Episode 4.1-2 "Just Before Dawn"
Samhain, and close on to midnight.
Arthur slouched in his seat at his father's right hand, there but not really there. Perhaps he'd had a bit too much wine; if so, he blamed Orryn. The man must have a head like a rock for drinking, himself, with what he seemed to expect Arthur to be able to handle.
The feast celebrated not only the holiday, but their recovery from Morgause's attack, a fortnight past, and though Cenred's land was still leaderless and contested, at least Odin hadn't made any move to take advantage of Camelot's briefly unsettled state.
Drinking and laughing and music. Full bellies and laughter.
Arthur wished he was somewhere else. A place where the table didn't block him from the rest of the room, where he could join freely in conversation and jokes, instead of limiting himself to the select few at the head table, or those bold or obsequious enough to approach him.
No. He shoved his chair back and rose, drawing the attention of his father and visiting uncle, though they said nothing. Was he crown prince or wasn't he? Surely he was free to mingle with the guests if he chose.
Leon, attentive as always, half-stood as he passed behind the side table. "Sire?"
"I'm fine, Leon," he said. "Just stretching my legs. You're enjoying the feast?"
"Yes, my lord."
Of course he was. Leon made the best of his situation, no matter what it was, feasting or fighting. Arthur wished he could be so contented, but something was missing and tonight, he knew exactly what it was. And, that he couldn't have it.
"Good evening, Gaius," he said, next encountering the old man with a sedate half-goblet of wine.
"My lord." Gaius bowed and hesitated briefly. But Arthur said nothing further, only shifted his weight to signal his intention to keep moving; the physician turned back to his conversation with Geoffrey.
Passing behind a column, Arthur glimpsed an approaching form – and couldn't believe his good fortune. Even if it was fleeting. He caught her as she passed, startling her as he tucked her into the shadow of the column beside him.
"Oh, Arthur," Guinevere exclaimed in a whisper, slapping his chest lightly. "You frightened me."
"I'm sorry." He released her, remembering, but she didn't move away.
"It's all right, I just thought…" She hesitated, and he couldn't see her expression, there in the shadow.
"What is it?"
"It's embarrassing – and I might be wrong anyway, but… your uncle. He keeps watching me, for a moment I was worried…"
Arthur snorted. "Don't worry about him. He's going home next week."
Points of light sparked in her eyes as she tilted her head to look at him. "What's wrong, Arthur? This is supposed to be a celebration – you're not happy?"
He released his breath in a sigh. "Just… today. The feast and the holiday. There are a lot of memories. And regrets."
"Morgana?" she whispered, understanding; her dark eyes were limpid with emotion.
"And Merlin. I wish…" He trailed off, then asked, "Where's Elyan, tonight?"
"With them." She watched him, not following the reason for his change of subject.
"Why didn't you go, too?" he asked. Surely they'd invited her – even if she would probably be stuck with the cooking if she went. "You could've taken the chance to see…"
"Gwaine?" she joked into the pause of his sudden cowardice.
"Merlin?" he offered instead.
She smiled. "I'll see him tomorrow, or the day after, I expect. He was going to get Gaius some – never mind, that doesn't matter."
Courage, he'd been called. So he let it out. "Lancelot?"
She understood. And in the moment before she spoke, Arthur realized how very close they were still standing. "We were going to be honest with each other, remember?" Throat dry, he only nodded. "Once, I might have. But a lot of time has passed since then, a lot of things have happened, and he… never told me how he felt. Never asked me how I felt. Just… made the decision for both of us."
He realized that her hand still lingered against his shirt-front, just over his heart; his crept up to twine with it.
"If I choose to wait, and hope," she said, looking at their fingers, joined together. "Then I choose to wait and hope."
Again, he wished he was anywhere but a crowded banquet hall. "Consider yourself kissed," he told her, and she smiled in a way that had him vowing to himself, he'd find a way for the two of them to spend some time alone and together. Preferably quite soon.
But the shuffling and growing quiet of the room alerted him, and he came out from behind the column to see that his father had risen from his seat – cueing everyone else to rise also – for the midnight toast. He was aware that Guinevere emerged from the opposite side of the column, demure and unruffled – but her eyes were bright and the color in her cheeks a shade richer.
"This is the time of year," Uther declared into the rustling stillness of the banquet hall, "when we feel the closest to the spirits of our ancestors. It is a time to remember those we have lost… to celebrate their passing."
One of these days, Arthur promised himself, as his father continued with his speech. One of these days he'd sit to feast and talk and joke with Merlin and Gwaine – Lancelot and Percival – Elyan and Guinevere – even, he'd bring Gaius and Leon, as Merlin had suggested. That round table in the ruined castle would be perfect, he thought.
Because this year, after all, he hadn't lost nearly as much as he'd gained.
He lifted his goblet in whole-hearted salute.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Merlin wondered when the castle ruins had last been so rowdy.
Nearly midnight. He hadn't had as much to drink as Elyan or Lancelot – who hadn't had as much as Percival or Gwaine – who seemed intent on drinking their biggest friend under the table. Merlin was beginning to suspect it couldn't be done – but then again, Percival was always so quietly self-contained and Gwaine always so lively and talkative, it was difficult to tell just how drunk either might be.
