We're almost back at Camelot (I think). Hang in there, folks!
I do not own Merlin. All rights belong to the BBC.
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5 WEEKS EARLIER….
Night has long since fallen when Arthur decides to make his way down to the physician's quarters. He feels drained, the day's revelations taking their toll on him. His mind reels with all that he needs to learn; it feels like an impossible hill to climb.
Despite his weariness, Arthur knows that his thoughts will not be able to calm until he has spoken to Gaius and extracted the full truth from him. His conversation with Gwaine has left him brimming with questions, and he knows that the old physician is one of the only people who can answer them.
Gwaine had made it clear that nothing could stop him from chasing after Merlin, and Arthur, reluctantly, had allowed him to go. He still cannot be sure of Merlin's true allegiance, however much he might want to hope that it lies with him. At the very least, he can be sure that they are both against Morgana, and that must count for something. Gwaine had made a compelling argument for being an intermediary between the two of them, which Arthur must admit did make some sense. He would never admit it out loud of course, but a part of him also wants to know that Merlin is safe.
Arriving at his destination the young king steels himself, before knocking on the old door and letting himself in.
,./,./,.
Over an hour later, the two men sit in heavy silence at Gaius' desk. A dusty bottle sits between them, almost emptied of its amber contents. Gaius nurses what remains of his glass as he watches Arthur carefully. It seems that Gwaine had shared the events of the day before with his king, who had promptly walked into the physician's chambers, demanding answers. Gaius, resignedly, had deigned to give them to him as best he could, and had started at the beginning. The old man had left out some of the details that had not felt necessary; namely the ones that were more personal to Merlin. They were not his to share, and he could not bring himself to break his ward's confidence in such a way. Despite this, however, it was now fair to say that Arthur knew everything.
There had been a fair amount of shouting, anger, and confusion, but now the young king sat before him in silence. Contemplative.
Closing his blue eyes, Arthur takes in a deep, steadying breath. "I am ashamed to have been so naïve; so blind," he admits, bitterly. "That so much has happened within my kingdom – within my own walls even – that I have not seen. Or that I have been misled on, and taken credit for."
Scoffing disparagingly, he looks up at Gaius. "Are there any victories that I can truly claim as my own, or have I merely been a puppet this whole time?"
Gaius puffs out a frustrated sigh. "You are not a puppet, Arthur. Far from it, in fact. You are a king. A great king, come to that. And as a great king, you have inspired great allies, who have aided you in your battles."
Arthur snorts scornfully, taking a large gulp from his glass and wincing at the taste.
Deciding to take another tack, Gaius tries again. "When you have fought in the past, have you refused to claim victory unless it has been you yourself who has slain every opponent?"
The younger man blinks at him then, nonplussed. "Of course not," he replies instantly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Gaius nods, knowingly. "And so, you claim a victory for yourself, and for your kingdom, on behalf of all of those who have helped to achieve it; your men."
Nodding, Arthur agrees.
"Merlin, is one of those men." Gaius reminds his king gently, eyes never leaving those of the younger man. "Whether wielding magic, or a sword, he would stand by your side. For you, Arthur."
The blonde's jaw clenches as he considers this, his hand twirling the liquor in his glass. Closing his eyes, Arthur shakes his head in frustration. "What you are saying has logic, Gaius – credibility, even."
The young king lifts a hand to rub at his forehead wearily. "And yet, I cannot reconcile Merlin with who I am. With who I have been raised to be."
And here lies the crux of the problem… Gaius thinks to himself as he watches Arthur struggle to find his words. Despite his love for Merlin, the physician admits feeling a great deal of compassion for his king. The man is a product of his youth, and his father's teachings. To navigate the road that Arthur is on is no mean feat, and, despite all of Uther's tutelage, there was no training for this particular journey.
"I am at war with myself, Gaius" Arthur admits quietly. He utters it like a confession, hushed in the low light of the room.
"I am my father's son. I loved him. I believe him to have been a good man, and he was a successful king. How can I justify turning my back on him – on his cause; on vengeance for my mother, all for the sake of one man? A man who has hidden his true nature from me. A man who could not trust me with the truth."
Arthur's eyes glisten with frustration as he looks over to Gaius desolately. Gaius is reminded at once of the young boy that Arthur used to be; of how he would come to Gaius when he was uncertain and lost. Despite being a king now, after all this time their roles have remained unchanged.
"Have you considered, my boy" Gaius says softly, "that Merlin has kept these things from you for this very reason?"
The old man leans back into his chair heavily, eyeing the firelight dancing in the reflection of his glass as he considers his next words.
"Merlin cares for you, Arthur. Very deeply. We have spoken often about what it might mean for him to reveal his true self to you, and he feared this very problem. He knew that it would cause you pain - to feel so torn between your love for your father, and your… care for him." Gaius stumbles over his words clumsily, not wanting to say too much.
Arthur's brow is furrowed as he listens, intensely focused on his mentor.
