving for shade, but also to trap the heat away from a strong clearing wind. Midsummer, so perspiration dampened skin and clothing; Arthur plucked his shirt away from cut on his chest, which had begun to itch beneath the bandage Merlin had placed.
The garment had been sewn by Guinevere the night before, and cleaned by a spell from Merlin, who'd ducked his head in an ineffectual attempt to hide the grin that sparked at Arthur's suspicious glance – giving him all the answer he needed. Yes, Merlin had done this sort of thing before, too.
Arthur raked his fingers through hair dampened with sweat as well, and stopped at the edge of the clearing, as Camelot came into view. A half-remembered dream-image invaded his consciousness – sunlight and safety and prosperity, the white-stoned citadel peaceful as he trod a ripe wheatfield – he smiled and turned to see his companions.
Guinevere on her white mare. Gwaine on the second, but dismounting in preparation to disappear soon into the countryside from which he was banned. Merlin laying his cloak aside – he'd been carrying it as unnecessary for warmth or concealment – to bend over Morgana, checking her once more in the improvised pallet drawn by Arthur's horse. Elyan reached to take the lead of the brown gelding from Arthur so he could mount Morgana's unneeded horse, and ride into Camelot as a prince should. At the end of the train so he could keep an eye on the unconscious girl he failed to protect – though it seemed that had transpired years ago.
Even with that memory of guilt and sorrow – a spur, perhaps, to do better and try harder in the future, for the people he was responsible for – this, was what made the vision a dream, rather than a nightmare.
True friends and generous loyalty. Not only because they liked him – though he rather thought they did; he knew it was a feeling reciprocated - but because they believed in him. Which actually meant more, in the long run.
Arthur released his reins to Elyan, and took a few steps forward into the clearing. The skin of his chest, bruised and tight-feeling this morning, pulled a bit unpleasantly as he lifted his hands to his hips, contemplating his home, his imminent return.
The report to the king. Bearing his father's grief and censure. Telling a lie that would protect both Uther and Morgana. And he appreciated the difficulty of Merlin's position, so many years.
Guinevere would retreat into her role of proper servant – hands busy with work and eyes downcast so they wouldn't meet his and send sparks of joy along his veins which maybe he wouldn't be able to contain, one of these times, and be caught by someone else, lighting rumors that might catch and spread.
Merlin would be gone too. Arthur supposed he himself was as guilty as Gaius, now, supporting protecting aiding a fugitive. Again, a sympathetic pang for one who'd spent years facing the fact that what was right, was also illegal.
"This is goodbye, then," Merlin spoke just behind and beside him, and he twisted slightly to see the younger man gazing at the view of Camelot. Somewhat wistfully, then Merlin's lips quirked. "Again."
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Merlin watched Arthur step away from the rest, out into the clearing. Hands on his hips, gazing up at the magnificent structure of white stone that he called home.
He didn't need magic to know what Arthur was thinking. For a time Arthur had been able to leave thoughts of the kingdom behind, enter a simpler if more dangerous world of open and personal threat. Decisions made swiftly and instinctively.
This was a process Merlin had watched half a hundred times over the years, since he'd learned the prince well enough to understand. He'd seen Arthur. Seen the traits the prince hid or denied, the characteristics he focused on - to be the heir his father required, the kingdom accepted. Watched the behavior that was chosen appropriate. He'd also been given the rare privilege of seeing the role stripped away, like tournament armor or ceremonial finery – down to a single layer of fine cloth or even further to bare soul.
By now, he could see Arthur re-assuming the mantle of authority, internally.
Merlin felt the same, on occasion. It was very few with whom he was able to set aside the magic and just be Merlin. Very few who even knew he had magic, to set aside. Very few with whom Arthur could set aside the prince, and just be Arthur.
Destiny be damned, Merlin would die for the man, the prince, the friend he'd seen, any day. He'd live for him, too.
To prolong the moment further – or to silently offer a promise that more such moments were possible, in the future – Merlin stepped to Arthur's side.
"This is goodbye, then," he said, gazing at the towers of the citadel – below it the lower town – that he'd come to claim as home, also. But, a bit of a joke to lighten his prince's spirits – "Again."
Arthur grunted. "Never really said goodbye the first time."
