A/N: So here's the next chapter I love writing this. I'm literally having so much fun writing this. It's making me want to go back to writing my GX fanfic, which was kind of like this, but not until I finish this one.
Also what is it with me and writing my designated main characters as constantly dissociating.
Once within the walls of Camelot, Arthur was able to find his bearings much more comfortably.
Celebrations were in order, events he had no recollection of, as he remembered clearly a period of mourning for the fallen knight, Lancelot. Yet, the man walked beside him as they returned home. He'd looked out of it, as well as baffled, though Arthur couldn't quite put together why. Had Lancelot planned from the very beginning to sacrifice his life? Had Merlin allowed such a thing to happen?
His knights had gone their separate ways, as did Merlin. As Arthur stepped through the walls of his castle, he was greeted left and right with words of praise, faces not solemn, but instead overjoyed.
Of course they would be, he reminded himself more than once, and felt more out of place in his own home than he had ever before.
The first to properly see him had been Guinevere.
She kissed him immediately, face more relieved than he'd ever seen it, like it had been her who narrowly avoided death. He wished he could be as certain as her, though he remained unsure of what his current circumstances ultimately meant of his fate.
Even so, her figure set fire to his senses, showered him in a bout of alleviation. Her gentle voice abated the tension residing in his muscles, the same exact way it had many times before. His unending love for her warmed his chest, the momentary bliss elating his head. For just a few minutes, he forgot about the Cailleach's mysterious words, about his death, about Merlin.
He lied his head upon her shoulder and breathed in her scent.
Arthur had believed, had accepted, that he would never see his wife again. Or, he corrected with immense regret, it tragically hadn't been on his mind at the time, head staggered with thoughts of his closest friend. He wrapped his arms firmly around her and closed his eyes, feeling the concern within her grow.
Slowly, her arms rose to rest on his back as she spoke to him, "Is everything alright?"
Of course. Such behavior would naturally seem out of place.
"Yes," he nodded, and pulled away. The sheer exhilaration in his expression must have worried her, as her eyebrows only furrowed more. He closed his mouth, ridding his face of his grin, and cleared his throat. "Everything is completely fine. I am simply...delighted that our mission was a resounding success. And very happy to see you, Guinevere."
Before walking away, he pat her shoulder formally and stiffly. Her head lowered, just slightly, eyes lost in thought. Some amount of uneasiness remained, but his truthful confession clearly touched her.
Through the walk home, Arthur did his best to outline exact what he'd needed to do.
Doing his best, however, was not the easiest when he'd been so out of sorts. Seeing Gwen, though a thankful enough wake-up call, strayed him from that path momentarily. He'd sent off as quickly as possible to put his plan into motion. Even with his own observations, he had no way of fully understanding his situation, nor of being able to properly plan out his actions alone.
Arthur knew of one man who could help him, one man who could keep quiet about his problems and possibly hold a solution.
He came to the conclusion that he needed to see Gaius.
He would explain everything to Gaius.
It was the only action to make sense, at the time. Gaius, evidently, had known about Merlin's magic, and was incredibly wise, knowledge of the world more vast than anyone else Arthur had known. If anyone could help him in regaining his sense of self, it had to have been the Physician. Perhaps he'd been the source of Merlin's particular moments of wisdom.
Or, perhaps that had just been a product of Merlin's true personality shining through. Arthur had no way of knowing, did not even wish to confront this version of his manservant about the subject.
There were a few reasons as to why this was.
The whole...'avoiding Merlin as much as possible' issue.
He'd come to understand that Merlin had done certain things to prevent his death, to keep him safe and to halt fate as much as he could. If the Merlin he'd walked all the way to Camelot with knew that he would fail in the end no matter what sacrifices he'd made - and, really, Arthur didn't know the extent of those sacrifices - he wasn't sure how the sorcerer would react.
Merlin had seemed more desperate than ever in his efforts to save Arthur's life. He shook his head, wishing to put it from his mind.
Not to mention the fact that Arthur did not entirely know if he wanted to speak to Merlin at all, actually. He'd been purposefully not speaking to his servant for that specific reason; during his death, he hadn't been in the clearest state of mind, and said what he'd expected to be his last words. Those last words held more meaning than anything he'd ever said before.