Treading carefully, the physician continues. "I believe, too, that a smaller part of him also feared that you would not be able to unlearn the lessons of your father, and that you might react in a way which caused him harm."
The words hang in the air, heavy.
"I fear he was right to think that" the younger man croaks out. His eyes are distant, as though he were somewhere else. Strong fingers clench tightly against the arm of his chair.
"I wanted to hurt him; I think. For a moment." The king's expression is bleak.
Arthur takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself.
"He was defenceless. So weak. He didn't even struggle, Gaius. He knew what I would be – how I would be, before I even knew it myself. He saw what I truly was, and yet he still returned me home."
The king's hand comes up to rub at the scar on his chest. "He still healed me…" his voice trails off, bewildered.
"Yes" replies Gaius, steadily. "And perhaps, such exhibitions of loyalty should be rewarded with a little trust?" he prompts.
Arthur sniffs heavily, shaking his head. "My father trusted magic once, and it almost cost him everything. It cost me my mother. How can I be sure that it will not cost me even more – my kingdom, even?"
"Arthur." Gaius' tone is firmer now. "You must listen to me. You must learn to see beyond your own emotions and reactions. A good king is objective, as often as he can be, in order to make the best decisions for all."
Gaius can see the moment that his words get through – they were Uther's after all.
"I understand the difficulty of your situation my boy, but yours is not the only life at stake. Camelot is exposed, Morgana is at our door. We will need all the help that we can get if we are to win this, and I believe that Merlin will be key to our victory. When he returns, you must not refuse him."
"So, he will return then?" Arthur asks. "Gwaine was not certain."
"Whether he allows Gwaine to even find him in the first place is questionable" Gaius mutters distractedly, "but he was ever so determined. That knight is as stubborn as they come."
Arthur huffs out a wry laugh, but his eyes are serious as he studies the old physician.
"Gwaine said – he mentioned – that Morgana has some sort of weapon...?" the question is asked tentatively, the king unsure about his footing in this new world of conversation.
Gaius nods seriously, humming. "It is deeply powerful, and has been borne of a dark curse. Merlin alone is not enough to fight it. He has gone to seek answers, so that he can best aid you in the fight."
Arthur is quiet as he absorbs this new information. He makes a move to speak again, pausing hesitantly before he starts.
"In the forest," he begins. "Morgana mentioned… she said that Merlin has lost things – for me. Suffered, even..." The king does not need to say any more for Gaius to understand the questions in his meaning.
Ah…
"If there are truths in her words, Arthur, then they are not my truths to tell. But understand that Merlin's decisions have always been his own. Whatever the outcome, your survival was always his priority, no matter the consequences."
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It has taken two days to make-ready to leave Dyrne, and Merlin is impatient to finally be on the road. As important as his time here has been, he feels horribly impotent being so far from Camelot; every moment that passes feels like an open invitation for Morgana to strike.
The day is grey and the light gloomy, a misty drizzle coating everything with a silver sheen. All in all, Merlin's group comprises of more than twenty of Dyrne's strongest fighters and healers. Together they are gathered at the edge of the village, making final checks to their supplies and weapons for the journey ahead.
A soft clicking alerts Merlin to the arrival of Brigit by his side. Too old for battle, she has elected to remain behind in Dyrne. Their final days together have been used to help prepare Merlin as much as possible for the fight ahead. His magic feels stronger than ever, and the warlock struggles to find the right words to convey the depth of his gratitude for her aid and guidance.
"Are you ready?" She asks him, before he can open his mouth to speak. Her grey eyes glint at him through the rain, penetrating.
He nods at her, determined. "As well as I ever could be, thanks to you."
Brigit merely blinks sagely and inclines her head. "It was merely my destiny, now it is time for yours."
Merlin nods, smiling gently. Reaching his hand out to rest on her small shoulder, the warlock leans in to touch his forehead to the elder's in appreciation.
"Thank you, Brigit." He says softly.
Brigit tuts at his sentimentality, but squeezes his shoulder back all the same before pulling away and reaching into her bag. She pulls out a glistening necklace of black beads, and offers it up to Merlin.
"Beads of dragon stone" she explains, as Merlin examines his gift reverently. "Forged by the heat of a dragon's breath. They are yours to wear by right. May their strength protect you in the days to come."
"They are beautiful" Merlin says in awe. Tearing his eyes away from the necklace he looks earnestly at Brigit. "Thank you."
Smiling, Brigit helps the warlock to put the necklace over his head, fussing a little at making sure they sit just-so over his jerkin. Her hand lingers a little on Merlin's chest, a small patch of warmth in the chill of the morning air.
"May the gods be with you, Emrys." The older woman says, sincerely.
"And with you." Merlin nods back, before turning away and beckoning to the group to follow. Camelot was calling.
,./,./,.