Merlin shrugged. "You never really needed to."
"I didn't know that, did I?" Slightly petulant, more typically Arthur – resentful of things beyond his control. An inherited instinct, but he was nowhere near as bad as his father. Arthur sighed and dropped his hands. "Where will you go?"
"In case you need us, you can send a message?" Merlin teased, and watched Arthur struggle with the inclination to deny needing help with the obvious truth; though it might make him seem less of a king, it made him more of a man. "Here and there," Merlin added, taking a bit of pity on his friend. "If I tell you, that's one more treasonous secret you'll have to keep."
Arthur's brows drew together at the reminder, a thundercloud with gold lining like sunrise. "There's an abandoned castle," he said. "An hour southwest of Camelot. It's in ruins, but still habitable. It would afford you shelter, at least, and protection."
"From bandits, or patrolling knights?" Merlin said lightly.
Arthur fought the smile. "Both."
"And you'll be able to find us if you need us." Exhilaration filled Merlin's chest – Arthur wasn't going to try to insist he leave, for any reason. He hadn't expected to be able to return to Camelot openly – and maybe not for years – but it was nice that he didn't have to go against Arthur's wishes, to stay.
The prince punched his shoulder; his impudent tone probably deserved it. "Gaius is an old man, with obvious loyalties to you. He doesn't need to be risking himself meeting you – how often was it? – and if rumors start and spread –"
"Gwaine and I are very careful," Merlin protested.
"Be more careful," Arthur ordered. "I won't involve Guinevere, but perhaps Elyan would be willing to… liaise." Merlin couldn't help chuckling at Arthur's choice of term, coloring the reality legal. "Wear that cloak," Arthur added. "I don't care if its summer and looks odd, better for folks to see an odd stranger than – you. Or even start talking, they've seen a ghost."
"I know, and I have been," Merlin protested.
"Is that why you don't wear your neckerchiefs anymore," Arthur said, starting walking again, to cross the clearing in a slow saunter.
Merlin gave him a look of vexation. "I miss those," he said. "Do you know how handy they are for a dozen reasons? My neck is cold –"
"You're sweating, Merlin," Arthur pointed out with a smirk.
"But they're too distinctive," he finished with a sigh. "It's the last thing I want, too – knights investigating rumors. I don't care to be chased like a deer on one of your hunts."
Arthur made a noncommittal noise and glanced back at the rest, lagging a bit as they crossed the clearing, probably to give the two of them some semblance of privacy; Merlin appreciated that. Especially from Gwaine.
"Will you tell me something?" the prince said, facing forward again.
"If I can." Merlin cringed as the careless response earned him a sharper glance.
"There are things we need to talk about," Arthur said, in his imperious I'm-the-master-you're-not voice. "Things I need to know, things I want you to explain. Stories to tell, Merlin. But… another day. This should be fairly simple…" A pause, as though Arthur wanted to add a joke about how simple Merlin was – and realized he couldn't, really. Not anymore – jokes, maybe, but not about simplicity. "In the wood, two days ago. When we'd stopped to camp, and I came looking for you."
Almost his heart had stopped. Merlin hadn't put much effort into avoiding notice, following them – it wasn't a patrol he was shadowing, alert and intently studying all surroundings for signs of bandits and thieves, attack and ambush. He'd forgotten how much more observant Arthur could be than the average knight. And maybe there was a bit of subconscious hope that Arthur would notice him, after all.
"Why did you hesitate?" Arthur continued softly. "You thought I would hate you? That I would be angry enough to… what were you afraid of?"
His reaction, Merlin remembered, had felt very much like when Sir Arrok had first accused him. Sorcery, sire. And the knights' blades extended, each ready and authorized to take his life. And that anger blazing in Arthur's eyes – Is it true.
He would be pinioned, helpless. Each lie like one of Aerldan's pins driven into his flesh, so the truth would be plain to see, emerging red and relentless. Faults and triumphs, misunderstandings and falsehoods. And Arthur would see him, flayed and vulnerable and with nothing left to hide behind - then turn away in scorn and disgust.
Merlin had lost so much already. Lately, even a part of his body, albeit a very small part. What was he afraid of? Losing Arthur – the man, the friend, not the prince. Their destiny might lie together, but he wasn't sure he wanted to be needed by someone who didn't want him.
