Who Owns Magic (pt.3)
Gaius is right about the way forward, it does hurt. It feels like dying backwards.
Sometimes Merlin goes very still and looks at nothing – but the hurt is all inside, and old. Fading. Some of it.
He doesn't scream, even when he wakes from a nightmare, reliving the past. He always tries to keep from crying, though it doesn't always work. He pays attention when people touch him – and he makes an effort to touch them back. Very carefully, in case it is not all right – but they smile at him. Gaius and the queen – and Arthur and the knights.
The Owner is executed quietly, when Merlin is not there. He hears Gaius and Arthur talking about magic, sometimes, when it is no longer prohibited. He makes more of an effort to answer questions, even if they're difficult or confusing.
Sometimes he follows Gaius about, assisting his work. He gradually stops doing chores for Arthur, because of the other manservant he never sees, who does a better job anyway. His friends come to share meals, sometimes, and he allows himself to feel enjoyment of their company.
The others tell Gwaine he cannot take Merlin to the tavern – and after a while, it becomes a joke. He doesn't go to the training field, either.
Merlin and Arthur spend hours in the vaults. He looks at all the objects and tries to explain them to Arthur – what they are, how they work. He shows Arthur a secret room in the library, and Arthur says he can have it for his own. He remembers a goblin trapped in a cask, and looks for it, but it isn't there. He reads, though, sometimes, so long that his friends come looking for him to come outside. He loves the books because they do not change, or lose things once written on their pages; they are the same when he forgets, and has to read a passage over again.
There's a table – with chairs – in his room. A comfortable bed-for-one, with pillows and blankets and rugs on the floor. He tries to remember to keep it all clean and neat.
He finds his interest, then, taken with things that are broken. A rug that is frayed in the corner. A chair with a seat cushion that is loose. Drawers that don't shut properly and window panes that are cracked and books whose covers are falling off. Wobbly table legs and dented armor and – that's only the citadel. He studies these things and fixes them with magic. Sometimes it is easy and immediate, sometimes he has to check his books for a long time before finding something that works.
It keeps him busy through the winter, and another. He thinks he can go about the lower town and find other things to fix, if someone goes with him. People overlook him now, rather than staring, and he has learned how to allow himself some feelings, with control. It can't be Gwaine, because he hasn't been around for a while, but maybe…
Some other time, Arthur says, when Merlin suggests the idea to him. He is sitting at the desk in his chamber, and is busy – distracted.
What happened, Merlin asks.
Arthur pushes back and sighs, and looks at Merlin. Sir Gwaine set off for Ismere some six weeks ago, and with him went three score of our finest men. There has been no word from them since. At my request, Sir Elyan led a search party to the wastelands of the north, but he found no trace of Gwaine or his men. It is as if they have vanished from the face of the Earth. We know Gwaine and his men crossed the pass, at Isulfor, but beyond that, there was no trace. The trail went cold.
You want to ride out and find them yourself, Merlin guesses. It feels familiar to him, a little ironic maybe, and he senses that Arthur is remembering feeling like this when Merlin was taken.
You want to go with me, Arthur says.
Yes, Merlin says, before he can think about riding a horse or sleeping in the cold or facing unknown danger, and answer more honestly. He doesn't want Arthur to go without him; that is an honest truth.
In the winter of the third year of the reign of King Arthur of Camelot (of Brytannea), Sirs Gwaine and Percival were captured by the forces of the witch Morgana, and imprisoned in the northern fortress of Ismere.
The king took with him twentymen, and the sorcerer Merlin. Along the way, they were surprised by a band of Saxons led by the sorceress Morgana; they were victorious but the witch managed to escape somehow during the fighting. Council notes inconclusive.
When they arrived at Ismere, they recovered their knights, who told of a strange unearthly being, who glowed with a white light and very kindly healed their wounds when they were alone, and who otherwise wanted to be left alone in the depths of the tunnels and caves.
It was not known if Morgana had discovered the creature, or conversed with it; each of the captives who gave testimony also denied betraying its presence to the witch.
Arthur never saw it himself. Instead, he and his sorcerer found another unearthly creature that glowed with a white light – a young dragon, by all accounts timid and deformed. Arthur gave the creature into his friend the sorcerer's care, which astonished everyone, and no one. By then it was common knowledge that the sorcerer, in the solitary secret room the king had given him, studied always on the theoretical and practical magic of fixing things. From badly broken bones to orchard limbs damaged in storms to millwheels and citadel defenses (see attached appendix of sources listed). So of course a broken dragon was his to fix.
They also encountered a band of slave-traders, in Ismere to bring a shipment of captured goods to the witch who was in the market for strong backs and arms. Mining, the slaver-captain confessed to the king. For what, he didn't know.
