Disclaimer: IDOM.
Chapter One: Music in the heart, breaking through the dark
"Will no one tell me what she sings?
Perhaps the plaintive number flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of today?"
───William Wordsworth
"I have lost my magic!" Merlin whispered for the tenth time that morning.
Gaius peered behind him as he was grating the mints. He silently shook his head, for he knew that no words could comfort his ward to accept the fact that his magic was only temporarily gone. "Temporary" being the word, for neither himself nor Merlin had any inkling on how to regain such an integral part of a magical being as unique as Merlin. Had Merlin being a normal sorcerer, the Gean Canach would only suck out their magic, reducing the sorcerers to a miserable state, but for the young warlock, his days were darkened by the lack of a part of his soul, a part of the utmost importance that left him hazy and emotionless. They had consulted every book the library held, but none could offer an insight to restore the lost magic. But Gaius knew better than that, under his ward's calm guise of nonchalance, something fundamental had shifted. Merlin still understood his purpose of course, to protect Arthur, but he could no longer feel the lightless of day, the brightness of life surrounding him. As much as he tried to hide from Gaius, he feared that the old man would soon find out the truth extent of the loss of his magic.
When Merlin had first discovered the loss of warmth that usually surrounded him as his magic surfaced, he felt numb, as if all hopes were deprived, all hopes of ever achieving Albion, of ever telling Arthur who he really is. With hope slipping away from his grasp, he felt life turning grey. No longer did he felt the need of the aging spell, for in his heart, he aged centuries. No wrinkles yet appeared, nor any sign of grey hair, Merlin mused, and he wondered how long he could remain in this state between physical normality and spiritual dilapidation. His insides were withering, screaming for the return of warmth, of light, of hope.
"I failed," he thought, "failed to bring justice to my kind, and to all those living in fear." He buried his head in his hands, silent tears refusing to fall down, for he could not even find a reason to cry. Crying was reserved for the weak, and he was not weak, or so he told himself. At least he was glad he could feel sadness, for he feared all his emotions would depart along with his magic, then he would be nothing but a shell, a shell with direct connection to the king, so even without magic, Merlin remained a dangerous target. "I could not even protect myself, how could I protect Arthur, and how could I prevent his demise at Camlann when I couldn't even finish Mordred at his weakest? What point would there be in finding my magic when I am but a pawn to fate?" He grew angrier by the seconds, angry at what fate bestowed on him. Whichever way he chose, failure marked his path. He had thought that as Emrys, he would be powerful enough to temper with fate, and change the inevitable. But what use is there when fork roads of hope turned into straight paths to churchyard? He used to comfort himself that he was merely a mortal, and mortals were bound to make mistakes, so that they learn and grow. "But I never learn," Merlin reprimanded himself, grabbing hold of his hair, "I fall for the same mistakes over and over again. My compassion will be the death of all." The thought of leaving Camelot seemed more tempting than ever. What use would he be as a lame servant who constantly tripped over his own feet? The sense of worthlessness overwhelmed him, for Merlin was nothing without magic. The control he used to exert over his magic, over his life, and over his confidence in altering fate was shattered. A pawn he was, and a useless pawn he would remain.
Merlin's remorse was interrupted when Gaius gently tapped on his shoulders, indicating that he would be late in attending Arthur. Right, he remembered, how could he forget, tomorrow they would ride for Camlann, and to the mouth of hell they would ride for. What little hope of their survival depended on his getting his magic back, but Merlin was no longer certain he had the energy to find it. He was drained from years of concealment, burdened by lies, and he wished a way out. He thought again of leaving Camelot, not telling Arthur, not telling Gaius, and in fact, he wouldn't tell a single soul. Escape he could finally manage after all these years of faithfully being the servant of fate, and if fate deprived him of his one tool of fulfilling his destiny, could it mean that he was finally free? Years into Arthur's reign, and still no sign of magic ever being legalized. Would it mean that fate had finally decided to retitle someone else as Emrys, to side with the Once and Future King, so that he could just be Merlin from Ealdor? But atlas no, his feet had already carried him towards the armory and in no time, he returned with hands full of newly polished armor. Before Merlin realized, he was already at the king's door.