"I lied to you," he whispered.
"I told you I understood that," Arthur said. "Everyone lies – I've lied."
"No, but…" Merlin stopped walking, to face Arthur, who stopped as well. The others continued past them – with a curious glance from Gwaine. "I thought, you wouldn't trust me anymore. I thought…" I thought I'd look in your eyes and see every secret, forever separating us.
And that moment in the castle when Morgause hinted at his part in Morgana's rejection of Camelot, he couldn't remember if Gaius had said, he'd explained that to Arthur already, or not. He'd glanced involuntarily to see if the prince was shocked or enraged, forgetting for a moment that his eyes would betray the gold of magic sustained. And Arthur's expression had been completely closed, as he dealt with the question at hand, the two women, and their escape.
Now that they were approaching Camelot, and everything that would mean to the prince, Merlin couldn't help wondering if Arthur had changed his mind. Re-evaluated the reaction to finding Merlin alive. Even, to finding them all alive and victorious, last night.
"Can I ask you a question?" he blurted, hoping he was still dealing with Arthur, not The Prince. I decide when we talk, Merlin, I ask the questions.
"Can I stop you?" A corner of Arthur's mouth quirked slightly; it was a good sign, and Merlin plunged on.
"In the castle yesterday, with Morgause –" and oh, hells, he'd taunted her about dragonfire, was that what Arthur meant when he threatened further conversation? "And… my magic." And what a crazy thing to come out of his mouth to Arthur. My magic. Yet it felt inexplicably natural. "What were you thinking?"
Four steps they took in Arthur's silence. Five, six.
"You used a shield," the prince said. Almost, it was a question.
"Yes." Merlin's tone echoed Arthur's.
"Six months ago, when you were caught, you disarmed the bandit. Yesterday you did the same with Cenred's men. And you walled them in, so we could escape."
"Yes?" Merlin squinted at Arthur's profile. What was he getting at?
"Was that you, when Leon and I left Ealdor, the wall of fire?" Merlin stopped; so did Arthur, but he didn't turn to look at him, kept his gaze on the rest of the party ten paces ahead of them. "Separating us from our enemies, allowing our escape. And the patrols. You as well?"
"I have done." Merlin hesitated to claim specific credit.
"I have seen magic used as a weapon," Arthur said, and now he was watching Merlin from the corner of his eye. "To attack, to kill. All my life, and I can't remember any other kind. Are you capable of such magic?"
Oh, hells. This also, he'd feared. Arthur deciding to be wary of him – or perhaps thinking of where Merlin might fit in his armory?
"I have done," he repeated. His mouth was dry.
Arthur cocked his head to study Merlin. "You prefer the defense," he said. "You were happy using magic to make that frame and erase our tracks and – clean my damn shirt."
And start the fire, Merlin didn't say. "Yes?"
The smile would not be denied, even as Arthur snorted gently. Merlin flinched – just slightly – as the prince took a firm grip of his shoulder. "You lied, and you hid from me," he said. "Your ability, your potential. But when I looked you in the eye –" as he was doing now; Merlin shivered in spite of the heat of the summer day – "when I asked, you told me the truth. You trusted me, finally, with your truth and your secrets. With your magic. I know what it cost you – shut up, Merlin, just listen – and I want you to know I value that. It won't always be easy – for you, for me, right now, in the future –"
"I wouldn't know what to do with easy," Merlin said lightly. "Neither would you."
Arthur made a grimace of agreement.
"Patrol," Gwaine said, passing Elyan on Arthur's horse to bring the second white mare for Arthur to ride. He glanced down reflexively at Morgana on the traveling-frame before coming to them. "Arthur. Good to fight with you again. Don't go on any quests without me, yeah?"
He shook back his hair, grinning, and clasped the prince's hand as he passed over the mare's reins, before retreating back into the trees to wait for Merlin, just on the edge of sight. They had a few more minutes, though, the patrol would not see them behind the three horses, would not have any reason to follow or suspect when he turned away.
"And that's what I have to deal with every day," Merlin sighed, grinning up at Gwen, beside Elyan on her white mare, but turned in the saddle to look at them.