Samhain. A time of remembering and celebrating those who had already passed beyond the veil. A fortnight ago, he'd gotten the chance to see the girl he had loved – for a few days only, and more than two years ago, now. See her smile, hear her voice. Know that she was content, where she was. Able to see him, the way people always wondered if lost loved ones could. Maybe even, he'd be allowed to see her again someday…
Though, it was likely, only in another time of great need. He called to mind the sword, in the setting where he'd placed it for Arthur. The quiet sun-flecked hollow, the patient stone. Ready, but ready to wait many long seasons, if necessary. As he was.
He remembered other loved ones, lost. His father, and Will – taken too soon, maybe, but he'd been with them in those last moments, spoken to them, said goodbye. Their spirits would be welcome, he thought.
"It's Merlin's turn!" Gwaine's shout roused him. "Come on, my magic friend! Stand and give us your best –"
"Your shortest –" Percival corrected, with the little-boy grin that split his square-jawed face.
"Your best and shortest speech!"
"Go on, then, Merlin," Elyan added, and Lancelot was already leaning forward in his own chair to prod Merlin to his feet.
"Give us a few words of wisdom, do," he teased gently.
"Very well." Merlin stood and lifted his cup. "Here's to friends, gone but never lost. Here's to friends we've yet to make. And here's to friends who'll risk their lives – or just a splitting headache – to make sure that we get home all right!"
Laughter, cheering – jeering – joking – and though his perception of the movement of his companions indicated their noise-level continued unabated -
Silence.
Merlin's hand was frozen in his toast. His eyes drawn two feet to Elyan's right, in the center of the floor.
Where she stood.
"Emrys," she breathed. Whispered, called, chillingly slow and sure as death.
She looked an old woman. Cloaked and hooded, so his attention remained on her face. Drawn and gray as a corpse, her eyes like live coals that burned the skin around an unhealthy red.
"Emrys, do you know me?" Each word slow and deliberate enough to send a separate chill up his spine. "I am the Cailleach, the gatekeeper to the spirit world. I have long anticipated our meeting tonight – though it shall be our only, now. And that is your reward, though you understand not, what for. Sacrifice… courage… truth… patience. Peace between us this Samhain night, Emrys. And ever after."
Weird and dreadful did not mean malicious. It was not her fault she was not human, nor that her only association was with the dead; he felt she meant no harm, even as he could not quite escape the deathly cold that paralyzed him at her presence.
She gave him a smile full of triumph and despair, and a little bow, and vanished.
The returning heat and noise of the room hit him like a storm's wave, overwhelming, drowning him in the worry of his friends – they had noticed, even if he hadn't realized it til this moment – making his lungs burn as if he'd tried to inhale the air of a furnace.
"Catch him, he's going down!"
"Watch his head – lay him over here. That's it."
"What d'you suppose he saw?"
"Tonight, mate? I think we don't want to know."
"Merlin, can you hear me? You're going to be all right."
"He's so cold, that can't be good - someone get him an extra blanket."
He was horizontal, and felt himself incapable of movement, but wondered hazily why that should matter. He watched the flicker of cookfire – bonfire – and scrounged candles, on the ceiling of the chamber, heard his friends busy caring for him.
"Someone get his boots."
"Here, I've mulled his wine. Hold his head."
He felt someone do just that, felt the edge of the cup at his lips, swallowed obediently. Warmth was slowly returning – he met the gazes of those bent over him in turn, and smiled.
"Sorry," he managed. "I'll… tell you later."
"Another story for another time?" That was Gwaine, relief and irony.
"Just rest, Merlin, don't worry about us." Something soft slid under his head, and then he could see Lancelot too. "You'll be all right."
The first instant he'd seen the gatekeeper, he'd expected the worst. Another magical enemy to threaten his prince and their kingdom. Not this time.
Peace.
"Yes," he told them. He watched varying levels of reassurance spread, and that warmed him, too. "We'll be all right."
A/N: If this seems an unsatisfactory ending, remember that the epilogue comes after this… For this arc, b/c we already know Uther is killed by the assassin in a few months, I'm assuming after the funeral and a respectable amount of time, Arthur would formally recognize Merlin/change the laws on magic/knight the rest of his Round Table guys/reclaim his sword when necessary.
For this one, Lancelot lives. But b/c Arthur has been more open with Gwen – because her near-execution doesn't make them both stop to re-evaluate whether their relationship is a good idea at all – because Arthur doesn't need/want Agravaine's interference, I think maybe Lancelot would pine a bit more before moving on, but there wouldn't be any real reason to worry about an affair.
Thank you to everyone who favorited, followed, and especially reviewed! I greatly appreciated every comment.
Give me a week or so (for research purposes, mostly) and we'll move on to the next story my poll tells me is the most interesting – Son of Poseidon. Something completely different, but hopefully interesting and enjoyable!
And. My NaNoWriMo original is nearly half posted over on fictionpress. Special thanks to Msomaji for reviewing!