With a shake of his head as if to shake off the gloomy thoughts of running away like a coward, Merlin bumped in the room, trying to act normal. But there was no need. Arthur was bent reading by his desk, not paying any single attention other than a nod towards the desk. He brows were etched with worry, though any guard standing outside the door would report no difference in the king's features, Merlin instantly recognized an underlying fear, fear of the lives of his people, and fear for failure. How true, Merlin thought, that Arthur was destined to be the king of legend, leading his knights to glory and his people to sanctuary, no other man would befit this role better than Arthur. But Emrys without magic could not stand beside his king, had no power to aid but to cause unnecessary worry. If only this never happened, Merlin whispered, if only he could share his own fears with Arthur, and to ask for advice from a leader so strong, shining so bright that a single nod would be all Merlin needed to confirm or deny his belief. As the rising sun shone its first ray of light onto the golden-haired king, Merlin knew he would fallen prey to be the king's willing pawn, and do whatever necessary to hold on to that light, especially when he was shivering with dark dears inside.
Unknown to Merlin, Arthur's thoughts were not on the papers awaiting his approval, or the map spread across the desk, but on his servant-slash-friend Merlin. He knew Merlin came in when the door banged open unannounced, and he knew Merlin was staring at him, pondering on whatever that's going on in that pretty head. Arthur pretended to read, but there was something inside him nudging for his attention, making him impatient with every second that ticked away. Yes, he saw Merlin's hesitance at the door, and though Arthur never admitted but he secretly thought he knew Merlin inside out, even his most well-kept secret. It's not that difficult to figure out, for Merlin had never been the most subtle magical practitioner, even the sorcerers caught acted more cautiously than Merlin! The miraculous kill not once but every time, the lucky survival from some of the most deadly magical traps, the dark tower, the veil, the Periless Land, all that he conquered and faced, he did it with Merlin by his side. The slight twitch of the hand, the glint in the eyes, and little oddities Merlin would demonstrate as proofs of his idiocy were no more than poorly veiled disguises for his magic tricks. Was he angry at the discovery, he definitely was. Upon first discovering Merlin's magic years ago, when he was still a prince, he was vexed beyond reason. Only the fear of his father finding out and executing the boy prevented him from confronting Merlin. Arthur remained quiet on this, and secretly watched Merlin on every so often that Merlin kept giving him the queer eyebrows asking what's wrong. Arthur never told him what he discovered, and it was months until that fateful day when Morgana took over the city and he himself lost all hope. He blamed his worthlessness in protecting his father, in protecting his people, and of all, he blamed Merlin for not using his magic to save them all. At that time, Arthur refused to speak to Merlin unless necessary, and he knew Merlin could take the hint and do whatever was needed to magically help regain the city. And he was right, Morgana's miraculous loss of magic, no doubt by Merlin's hand, proved the effectiveness of his silent messages. He prayed this time, before the battle of Camlann, Merlin would concede to his silent prayers, and use magic to defeat Morgana, however crazy this may sound, Arthur was unconsciously depending on his telepathic bond with his soul brother. But Arthur knew that Merlin knew not that his secret was no longer that secret, so he decided to take the long route to hint at Merlin's use of magic to aid.
Standing straight, Arthur walked round the desk, trying to find spots for criticism as he normally would, and as he was about to say something to break the ice, he heard Merlin muttered with utmost politeness, "I think that you'll find that's everything, sire."
Taking this as merely Merlin's sense of humor, Arthur randomly inspected the polished armor and said, "Impressive. Very impressive… more likeable. Not from you anyway. So what are you after?" He meant it as a joke, to invoke some reaction from Merlin before embarking on his secret plan.
Merlin inwardly took a sigh, typical Arthur, never seeing beyond what's meeting the eye. He knew he had to come up with some excuse of not going, yet despising years of uttering half-truths, Merlin more dragged down by the weight of them. Another to add to the pile, he silently mourned, and spoke out loud, in a voice that clearly wished to fool both Arthur and himself of his real purpose, "I'm afraid I won't be coming with you. Not this time. I'm sorry. I have an urgent errand to run for Gaius. Vital supplies that I can't find here."