"I'm so sorry for you," Arthur drawled, only half-serious.
Merlin bumped his shoulder. "You were worse."
Over Arthur's sputtered mock-outrage, Gwen said, "He's been good for you, Merlin. You've been good for each other, I think."
He went around beside her horse and she bent down to hug him around his shoulders. He patted her back. "Keep him on his toes for me," he murmured, and didn't have to say the name of who he meant.
She chuckled, smiling. "Knowing you're alive will make all the difference," she predicted. "Merlin, I know it isn't safe for you to come into the lower town, but if you ever need anything –"
"Anything," Elyan echoed, with a fond warning glance at his sister. "I'll bring it to you."
Merlin nodded, and Gwen added, "Maybe, if I help Gaius out, gathering herbs and plants he needs…"
"Of course," Merlin said, warming on the inside at the thought of occasionally sharing the duty – and the gossip, likely as not. He turned to Arthur, who hadn't yet mounted. "I'll be around," he promised. Knowing that Arthur knew – even better, that he accepted – made every privation worth it. The hope of it always had, after all, hadn't it?
"I better not see you," Arthur said, lightly teasing.
He held out his hand; Merlin cringed at the thought of the prince's firm grip around the hand with two fingers broken six weeks ago – healed, but still sensitive. So instead – greatly daring – he held out his arms and moved closer. And Arthur allowed him the more personal salute – even, closed his arms around Merlin. However briefly.
"Not unless you come for me," Merlin said.
"Til then," Arthur told him, turning and mounting the mare, as Merlin stepped back.
The prince gathered his reins, looking past Gwen and Elyan prompting their own mounts into forward movement again, and the first red cloaks of the patrol flickered into view through the trees as the prince followed the siblings. They were fifteen paces away when Merlin heard Gwen say over her shoulder to Arthur, "It's Leon."
Arthur turned a moment later – and a wry grin broke out when he saw Merlin still watching.
Merlin leaned into the trunk of a tree so his figure would draw no attention, and watched his three companions meet the patrol and absorb into them to return to Camelot with the injured Lady Morgana. Arthur lingered a moment, and Merlin recognized Sir Leon as the leader of the patrol; he wondered if Arthur would tell him the made-up story, or the truth.
Over Arthur's shoulder, Leon looked up suddenly – right at Merlin. And he thought, Leon knows. He'd recognized Merlin.
Merlin gave the knight a tentative, half-apologetic wave. Leon – moving like a man in a dream – lifted his hand to return the gesture. He could ask Arthur, or he could simply believe whatever allowed him to sleep best at night – a ghost who forgave, or an ally who lived.
Gwaine moved up beside Merlin to sling one arm over his shoulders. "I heard Arthur recommending new quarters for us," he said conversationally. "D'you want to take a wander that direction, check out these ruins?"
Merlin watched a moment more as the riders disappeared into the trees. Til next time. He turned his head to meet Gwaine's rakish grin.
The other man added contemplatively, "Always fancied living in a castle."
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Gaius murmured as he poked at the cut on Arthur's chest. Rubbed the residue of the paste Merlin had applied between his fingers, sniffed it, hummed in approbation.
"It was properly done," Arthur said, half-question and half-statement, and not entirely referring to his wound.
He'd given the old physician a short version of the truth upon their arrival. After Sir Leon and Sir Brenner had gently deposited Morgana in her current resting place; the rough frame was discarded in a long low bundle on the far side of the bed awaiting disposal. Now Arthur, shirtless and half-sitting on a corner of Gaius' worktable, watched over the old man's stooped shoulder to the girl occupying the patient's bed. And the girl who sat beside her. There was nothing for Guinevere to do, save squeeze drops of water past Morgana's lips - mostly to give her something to do, not because the patient needed it.
"He is improving," Gaius allowed, not having to say the name any more than Arthur did. They hadn't yet addressed the issue of you knew; it wasn't the time for it. And Arthur found it wasn't that important, after all. "There is no sign of infection, I advise you to leave this open for a while. I'm sure you want to make yourself comfortable after your trip, sire, but…" He retreated a step, turning toward the patient's bed, and Arthur understood.