He had no idea of what more he could say, what wouldn't somehow devalue or detract from their last moment.
'I was limp in your arms one night prior,' did not seem a decent conversation starter, but it was one of the few things he could think of saying that had nothing to do with magic directly.
Perhaps, he considered, Gaius would be able to help him. Unfortunate as it was to admit it, the physician knew and understood Merlin more than anyone else, and especially more than Arthur himself. It seemed that he'd always been able to be sensitive to the warlock's feelings and to his importance regarding all of Albion. Then again, such made sense, as he'd known of Merlin's magic.
As he approached the door, he could make out muffled speaking. After a quick look around him, he pressed his head against the door and listened more intently, wishing to catch what information he was able, recognizing one voice as strangely placed in the back of his mind.
"Have you ever come across a sorcerer...called Emrys?"
The slow and methodical tone felt like a dagger in Arthur's stomach.
Or, more appropriately, his back.
He'd momentarily forgotten himself. Yes. Agravaine was still his trusted uncle, back then. He tried not to focus too hard on this fact, tried to push it to the back of his mind, yet it sent him reeling internally. He'd caused so much heartbreak for Arthur, so much pain, nearly pushed him down the path of being an irredeemable king. He'd tricked Arthur, betrayed him, earned his trust and crushed it.
Well. He hadn't been the first to do that, but that didn't make it hurt any less.
"No, doesn't sound familiar."
For some reason, the voice of Gaius filled him with a bit of solace. After what Arthur assumed to be years of keeping Merlin's secret, he wasn't sure why he had any doubt that the physician would out the sorcerer just then. He'd have known about it back then if that were the case. Arthur shook his head and rung his fingers through his mussed blond hair.
There was no reason to worry so vehemently about Merlin's secret staying a secret. He'd had enough to put his energy into, and knew that his servant had done a fine job on his own. His very first priority was to see Gaius and get his problems figured out, absolutely no distractions.
He was grateful that he'd stepped away from the door when his uncle stepped out.
Taking on an expression Arthur couldn't decipher - was that suspicion? perplexity? unease? - Agravaine instinctively nodded and opened his mouth, likely to ask what it was that Arthur had been doing there. Before he could get a single word out of his slippery tongue, however, his nephew beat him to it and smiled in what he'd hoped was something akin to fondness.
"Agravaine," greeted Athur as civil as he thought possible. "I could not have helped overhearing your conversation - forgive me. I'd been on my way to speak with Gaius. Though...understand that I must wonder - what is it you are doing, searching for a sorcerer?"
Like the quick-witted and masterful actor Arthur knew him as, Agravaine smiled and let out a disbelieving huff of laughter. "King's orders, Sire. I am under strict instruction to investigate a possible threat to Camelot."
"I've issued no such orders," he replied automatically, feeling as though he'd caught his uncle in a lie.
For just a few seconds, Agravaine seemed taken aback.
He stood with his mouth slightly ajar, looking as if Arthur had gone completely mad. There was genuine confusion in his voice as he spoke, "...Perhaps there is reason to pay Gaius a visit, my afflicted nephew," as he stared in a sort of bafflement one could easily misplace as concern, he put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I've been given command by King Uther. Had you misheard me?"
After the words passed his uncle's lips, Arthur suddenly felt a chill run up his spine as the broken pieces of his world began to re-align and re-connect.
"My father," he said breathlessly. "Of course, yes, I - you are correct. I'd...first heard you wrong."
The two stood a moment longer, Agravaine in an uncomfortable silence and Arthur consumed by the conflicting feelings of his new revelation. His time, his place, and his circumstances all immediately became secondhand to this information. His uncle gave him a curt nod and a gentle pat on the shoulder before sauntering off, leaving Arthur in his daze.
Uther, Arthur's father, was alive.
It made sense, in the end. At the time that the Veil had been closed, his father had still been alive, and he'd still been king. A widely disliked and aging king, but a longtime king nonetheless. At the time that Arthur was sent into the world, thrust back in time and into life, his father was once more alive. The variety of feelings he'd been experiencing sent him into a lightheadedness.
By then, he'd long since accepted Uther's death, had to send him back to the world of spirits himself. And he wasn't sure how encountering his father the way he was then, as the man and leader he'd become, would play out.
