"Get rid of it," Arthur growled, his voice full of pain and quiet fury. "How dare you? Didn't I tell you I wanted no more reminders of that... that..."
Gwen laid a restraining hand on his arm. "I'm sure Merlin didn't mean to offend you, Arthur. Maybe we could just take a quick look and see what's inside? What harm can it do?"
"The man betrayed me, Guinevere," he said coldly, turning away from the box as if he couldn't bear to look upon it. "He was my family and I trusted him and... hundreds of innocent lives, lost because of his treachery and my failure to recognize what he really was. I told you, Merlin, take it away!"
Although Merlin had some sense of how much Agravaine's betrayal still pained Arthur, this was a twist he hadn't expected. Reluctance, maybe, but outright refusal?
"I only thought... well, we know Agravaine was in league with many of Camelot's enemies, not just Morgana herself. Not all of those enemies are dead. What if there's information inside that could give us an advantage if they decide to attack the kingdom again? Wouldn't you want to know?"
"Petitioning for a seat on the council, Merlin?" the king retorted sourly. "Why don't you go back to picking herbs, or spending time at the tavern, or whatever it is you do with your time? I hardly think I need you to advise me on state affairs."
Even as he pressed his lips tightly together, stung by the words, Merlin could see the reluctant acceptance beginning to build in Arthur's eyes. He knew it was a fair point, even if he'd never allow himself to admit it.
"All right, I'll open it to put your mind at ease. Probably just a bunch of socks or something, but I'll open it. Where's the key?"
Merlin cringed, suddenly realizing there was one important detail he hadn't thought of. It was easy to forget things like that when opening a lock took him no more effort than a wave of his fingers.
"I... there isn't a key, but the lock did feel a little loose when I was carrying it up here. Let me see."
He picked up the box from the table and turned away, pretending to fiddle with the lock. Breathing the magical words, softer than a whisper, he smiled to himself as he felt the latch come free.
"Did you say something, Merlin?" Gwen asked him kindly. "Do you need help?"
"It does feel loose, but I can't quite seem to..."
"Give it to me," Arthur interjected, taking the box from his hands and easily lifting the lid. He arched a skeptical eyebrow at his servant. "Really, Merlin, I've seen kittens who could best you for strength."
Merlin ignored the insult as he anxiously watched him rifle through the contents of the box.
"Oh, look at this – book on sorcery. That's nice. Stolen records, a vial of poison, a dagger, a silver bracelet?" One by one, he carelessly tossed the items aside. "I knew there'd be nothing useful in here, just a whole lot of..."
Merlin's breath caught in his throat as Arthur pulled the forged letters free, holding them up to the light. Without a word, the king sank down into the nearest chair and began to read, a lightning quick succession of agony, grief, shame, and horror playing across his features as he did so.
"Arthur?" Gwen said quietly, both fear and concern evident in her voice. "What is it?"
Speechless, he slowly shook his head; with the letters clenched tightly in one fist, he rose and left the chamber.
"Should we go after him?"
"No," Merlin said firmly. "Believe me, I've seen him like this. He needs to be alone until he comes to terms with whatever is in those letters.
"But it must have been something terrible for him to look like that. What if he needs our help?"
"He'll let us know, Gwen. You have to trust him."
For nearly two hours, the pair of friends sat in silence as they waited for the most important person in their life to reappear. At long last, he did so, entering the room with sagging shoulders and eyes that were suspiciously red.
"Merlin, I need to speak with Guinevere. Can you please leave us? Wait outside, I'd like to talk to you as well when I'm done."
It was impossible to hear what was being said from the other side of the thick wooden door. Nonetheless, Merlin could easily guess as to the direction of the conversation, as he heard tones of bewilderment, then relieved sobbing accompanied by Arthur's soft murmurs of comfort.
When the king finally emerged, he somehow managed to look both deeply grieved, yet more at peace than he had in years. "The queen needs to rest for now," he said, his voice tender as he cast one more look into the room before closing the door. "Come with me to my chamber."
Merlin listened patiently as Arthur read the contents of the letters, feigning confusion, bewilderment, and anger that really weren't so hard to fake at all, as he watched a great deal of guilt and shame play across the other man's features.
"So it wasn't really Lancelot?" he questioned innocently, relieved to notice that Arthur no longer cringed at the name.
"No, Merlin. I should've known our Lancelot would've never done such a thing. I should've realized that he... that neither of them... how could I have been so blind, Merlin? How?"
"It sounds like Morgana wove a powerful deception. We were all fooled, Arthur. We wanted him back so much, and she took advantage of our grief, our love for a friend. We can't fault ourselves for that."
"How can we leave it like this? I can spend a lifetime making it up to Guinevere, and I intend to, but what about Lancelot? An innocent, honorable man who sacrificed his life for us all, and everyone in Camelot knows him as a traitor. How can I ever make amends for that?"
"Lancelot would never blame you," Merlin said sadly. "If he were here, you would've earned his forgiveness before you even thought to ask for it."
Arthur rose from his seat on the bed and began to pace restlessly. "You're right, Merlin. He didn't... he never asked for anything, did he? He loved us all selflessly, and with his whole heart, whether we deserved it or not."
"Yes, he did."
"Where did you bury him?" Arthur asked quietly, pausing to stare out the window with unseeing eyes. "Was it a fitting tribute?"
Merlin fought the urge to weep as he pictured Lancelot's face – filled with gentle resignation as he'd closed his eyes for the final time. "Not as fitting as he deserved, but I did the best I could."
"Tomorrow you will take me there."
- -o- -
The following morning dawned with a warm breath of spring; not a single cloud marred the brilliant blue sky on the day Sir Lancelot would finally be laid to rest in truth. The quiet procession wound its way down to the lake, carrying flowers, fragrant boughs of fresh greenery, and other small tokens meant to offer tribute to the man they'd all known and loved.
With Guinevere at his side, Arthur led the way. Close on his heels was Merlin, and then the knights, followed by a random collection of Camelot's citizens whose lives had all been touched by Lancelot in one way or another.
Arthur came to a standstill on the shores of the lake and stared out across the water, unashamed of the tears that flowed freely down his cheeks. As Merlin stood quietly behind him, his heart whispering its own silent goodbyes, he saw him lean over to whisper something in Gwen's ear.
"Lancelot loved you until the very end," the words floated back to him on the breeze, carrying not even a hint of jealousy or suspicion. "It was you more than any of us who brought out the goodness in him."
"I know, Arthur, and I loved him too. I always have, and I always will. But it isn't... we never..."
"Enough, Guinevere," Arthur interjected, sliding a comforting arm around her shoulders. "The time for that has passed. I know the truth now, and I accept that you meant a great deal to each other… Just as I understand it was never a betrayal to me. Please don't be afraid to grieve for him."
Moments later, the king addressed the crowd that had gathered to mourn Sir Lancelot. Merlin would never remember exactly what he'd said , but he would always know that the words had been the right ones... words of honor, love, loyalty, and sacrifice.
Someday, he'd find a way to give them all proper tribute, to tell the world who they'd really been. Freya, his father, Will, and all of the nameless faces beyond those he'd loved himself – innocent people who'd suffered due to the persecution of magic, or through the abuse of its power.
But for now, at least he'd found a way to speak for Lancelot, the devoted friend who had so desperately needed a voice.
And for the moment, that was enough.