Despite Merlin's fears, their group have made quick work of their journey, covering much ground in the past week. At every opportunity he has been continuing to practise casting with Brann, Eoghan and Wulf. Almost like a sixth sense, he can now feel the other men and their movements around him without even trying. Eoghan's magic is proving to be particularly defensive in nature, making him a perfect shield for the warlock. The four men have been practising the right formations to use in battle that will make the best use of this. Eoghan will need to remain close to Merlin's side to be the most effective, whereas Brann and Wulf can move more freely, covering more ground for Merlin to be able to attack.
Brigit's final lessons had focused on connecting their minds more strongly through their bonds, allowing them to communicate silently and have more stealth as a unit. This was by far the most difficult thing they had attempted to date, and required more time than they had, to fully master. Although limited, Merlin has been able to successfully speak through their link. It was an incredibly foreign experience, to hear the thoughts of another mind in his head. It was also a draining technique to practise, and with a good portion of their journey still ahead of them, they must be careful not to exhaust themselves too greatly.
The evening is drawing in on their ninth day when a message reaches them from the forest. Rosalin, a quick warrior and capable scrier, hurries back into camp from her scouting mission looking grave.
She approaches Merlin anxiously, and he stands to reach out to her, concerned.
"Rosa? What has happened?"
Taking her by the arm, the warlock leads her to sit by the fire, as others gather around them.
The young woman takes a deep breath, steeling herself, before beginning.
"Morgana's armies are marching." She says unsteadily. "They are moving to completely surround the city – there will be a blockade."
Merlin frowns. This is not unexpected, but still grave news. An attack on all fronts will be more difficult to defend against.
Rosalin looks to Merlin then, meeting his gaze. "The knight, Gwaine, has reached Camelot. My raven saw him enter through the eastern gate this morning."
The warlock's eyes close briefly in relief. His concern for Gwaine has been a constant companion since the knight had departed ahead of them the week before.
"Aethel was not with him."
Merlin's eyes snap open in alarm. Someone stands from behind him and marches over hurriedly.
"What?!" they demand firmly. It is Eoghan. His huge frame is tense, face contorted with worry.
"Where is she?" Merlin asks, managing to keep his voice steady.
"Morgana has her," the girl replies, shakily. "I cannot see where, exactly – it was not clear. But she was taken when she and the knight attempted to break through the army line."
Rosalin looks to Eoghan then and stands, reaching out to grasp his arms in an attempt at comfort.
"She is alive, Eoghan, and she was captured protecting a friend of Emrys. It is because of her that Sir Gwaine has reached the city."
Eoghan is shaking his head, too wrought by his emotions to speak.
"She is alive, Eoghan!" Rosalin presses, "We must take some comfort in that."
"I will feel no comfort" the warrior grates out harshly, "Not until my wife rests safe in my arms."
He turns to Merlin then, imploring.
"Emrys, we must save her!"
Merlin can feel his face heating under the pressure of this decision. All eyes are on him, and he has never felt the responsibility of leadership more than he does in this moment. His heart wrenches for Aethel. She is a good and brave woman, and the thought of her in Morgana's clutches is a terrible one to bear.
But he knows, deep down, that to try saving her with the numbers that they are would be a suicide mission. The remorse tastes bitter in his mouth as he realises that they cannot act. They can do nothing, but continue as they are.
He stands, trying to gather himself as best he can. He must appear strong, even though he feels like wailing in anguish.
He addresses Eoghan specifically, holding his gaze firmly.
"We cannot." He says simply, voice breaking a little. "The risk would be too great. To face all of Morgana's forces with our numbers would solve nothing, and lose Camelot everything."
Eoghan's face crumples at his leader's words, and the fight seems to leave him as staggers a step backwards.
Merlin moves to steady him, grasping the man's large forearms tightly.
"Aethel is strong, Eoghan" he encourages, meeting the other man's pained eyes. "I have faith that she will survive this. Once we are within Camelot's walls, I vow to do everything we can to save her. In the meantime, we must continue with our mission, and trust that Morgana will keep her alive."
"How can you be sure of that?" Eoghan croaks out despondently.
"Morgana is desperate to find me" Merlin responds. "She would never kill someone who she thought could lead her to me." As the warlock speaks the words, he knows them to be true. Morgana is ruled by her fear of Emrys, and for once this might play into their favour.
"We must keep moving" he declares firmly, turning to address the rest of the crowd around them.
As the druids make haste to gather themselves and move off, Merlin turns back to Eoghan.
"Have hope, brother." He says gently, helping the larger man to his pack. Gathering some of the day's warmth from the earth with his magic, the warlock sends the soothing energy into his friend, hoping to ease some of his worry.
Eoghan shivers at the sensation, and closes his eyes as he takes in a deep breath. He moves to lean his forehead against Merlin's in kinship, a large hand landing on his leader's shoulder.
"A hope that will never die, Emrys." The druid utters back, before pulling away and holding Merlin's gaze. "I will hold you to your vow." He says, expression fierce.
Merlin nods in understanding, feeling the fear and love radiating from the man for his wife.
"And it shall stand" he replies solemnly "on my life let it be so."
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