He might not have the time. He swallowed, his throat feeling dry and tight, though the decision was made and he stood by it still; though it had been more than a day he and Guinevere had to adjust to the possibility – the inevitability, they were now told – it still wasn't easy.
Arthur sighed, as the physician shuffled back to the bedside, putting a hand on Guinevere's shoulder. She glanced up, then they both surveyed Morgana; and he saw, in a flash of rightness, how things would change. Gwen's mistress would need her no longer, but Gaius would. It was like matching Elyan to the forge – worker to need.
And she would go to the forest, harvesting for the physician's needs like he'd heard her suggest to their friend. And maybe a hooded figure would materialize to contribute or accompany… and maybe Arthur himself might happen upon either, on a casual ride.
His whimsical thought was interrupted when the door slammed into the wall and the space was filled with the person of the king. Black-clad, his twin pendants swinging on his chest indicative of his swift trip to these chambers. Pale, his gray hair the slightest bit disheveled, as though he'd run his fingers through it unaware.
"Gaius!" he exclaimed. "I just received word – it's true then, Morgana was injured on her journey?" He strode into the room – completely oblivious to Arthur, quiet in the corner adjacent to the door.
Guinevere was on her feet, hands folded, head down – but eyes alert. A quick jerk of the king's head was order enough; she curtsied to Uther, glanced at Gaius as she passed – sent her heart in a single look at Arthur as she left the chamber, closing the door quietly behind her. Uther sank to the chair the maid had just vacated, leaning over Morgana to gather her hand in his and search her face.
"What happened, Gaius?" he said, and Arthur had never heard his father so quietly devastated. His heart pinched on the lie.
"She fell, my lord, and struck her head on a stone," Gaius said, a calm and supportive presence at the head of the patient's cot. "I understand she's been unconscious ever since."
"Can nothing be done for her?" the king demanded.
"This is beyond my power to heal," Gaius admitted. "You must prepare yourself, my lord; it is a consolation that she feels no pain, at least."
"No, I cannot lose her!" Uther said, his voice low, but intense enough to carry in the stillness of the room. "Gaius, you must do… something."
"My lord, if it was in my power –"
Uther raised his head, shoulders and body hard with tension. "Your power, Gaius, exactly. There must be… some arcane lore, some… outdated procedure, which might have effect."
The old man stared at his king, one eyebrow raised. Arthur found his own breathing quickened – was his father saying what he thought he was saying? Impossible, and yet…
Gaius spoke slowly, as if determined not to misunderstand, on a topic which was generally considered treasonous. "You ask for…"
"Magic."
Arthur shuddered involuntarily. And reached for his shirt, pulling it on despite Gaius' warning. But so quietly he did not disturb the conversation between the two older men. Friends – a king and his former sorcerer. Anger he felt, but banked it down – not forgotten, just delayed.
"There is nothing," Gaius said, very gently. "If there was an incantation to heal such a wound, it would take a power possessed by – two or three, maybe, in the entire five kingdoms. It cannot be done, sire, though it grieves me to have to tell you so."
"You don't understand," Uther said, shaking his head in denial, still. "She is… she's…"
Arthur straightened from the table, purposefully pushing against it so that vessels and equipment clinked together. Gaius looked up, unsurprised, but the king flinched and whirled, his expression of open grief and desperation closing off.
Almost, to anger. The king straightened regally, without rising, and his eyes snapped. "What happened, Arthur?"
"We'd gone a day's journey," Arthur said evenly. "Morgana's horse spooked – a snake in the grass. She fell, and struck her head on a stone. We returned immediately, and with as much haste as I felt was wise, under the circumstances."
"An accident." Uther gave a harsh, despairing laugh. "To finally have her back – and she seemed much happier, didn't she, Gaius? Much more content to be in Camelot than ever before. A year's dangers she faced alone – and this? A snake, a horse, a stone, it's –"
Gaius' attention shifted to the patient with an abrupt absorption of serious focus that the king cut himself off, and Arthur found himself at the foot of the bed before realizing he'd made a single move. Morgana's skin was green-pale, her lips bloodless and parted slightly. Her inhalation took three heartbeats to accomplish, her exhale evident only by the movement of her chest under the light blanket.
Pause. Nothing.