Arthur did know, however, that he wanted to see Uther.
More than anything else in that moment, he had to look into his father's face, at least once more.
The door leading to Gaius was left forgotten as he hurried to the castle.
Even following his coronation, Arthur never thought it fit to take over Uther's chambers. The bed would likely have haunted him with nightmares, ones more ferocious than that which he'd already been plagued with. Such a bed was far more fit to an older king, a tenser king. He'd preferred his own sheets, the own canopy darkening his vision at night, the atmosphere of young royalty.
The fabric, as well. Silky as the velvet flower and just as decadent in color.
Uther's bed fit Uther and no one else.
Back when he'd been crowned king, Arthur set the room off-limits to anyone besides himself. Whenever he'd felt the need of true solitude, he'd sit in his father's chair and at times rest his eyes. It was the only place in the castle truly isolated and quiet, the only room in which Arthur indeed was alone, no one else to bother him or tell him how to play out his own destiny.
Regretfully, the room served another purpose. Any time he'd rethink his stance on magic, after any moment of what he'd considered weakness in his protection of Uther's legacy, Arthur would enter the room and relive the scene. It was a reminder.
At that moment, he was not alone.
Admittedly, Arthur had imagined his father in that particular room, but the apparition had never been real. It never had a beating heart, a rising and falling chest, or lively and somewhat gentle yet firm eyes.
"Have you business with me?"
Then again, Uther had never been truly gentle. Arthur never expected that, nor did he fault him for it.
He coughed, having not thought of the first words he would say to his father. "Yes, well - no, actually, I...this is simply for personal reasons."
It had been the worst excuse in the whole kingdom, he thought, even including the ridiculous ones he could remember off the top of his head from Merlin to explain all of his strange behavior. Personal reasons? Uther had never been entirely personal. What sorts of personal reasons could Arthur even come up with?
However, there was a knowing glint in his father's eyes, his face lifting into a small smile, as if he'd said something particularly funny or made Uther realize something pleasant. It confused Arthur first and foremost, but that had been overwhelmed by an indescribable emotion in his chest. As if a wound had been opened just from seeing his father's smiling face, warm blood pooling across him. His shoulders fell, as did his defenses.
It was painful, yet brought him more happiness than he'd remembered feeling in years. He couldn't even bring himself to question it.
"Then...is this simply to remind me? Did you believe that I would forget," the current king seemed to strain himself as he spoke, but seemed in high spirits nonetheless, "that the anniversary of your birth...is in just a few nights?"
...Ah.
It seemed that Arthur had completely forgotten about his birthday.
That was right. It was his birthday. His mind automatically made the connection. If it was his birthday, it had to have been...
"You think I would miss my son's anniversary?"
Arthur couldn't feel the full force of affection, not when his mind was sent spiraling into such an abyss. He'd responded, possibly, but did not register what it had been, and quickly walked to his chamber, wishing to fall directly asleep. He stared down to his booted feet, feeling not at all within his own body as his legs moved back and forth, carrying him along.
He'd nearly collapsed onto his bed right then.
A hand was suddenly on his metal-padded shoulder. "Going to sleep already?"
Right.
Merlin had to aid him in removing his armor. He nodded and promptly averted his eyes, likely arousing the suspicion of his manservant, but he couldn't find it in himself to care enough at the moment. It was unnatural, probably, how detached he'd felt to this Merlin. Perhaps with a bit of sleep and a few moments of personal reflection, he could connect more with the other, yet...
Just when he'd been able to speak to Uther again, right when he'd gotten his father back, he would lose him again.
That couldn't happen.
"All done, Sire."
Damn it. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, not caring if the other saw.
There were many instances of Merlin calling him by Sire, and him doing so more recently most likely meant he'd felt dejected. At least, that was what seemed probable, what with his own mistreatment of the sorcerer, or a lackthereof. Arthur couldn't bother himself with that, as much as he'd wanted to, and gave an admittedly rude push to his manservant.
Perhaps if he'd been in a clearer state of mind, he'd have felt guilty, or possibly apologized, maybe. But at that very moment, he desired nothing more than to simply shut his eyes and erase everything that had happened that day from his mind, if only temporarily. He would think about it when the sun rose.
He hoped that when he woke up - well...