During the interrogation, a young man bearing a druid's mark on his chest attempted to escape. The knights who were nearest agreed that the slaver in question had spent several minutes in conversation with Merlin the sorcerer. That the young man had acted with violent magic first – and that their sorcerer had retaliated swiftly and justly.
The young druid-slaver's neck was broken, his death instantaneous. None of his companions knew – or cared about – his name.
Only one council member recorded Arthur as concerned. Evidently Merlin was noncommittal and seemingly unaffected, and Arthur let it go.
The wind is whistling as they enter the gorge that marks the edge of Annis' lands, and it makes the hair on Merlin's neck stand up even before Elyan – It's prime ambush territory – gallops to Arthur. There's something you need to see.
There are bodies visible in the smoking wreckage of the encampment, and the caves in the cliffside watch him with empty-skull eye-sockets. Merlin decides, he does not need to see this. He stays on his horse and covers his ears with the cuffs of his jacket.
He's afraid if he listens to the wind, it will begin to sound like his name.
Keeping his balance on his saddle, he listens to his heartbeat against the inside of his living skull as the rest of Arthur's men provide proper burial for the bodies, and the steady rhythm comforts him.
Riding a horse at anything faster than a walk always gives Merlin a headache, and Arthur wants to move fast. But the wine Queen Annis serves at dinner loosens the tight band of pain that begins and ends in one particular spot on the back of Merlin's skull, even though he is thinking about Morgana.
He has only snatches of memories of her, good and bad. More bad, more recent. None of it fits together to explain why she is their enemy, and he knows no one (Arthur) wants to talk about her. He doesn't want to talk about her, he only wants to understand. In listening to Annis and Arthur, he realizes that the slaughter of the encampment is to be blamed on Saxons working for Morgana, abducting men to labor for her in Ismere. She is looking for something (magic).
And then Annis says, So this is your sorcerer. He likes the queen. She's honest and direct, and genuinely likes Arthur. He's only a bit disconcerted when she adds, I would love to see him perform some magic.
But not unwilling. He thinks of fire and butterflies – but fire would be dangerous, and butterflies would make Arthur roll his eyes.
So Merlin conjures four eggs, and enchants his hands – even though his right is crippled, it isn't useless – with the ability to juggle.
It seems to work. For everyone – smiling and applauding him with wonder in their eyes – except Arthur. Whose mouth turns down in deep unhappiness as he watches Merlin.
Merlin can't have that. So he flings the eggs high above the table – Leon reaches cupped hands like he's trying to catch the nearest one, wonder turned to distraught surprise – and three of the four eggs burst into pairs of soft fluttery white wings, carrying the doves (they weren't dove eggs; it doesn't matter when it's magic) away to the rafters.
The fourth egg splatters on the table. Close enough that Arthur has to jerk his hand back and reach for his napkin.
Merlin, he growls.
Annis laughs. Merlin can't stop grinning long enough to be sorry.
That feeling seeps away as they ride away from their ally's castle, toward the inimical north. In camp at night, Merlin keeps his distance from the men who had laughed and cheered in the queen's dining hall. He sits by the stream and lets wordless laughter drift over him, because he doesn't understand it any longer. Shouldn't they be grim and serious now?
Arthur comes to sit by him. Why are you upset?
Merlin gestures. The men are laughing and joking, like they aren't facing death. He has a headache again from the tension in his muscles – sometimes he actually shudders, if he tries to hold too still. Morgana's in Ismere. She's dangerous.
You think we don't know that? Arthur says calmly. A warrior learns to enjoy each day as it comes, because it might be the last.
Your last day is a long time from now, Merlin promises him, and Arthur gives him a half-smile, like he doesn't believe him but won't argue. Your men, he adds, slowly and awkwardly, working his feeling out into words. They're… more than your friends. More than brothers. They won't abandon you, because… they know you won't abandon them.
Any more than Arthur had abandoned him, in spite of everything. Now he understands a little better.
Come and have some food, Arthur says to him. Merlin hears, Come and join us.
So he does.
By first light, everyone is on his feet. Breakfast eaten, and the horses nearly ready.
And then they hear a horse that is not one of theirs whinny, and everyone's sword is out. Arthur spins, searching the morning-mist.
We're surrounded, Merlin informs him, feeling responsible somehow (prime ambush territory?). A dull throb begins behind both of his ears – not pain, just pressure – to realize that their battle is here and now.
But Leon declares, We can't stay here.
Merlin looks past him and the mist parts to reveal a woman on a horse. She is darkness, hair and fur cloak, except for her face, which is white-pale.
Run! Arthur bellows, and Merlin doesn't ever remember hearing him sound like that.
Like he's scared.