Arthur was more than taken aback, he was god-smacked. Never had he imagined Merlin flatly lying to his face without a proper tale to backup. This was a lame one at a lie, they both knew it, but neither had the energy to correct the other. Arthur mused if Merlin was tired after all these years of serving without praise or reward that finally today, he brake down. It would explain the pouty face Merlin wore so often these days, but it wouldn't explain his departure at this critical moment. On any other day, Arthur could ignore this as jibe, nothing more than a complaint after a long day of work, but not before a battle, never before a battle. He expects his man to bravely walk in the face of death, and together would brave for a brighter future. He never once doubted Merlin's loyalty, even when he first discovered Merlin's secret, Arthur wasn't thinking of Merlin's betrayal but deception, and worst of all, of his own inability to detect the truth beneath the lies, of his feebleness in character that led to his unreciprocated trust. "Maybe it's time to let go," Arthur thought, "maybe Merlin finally issued his judgement on me. A failure he must think of me to leave me at this ungodly hour. But I cannot make him stay, not when he had given up so much. He would have to freedom to walk away." However much his logic had persuaded him in letting Merlin go, anger at the knowledge that Merlin wouldn't treat him as an equal awakened a deeply-buried grudge against fate that he Arthur Pendragon could never act on his own without Merlin at his back. No, this time, he would prove to all that a Pendragon can win his own battles. "Whatever disappointments Merlin saw in me to lead him away, I fully concur with his decisions, for whatever I do can't repent for the wrongdoings of my father onto his kin," thought Arthur, "yet disappointment I cannot dispel."
After a pause that seemed to have sucked all air from the room, Arthur turned to look Merlin in the eye, hoping to see hesitation, some room for them to ponder on, but he saw none but a blank face devoid of emotions. He hesitated before quietly replied, "You know, Merlin, all those jokes about you being a coward… I never really meant any of them… I always thought you were the bravest man I ever met. Guess I was wrong." With it, he turned on his heels, desperate not to let Merlin decern any sign of his emotional weakness, least of all to see him cry. Kings don't cry, they try for strength and power, and no signs of anything else are allowed.
If Merlin's heart weren't in a million pieces, it certainly would be upon hearing Arthur's note of disappointment. Unshed tears threatened to pour out, but Merlin held on. Many a times he tried to form a coherent sentence, explaining his unexpected decision that moments before his entering the room, he was unaware of it himself. But no option appeared before him that would lead him out of this dilemma, give Arthur a satisfactory answer without letting his secret out. "Let this be one more act I shall ever perform for you, my lord." Merlin silently begged the gods to send this plea to his brother, "even if it would be my last." His eyes lingered on Arthur for the last time, desperately memorizing all the little details that would encroach on his mind forever. Emrys can never say no to his king, not even to his silent prayers. Merlin gave a slight bow, before turning to leave the room, and for the first time in months, managed to gently close the door.
Arthur remained facing the window long after Merlin was gone. Deep in his heart, he knew that they would have little hope of conquering Morgana without Merlin's help, but as a friend, though he would never admit that far, he was more than willing to spare Merlin the sight of battle, and knowing that Merlin would be safe somewhere gave him a small piece of mind. At least Merlin would be alive, wherever he shall go. He tried hard to smother the urge to call Merlin back, and tell him that he knew of his magic, that he no longer needed to hide. As king, Arthur knew he was more lenient than Uther, who betrayed and killed all those loyal to him in cold blood simply because of his fear of magic, his fear of the lack of power and therefore reduced to destruction. Yet Arthur had learnt, though brutally painful, that strength could not be gained through force but through peace. He could never be as ferocious and cruel as his father, but as king, he had the responsibility to protect all his people, whatever the means.
Should he call Merlin back, and enforce him to use his magical abilities to defeat Morgana, or at least try to? The choice between being a friend and being a king weighed heavily on his shoulder. Arthur was certain that Merlin would sure stay if he asked, so he didn't. "Let me for once be true to my heart," Arthur pleaded to whichever god that was listening, "and if I shall see my fate befallen on that plain, let me and me along take the blame. Punish not my people, nor my men. They deserve a better fate. And bless Merlin, wherever he goes to and whoever he chooses to serve next, a life of freedom with no fear of discovery. I'm sorry my friend, for I fear the freedom I grant you would be but short, if I ever fail to rise again from the plain. Yet should I survive the oncoming battle, I promise you old friend, you shall be the first to witness peace and justice."