Really, he simply hoped that he would wake up.
"I'd...expected you to be - "
"Yes," Lancelot responded, understanding Guinevere's statement entirely, yet not wanting to hear it.
In a sense, it felt shameful to acknowledge that he'd accepted death so quickly and so easily.
Not only for his Lord, but for her.
The second one she'd gone to see had been him. Once she received word of his return, she knew they had to talk. And yet, she had no idea of what to say which could correctly get across her feelings, her questions. They'd spoken before, bonded deeply before, and he knew that she hadn't been expecting him to come back to Camelot. She and him had something of a silent agreement, a heartbreaking yet understanding and silent goodbye.
Neither anticipated for him to have survived. He'd planned on taking the prince's place as the sacrifice to close the Veil.
They locked eyes, each attempting to convey as much emotion as possible, the absolute relief and confusion. "Please...do not get the wrong idea. I am glad that you're back, Lancelot, so very glad. More than that, even. I'd just," instead of continuing her statement, she sighed, allowing a breath she felt like she'd been holding for years to finally escape.
He nodded and smiled softly at her, a gruff tenderness she'd become so accustomed to seeing on his face, the look that never seemed to go away in her presence. Lancelot knew that she had queries, the same ones he'd had.
Yet, he could also see how the topic may have seemed rude to bring up in her eyes.
Even though 'why are you alive,' was a rather valid inquiry.
Wishing more than anything to comfort her, Lancelot slipped his hand to hers, intertwining their fingers.
Awaken, he did. Soon enough, it reached the anniversary of his birth.
His head was somewhat stable, events falling less into a jumbled mess and more into a linear pathway, much like how a normal man's memory should have been. The sleep had been deep and refreshing, reminding him somewhat of what it had seemingly been like to die. The perceived loss of existence, the balance of his spirit and mind, it all was extremely familiar.
It helped him in figuring out a plan.
"Oh!" An exclamation from Merlin caught his attention later that morning. His manservant had been staring through the window, head poking out and marveling at the various entertainers ambling through the kingdom. "Did you see that?"
Just as he vaguely recalled doing before, Arthur stuck his gaze to where Merlin was staring, yet he didn't respond. Instead, his eyes were focused on a specific performer within the sea of people. His sickly colored makeup strangely made him blend in with the crowd, but Arthur would have recognized him immediately no matter what the people around him appeared as.
It was the Gleeman, he knew. The one who would attack him. The one who would ultimately kill his father.
His first intention was to strike his sword through the dagger-wielding whoreson's chest.
Before he even made a move, though, he'd already realized how bad of an idea that was. Arthur couldn't simply kill a man without reason - well, he could - but it would likely not give him the favor of the people. Connecting with his subjects was, evidently, a large part of what made him a great king. Seemingly killing those he was meant to protect would ruin that.
A sad and difficult situation, he'd definitely been put into. Yet, Arthur was not one to give up easily. He concluded that he would take care of the murderer when the time came, and that he'd be prepared.
It would happen during his birthday celebration that night. All he had to do was wait, keep on his toes, strategize as if he were on the battlefield and ready to take on a formidable foe. He analyzed the moment over and over in his mind, thinking long about how it all went, about how it would go that time around, about how Arthur was certain that he could alter his father's fate.
In the end, it was up to him.
That night came much more quickly than he'd been anticipating.
His eyes were consistently on the Gleeman, not at all on what his targets were, face stone cold and barely moving a muscle. He gradually had to learn to act mirthful and joyous, noticing the suspicious and worried glances he'd received from his family and their servants. He had to at least pretend as if he was having a good time. It was his birthday, after all.
Well. His birthday again.
When a servant leaned to pour wine into his goblet, Arthur raised a hand to stop him.
Uther's affectionate, tired gaze sent a wave of pain and comfort into his heart all at once. He'd completely forgotten how emotionally open his father had been in his later years, and especially in his dying days. The age clearly got to him, no matter how little they spoke of it. "You've not had a single drop, Arthur," he said.
The last expression he'd seen on his father, spirit or not, had been a determined hatred. That was suddenly replaced with one of love and kindness, just from the past couple of days. It made him almost want to thank Merlin a million times over, just for allowing him this look at Uther, for letting him see once more what kind of man his father could be.