Merlin can't have Arthur scared. So he runs, like he's told, but he runs right for the woman and her horse.
He hears the clash of weaponry sound behind him as he struggles up the hill, but has no fear for Arthur fighting ordinary warriors. The woman's face lights up to see Merlin – her eyes light up as she gestures toward him.
Merlin lets her magic wash over him, dissipating into the mist surrounding the camp. He breathes hard from sprinting up the hill; the thumping in his head is more determined now. He shoves magic back at her because that seems fair, and her horse rears, screaming, before turning to bolt. She manages to swing down from the saddle and faces Merlin like the horse was a distraction she is glad is gone.
Morgana, Merlin says. It's not really a guess.
I heard about you, she says, pale lips grimacing gleefully. All about you. Your magic. The torture – I'm sorry I missed that. If I'd known that idiot in Cenred's territory had you, I would have visited.
Arthur doesn't want you dead, Merlin says, because that's true even if Arthur doesn't know it himself, and more relevant than the Owner, who is dead. You must leave Camelot alone. Go far away.
She throws her head back to laugh. Camelot is mine, and you must die! She screams something else that Merlin recognizes for magic.
He has no idea what it's supposed to do or how to defend against it, but he sweeps it past him, spinning and gathering it to slingshot right back at her. Morgana crouches, shielding herself til her own spell is past – and then she's not smirking anymore, but glaring.
She gestures, beginning another spell – and Merlin finds he has no interest in playing this game. Arthur is fighting for his life and Percival and Gwaine are captive.
He stalks toward Morgana, each step causing the top layer of the earth to ripple away from his feet like a child stomping in a puddle. Three steps, and some of the smaller trees are tipping away from dislodged roots. Morgana staggers back – still furious, but no longer chanting. Planning something bigger, no doubt.
Merlin gathers all the air. Between them, between the trees – above the trees – between the mountains… above the mountains.
The moisture clings together, the clouds rolling upward to escape the agony of coercion, the corners of the world crackling with tension. He shoves it all at Morgana, a shrieking gale split by lightning that makes her skitter back, only stopping when she hits the trunk of a tree.
She pushes away from it, leaning forward. Squinting against the scything bits of leaf and twig and pebble newly airborne, shouting wildly in her panic.
He recognizes that spell. And considers, he might reach into it and grasp her, rake invisible fingers through her spirit and magic, tearing them apart – tearing her apart.
He considers that he might let her get away with it. He might let her get away.
But, just to be sure, he flicks the spell. Not to Ismere and the rest of her troops. Not anywhere within a thousand leagues – and the magic required to transport her further than that will drain her for… a year, maybe, he thinks.
Her eyes widen to realize what he's done – but she has no time to scream before she's whirled away, charcoal scraps of her traveling spell curling up behind her like the dead legs of a beetle. Then – gone.
Merlin releases his hold on the magic of the world.
And all the air rushes back at him, back to its place – between, above – and he is tossed back on the ground as the world growls in irritation at him and he gasps for breath. Sorry. Sorry.
He blinks to see two warriors standing above him. Both wearing red and the Pendragon gold standard. Upside-down in his vision, but… Leon. And Arthur.
Ow, Merlin says.
Arthur snorts, swinging away to look back toward their camp, their killing ground. Leon reaches down to haul Merlin staggering to his feet.
Where'd she go? Leon asks.
Far far away, Merlin tells them. Because his geography isn't certain, beyond the Five Kingdoms.
To Ismere, Arthur guesses.
Merlin finds his balance and turns to see that the battle is won – Morgana's Saxons down or surrendered, with only a few of Arthur's troop as casualties.
No, he says.
Arthur looks at him a moment, then nods to take his word for it.
Without her, do you think the other Saxons will fight for Ismere? Leon asks.
I suppose we'll find out, Arthur tells them.
When they reach Ismere, Merlin doesn't like the look of it. It looks like iron more than stone, square corners and dark windows like the caves.
Arthur's kept a few of the Saxon survivors prisoner, and he takes them forward to speak to the keepers of the gate. Merlin can guess that he's offering them a chance to retreat, without their mistress and her magic… He wonders how she was paying them, but it's too cold for thinking, and he's glad when gates open in surrender and Arthur's troops take over.
I'll go find Gwaine and Percival, he says to Arthur as the men dismount around them in the snowy courtyard.
Wait for me, Arthur instructs him. Don't want you getting lost in here.
Sire, one of the men says, we've caught a band of slavers round the corner in the side courtyard.
Arthur looks at Merlin and both of them go still for a moment. Til Merlin shivers (from the cold, just the cold) and Arthur tells his man, We'll see to them later, once the captives are free.