Arthur found his vision blurred by tears, suddenly, and he could mourn the girl, the friend, she had been. He whispered, "I'm sorry, Morgana. I'm so sorry."
Imperfect was their world, and the people in it. He couldn't understand why she'd lost her way – or had chosen to leave it – but consequences could not be forever avoided by any one of them. Consequence or accident or fate.
His father released a single sob, leaned forward, and kissed her white brow. "I promised to keep you safe," he whispered. And Arthur caught the glitter of a tear on his father's cheek – when was the last time he saw that? Ever?
"You did the best you could, sire," Gaius murmured, hand on the king's shoulder. "Such things are often beyond our control. Her father would understand."
Uther sobbed again, and Arthur retreated. The pain in his chest had nothing to do with the cut in his skin; never before had he felt the weight of responsibility his position had placed on him from birth. The right to privilege and pleasure he'd arrogantly assumed, years ago, felt pale compensation now, for the reality of a king's decisions. This one, he thought, would stay with him forever.
Arthur left the physician's chambers, but didn't go far. Leaning against the wall on the stair, he waited. The king would not remain – could not remain – forever, and Arthur felt it a duty of sorts to be with his father, unless and until Uther no longer required it.
As volatile as their relationship always seemed to Arthur – as readily as Morgana seemed to have discarded it – he knew his father's feelings were deep and genuine. The grief was real – but pure, in a way that would not have been possible, had Uther known the truth about Morgana.
A distant thought brushed its irony past him with a sour tang – for sure the king would not re-evaluate his beliefs on the subjects of magic and the law, to hear the truth after her death, the way Arthur had done after Merlin's execution. No; this secret, kept by a trusted few, would be buried with Morgana. And Arthur would do his utmost to make the girl she had been, proud of the man and king he would become.
"Arthur."
He glanced up as the king closed Gaius's door behind him, slowly and securely. He looked old, in that minute, old and tired. But it would have been far worse, to leave him to discover his ward's betrayal, and the motivation for it.
Uther said nothing more, and walked with ponderous step and bowed head, but Arthur followed him anyway – to his chamber, where he paused but didn't quite meet Arthur's eyes. "We will speak later."
Arthur clenched his fists as his father's chamber door shut between them, but made his way calmly back to his own room.
Hot water and fresh food waited, though not Orryn. Which he appreciated. Merlin had ministered best with his presence; Orryn seemed to do so with his absence.
Arthur, washed, changed, ate. He also thought.
Grief he could understand, and the anger and guilt that seemed often to accompany it. But the irrationality…
His father had essentially blamed a force of nature for his mother's death; something like declaring war on water, if she'd drowned. The ban had shaped the lives of an entire generation of his people in ways Arthur was only beginning to grasp. Deaths and fear and misunderstanding and mistrust and retaliation and loss.
And yet, had one sorcerer not fled to a remote village, the world might never have known Merlin, who was the exact opposite – life and hope and trust and generosity.
As Arthur stood at the window, he could not help comparing this day to one six weeks ago. The sun sank, and the people gathered, and there was irony that they held aloft lit candles in the courtyard, holding vigil for their lost lady. A far gentler farewell in flame than Merlin had received – though Arthur could hope that one day, Merlin might be welcomed back…
The disparity in upbringing and status between Merlin and Morgana – palace darling and village outcast – was as great as that between their places in the king's estimation. Uther would no more believe in Morgana's treacherous betrayal than he would in Merlin's loyal sacrifice; Arthur could only think that destiny had a greater sense of fairness than Uther Pendragon.
But it all came back to magic in the end, didn't it? Merlin had been executed for using it to save the prince's life – and not two months later, Uther was willing to commit nearly the same crime, to save Morgana's. Deserving or not, beloved or not, if the king could not abide by his own laws, perhaps those laws needed reassessment.
"My lord."
Arthur turned from the window, startled at the gloom of his chambers, and the voice of his new manservant. "What is it?"
"The king has requested you attend him," Orryn said, with a slight bow. "It is a few hours yet, until the… interment, but… he wishes to speak with you before the ceremony, sire."
"Thank you," Arthur said absently. He didn't immediately move to leave – but neither did Orryn. "There was something else?"
"I only wanted to say – I'm very sorry for your loss. The lady – will be missed by many."