"I've already had enough as it is, father," he lied in response.
In reality, Arthur had a very good reason not to be drinking his wine.
Back when he'd witnessed the beginnings of his father's murder, he'd been far too drunk to offer himself any decent defense, and that ultimately led to his father stepping in. That time around, he planned to be in the best, clearest state of mind possible. That meant no wine, as well as keeping his guard up, regardless of how many strange gazes came his way.
He'd already resolved the issue with himself. He would save his father.
Saving his father meant killing the Gleeman, which he'd wanted to do from the very start. Though, he knew that he had to wait until the right moment.
And wait he did, eyes fixated on the murderer performing in front of him with concealed resentment and anticipation.
Next to him, Merlin leaned in and muttered, "What is it that's so interesting about the knife thrower? You've had your eyes on him all night so far, Arthur."
It took him partially by surprise and he looked up, eyes involuntarily softening. "I find his act rather fascinating, that is all," he gave a pithy smile and jerked his head to the side, attempting to put on a relaxed act. "You're at a party, Merlin - don't be quite so tense."
He then wondered as the younger version of his manservant straightened his back with a blank face if Merlin ever was able to lose the tenseness. It wasn't as if Arthur could be considered much better, though. They'd both always found it rather hard to relax at any moment in time, likely for the same reasons, he realized faintly. That definitely had to be true if Merlin's destiny was at all as serious as Arthur's.
And, from the way he'd spoken about it, that seemed to be the case. It sounded almost as if Merlin had more experience with fate than even he did, and he wasn't sure of how accurate that was.
"I require a volunteer!"
The voice shocked Arthur out of his thoughts. It sent his blood running cold.
It had been the Gleeman, ready to take Arthur as his subject of entertainment.
It wasn't long before, "Do you accept the challenge?" slipped through the slimey teeth.
He hadn't even considered backing down, knowing what had happened. He figured that it was simply a way of the man taunting him, of trying to make an impression on Arthur before attempting to end his life. It was an insult, and he agreed to the little game in a heartbeat. If it was his way of being coy, Arthur would play along, at the very least to allow the man a good, long look at his face.
Arthur would ensure himself engraved in the man's head before ending his life.
It wasn't long before he'd been tied to the wheel. While spinning, he began to notice quite a few things he hadn't before. A few facial expressions.
His father, directly behind the Gleeman, was carefully observing, eyes and mouth alternating between concerned and impressed. Both Merlin and Guinevere had looks of complete apprehension, as if she were about to jump forward and pull him from the ropes, or as if he were about to...well, obliterate the dagger wielding man if he were to try anything.
Then, his uncle seemed utterly amused.
To call him a bastard would have been an insult to bastards all across Albion.
One dagger flew at his face, sticking to the side of his head.
Arthur wondered in that moment what would have happened, had he ignored Agravaine that entire time, had he seen through the facade and listened instead to his instincts, had he allowed himself to be the king he always should have been. The king who appeared in equal standing by the intelligence of Gwen, the king Merlin pushed him to be.
Was that enough? Was he, in the end, truly the king he was supposed to be? If that was true, that raised the question of why he'd still been alive. It was clearly his destiny to die then, and if that hadn't been fulfilled, had he not become the right sort of king?
The second blade nearly cut his cheek, but barely missed.
And then, he stared down his knights, and his eyes shifted to Gwen. What of Lancelot? By returning, he'd ended up saving his knight's life. That wasn't something he could ever say that he'd regret. However, it certainly would have caused some issues. When he'd returned briefly, even as a mere shadow of himself, Lancelot proved a subject of Guinevere's affections.
Would that continue? Would it happen yet again, though with the real one? The concern sent a dark feeling through his stomach.
As expected, the last dagger stuck itself in the fruit, pushing Arthur's teeth back.
Cheers erupted and all who were even the slightest bit perturbed breathed sighs of relief. The Gleeman's secondhand man untied the uncomfortable ropes and Arthur landed to the ground, removing the apple from his mouth and letting out a short laugh as his father's killer bowed. He shook his head in disgust, hoping to disguise it as endearment, and walked away.
He eyed Merlin's expression, one he'd seen countless times, one that spoke louder than any words could have.
"Nothing to worry about," he said casually, then bit into the apple.