Arthur stared at the curly-haired servant. This was the second time in two months he'd spoken with genuine feeling rather than a response appropriate to his station. Maybe there was hope here, too. He repeated, "Thank you." Orryn inclined his head respectfully, and this time Arthur strode from the room, aware that the servant trailed him at a deferential distance.
Halfway to the king's chamber, Arthur rounded a corner to find Guinevere approaching from the other direction. She had washed and changed as well, though judging from her expression and bearing – as well as the fact that she was clearly coming from Morgana's chambers – she'd spent some time in the sort of personal organization he'd once cringed to think of Gaius performing in Merlin's tiny room with his few belongings. It made his heart hurt to see her grief – like his, for the friend Morgana had been, though further in the past that most would ever realize – and knew he'd have to tell her someday, of his decision not to seek possible healing for her fatal injury.
Guinevere kept her eyes down as they came close, and spread her skirts in a little curtsy for her prince – and would have passed him by. Arthur stopped her, drawing her gently against his side with one arm. She didn't embrace him fully as she'd done at times in the past, only flattening one hand on his stomach and the other on his back, but she nestled her cheek in the hollow of his shoulder, and he dared kiss her temple.
If Orryn was to be his manservant, there were certain truths he was going to find out. Already Arthur knew the man could be discreet – rumors would not originate with him, merely because he did not feel it his business to interfere in the prince's life and choices.
"I'm sorry," Arthur said into the fragrance of her black hair.
She pressed closer for a brief instant. "Me, too." Then gently she disengaged, and each continued on their way; he felt stronger and calmer at once for the knowledge of her support – also a reminder that he had other friends fully as supportive of him in the difficulties of royal life.
Uther's room was nearly as dim as Arthur's had been – though Arthur guessed it was more deliberate. As if the king had been holding personal vigil. He stood by the window, much as Arthur himself had done – briefly and disconnectedly he wondered if his father was counting the candles lit for his ward – and didn't turn or speak at Arthur's entrance.
Arthur paused, studying his father in profile, feeling as always a mix of emotion. Longing and impatience.
"I heard you," he said into the silence of the room. Keeping his voice even, respecting his father's grief – genuine though blind. "In Gaius' chamber. You would have had him use magic to save her life." He bit his tongue on the accusation, and condemned Merlin for doing so, for me. His former manservant was not going to be a good example for him to give Uther. Ever.
"You don't understand, Arthur." The king exhaled.
"I don't understand what?" Arthur said, taking two steps closer. "That you were willing to break the law for your own purposes?" And for someone that didn't deserve it? wouldn't thank you for it? evidently hated you… Though if Morgana had chosen to be more honest, Uther might have been more open to changing, rather than breaking, that particular law…
"It is my law to break." Uther's voice did not sound as harsh as Arthur expected. "To make an exception."
"But you would have Gaius expose himself to the corruption of magic?" he dared, watching the king closely. "You'd have him risk his soul… or perhaps you don't believe in that precept as I always thought? Or just not when it comes to someone you know."
"Gaius is a good man," Uther said. Still with more disinterest than heat – and Arthur saw an opportunity to argue that there might be more such, among magic-users; another day, hopefully. "I trust his discretion…" He turned from the window. "Or is it that you don't believe what I've taught you any longer?"
"No," Arthur said. "I don't. To believe that all magic is evil and irreversibly corruptive is both illogical and untenable." Which meant, there was magic that was good as well – again, that could be argued another day. Right now, on this day of loss, he only wanted to talk to his father.
"You wish to challenge me?" Uther said, narrowing his eyes. Red-rimmed, and he looked exhausted – pity touched Arthur, calming a temper that might otherwise have been roused by his own grief-anger-guilt. "Over magic?"
Arthur shifted his weight, tempted; but he had to leave Morgana's magic out of the conversation, now and forever. The damage her choices had wrought; the damage Uther's choices had wrought.
"If Gaius had known and performed the magic to save her, would you have rewarded him with a pyre and execution?" he said, pointing down to the courtyard, lit with vigil-candles.
"Of course not," Uther exclaimed. "Is this about your servant we executed? Arthur that was weeks ago –"
"The passing of time does not right a wrong," Arthur said. "You said Gaius was a good man, you trusted him. Well, Merlin… I could say the same about him. I do not believe magic is evil; it can be used for constructive, beneficial purposes – more than that, it ought to be. Those who have the ability to use magic ought to be allowed the choice and –"
"Arthur, you speak not only treason but heresy," Uther snapped. "Tonight of all nights I will pardon you, but in the future if you dare to –"
"I of all people should be able to come to you for a compromise!" Arthur burst out, unable to contain the mix of emotion any longer. "Not as your son, but as your heir, because it is not good for a king-in-training, or for the people he will someday lead, if he sits on his hands and bites his tongue on a disagreement where the law he will someday uphold is concerned. If I cannot question justice or petition for mercy to your face, for the love of Camelot I will do so behind your back!"
He steadied his breathing, straightened his shoulders, and tried to calm himself. His father only stared, as if he saw a stranger.
"Father, when you were ill and Camelot was attacked, I was forced to contemplate the very real possibility of my reign as king beginning far sooner and more suddenly than either of us want." He was tired, himself, tired of trying to meet expectations and feeling a constant disappointment, if not outright failure. "For years, all I wanted was to make you proud. To satisfy what you wanted of me. Now I see my life is more than that. Years from now, when I wear your crown, I will not be you. I will not be exactly what you tried to make me. I will be as close to what this kingdom needs as it is possible for me to become. And I make no apology to any man, for that."
And that was it, probably. Uther had never taken well to insubordination of any kind, or even initiative, however respectfully felt or voiced. Almost, Arthur volunteered to walk himself to the cells to cool his heels, because that would surely be the –
"You're right."
Arthur stopped himself from looking around to see who else had spoken, even though he'd watched his father's lips move. The tone was all wrong for Uther, too. The king stepped closer – cautiously, as if he didn't know quite what to expect from Arthur anymore. Reached out his hand and laid it on Arthur's shoulder.
"I've trusted you to uphold our laws. I've trusted you to train the men to enforce them. I've raised you to understand and carry the responsibilities of kingship, when I am gone. Slow or sudden, soon or years hence…" His grip on Arthur's shoulder pulled him closer, and he stood in something like mild shock as his father embraced him. "You are all I have left," Uther breathed. "You aren't a boy any longer. Kingdoms have split in civil war and chaos, when the king and his heir disagreed –"
"Father, I would never –" Arthur protested, thinking uncomfortably of Leon's question, how far would he go, to save Merlin's life.
Uther continued as if he hadn't interrupted. "And I don't want to lose you. I suppose that means I shall have to listen to you, more than I have done."
Arthur heard Merlin's voice in memory. You must listen as well as you fight…
His father released him.
Listen didn't mean agree. The king's word would still be law. But Arthur felt like something had shifted between them. Perhaps when the question of sorcery was raised in the future – with Morgause alive and mourning her sister, that was a given – compromise would be possible.
"I am truly sorry, for what happened to Morgana," Arthur said. For what happened to my mother…
Uther nodded, and sighed. "Don't blame yourself," he said. "It was an accident."
For one of those deaths, it was true. Arthur wished his father had been able to say that, twenty-four years ago, but… the past couldn't be changed, but the future – the future was wide open.
"Come, son," Uther added, with heavy but not uncontrolled grief, moving for the door. "Let's lay her to rest."
A/N: I'm going on a week's vacation starting Saturday, but I'll probably get the epilogue out before I leave. After that… idk. I'll put a note on the epilogue, probably. Thanks to everyone who's read/reviewed/etc. I've been overwhelmed by the reader comments for this story!
Kirsten: Thanks, glad you liked the chapters! Finale and wind-down…
DieHardShipper: Glad you 'like' that one detail of Merlin's torture. Of course there are myriads of scar-fics, and I've read a couple that have Merlin suffering some more permanent crippling. I wanted to do something in-between. Something that wasn't going to impair his abilities, really at all, something that wasn't in-your-face noticeable, but not really something you can hide, either. Not something that Merlin's going to be super-self-conscious about, because he's not ashamed of how he got it; to make Arthur feel even worse, and not really something that's Arthur's fault, either, though he can't help but feel a bit guilty. A badge of honor, exactly like you said!