Merlin thinks the king intends to leave him with Gwaine and Percival (and who will take care of whom?) when he deals with the slavers. But he remembers how bothered Gwaine was to think of Merlin's time as a captive, so he goes along with Arthur's plans to find their friends first.
They find them below the castle, below the cells. The way the torchlight bounces and jitters off the rock drags Merlin down toward memory, but the passages and chambers are so crazy-irregular he can ignore the similarities to his nightmares.
And there's Percival and Gwaine, half-naked and filthy, but fine. Except Gwaine says he's seen someone who has a strangely-shaped head and glows, and Percival shrugs.
And Merlin puts his cuffs against his ears so he won't hear whispers of his name, and crowds Arthur's heels, back up to wan winter daylight and snowflakes and frozen breath.
Merlin! He hears his name, but not in a whisper, nor in a strange voice. Not in a human voice, nor with his ears.
He hears the voices of others of Arthur's men, too – and they're not whispering, either. Sire! There is a dragon in the main bedchamber! It won't let anyone enter, and the noise it's making!
This time, Arthur follows Merlin.
Aithusa! he says delightedly, slipping past the knight and the door, away from Arthur trying to grab him back with a handful of shirt and jacket at his shoulder.
But the white dragon is broken, twisted, mournful and untrusting. He feels such a rush of kinship that he staggers sideways for a moment (I know. Me, too.) and Aithusa panics. Breathing a small stream – comparatively; Merlin's used to Kilgarrah – of fire at the king, braced in the doorway behind Merlin.
No! Merlin shouts, jumping in the way and letting the fire splash warmly against his chest. No, Aithusa, no… it's all right, I'm here, I'll take care of you. I'll fix you…
Aithusa ducks her head and shuffles forward, at the same time, and he reaches to rub her bare, deformed skull. He looks back at Arthur, delighted and triumphant – and laughs to see how pale all three of them are, Arthur and Percival and Gwaine.
Well, then, Arthur manages, like his mouth is dry.
Gwaine looks at Arthur. Stray puppy, he suggests. But what's a Pendragon without a dragon?
Arthur just shakes his head, and retreats from the room.
And Merlin is determined not to let Arthur deal with the slavers alone. (He handled the caves, didn't he? He's fine!) And with Aithusa reclaimed – needing him the way he needed his friends for so long – he feels invincible.
"Gaius."
"Ah, sire – yes, come in. I've finished my evaluation of Sirs Percival and Gwaine, as well as the others held captive with them – suffering mainly from exhaustion and malnutrition, otherwise only scrapes and bruises. Food and rest and light duties for a week, by my recommendation – they'll be fine."
"Are you quite sure that's all? Gwaine didn't have any suspicious lumps anywhere on his head?"
"I… beg your pardon?"
"Did he tell you what he thought he saw, under Ismere? He said he nearly died, and was… saved."
"Yes, he did. It sounds to me like he might have encountered the Diamair. A mythical being who can answer any question truthfully – some versions called it an oracle…"
"So it was real, what he saw."
"I think it very likely. And very fortunate that Morgana did not."
"Yes, I suppose that's true… Well, whatever it was is probably long gone by now. We left Ismere empty, and Gwaine swore he told no one else what he saw."
"That's for the best, surely, sire… Was there – anything else I could help you with?"
"… Is Merlin asleep?"
"Yes, he is. Why? Is this about the dragon? Because I can assure you, sire, it poses no threat to Camelot, it seems completely under Merlin's control –"
"Hells, the dragon. We'll have to figure that out, too, one of these days… No, I just – I wondered, if he told you anything else about our trip? About anything he… did?"
"He said he juggled for Annis."
"No. Gaius…"
"He said he fought Morgana, and effectively banished her with magic – but he said you were present for that. Was there anything else?"
"Yes… At Ismere, we caught a band of slavers. And there was one, a young man with a scarf wrapped around his head, he spoke to Merlin. Now, no one heard what he said, or what Merlin answered, but… Even surrounded and outnumbered, the young slaver grabbed a crossbow to attack, and Merlin…"
"Merlin what, my lord?"
"He… snapped that boy's neck with a flick of his fingers. It was… brutal."
"Mmm. Was the young slaver going to attack Merlin, or yourself, sire?"
"Was he – I, I don't know. Would that make a difference?"
"All the difference, Arthur."
"Why? Gaius, if you know something you're not telling me – you said Merlin didn't talk about the trip."
"Sire… There is really no good reason to explain these things to you now, except the necessity that you understand Merlin. I think what he did was not brutal, but… both practical and merciful."
"What? do you mean by that?"
"Merlin told me, he met someone he once knew, on this trip. Someone he'd been told would one day bring about your death."
"My death?"
"Merlin has always believed in destiny. And fate. He didn't know how, or why… but if this young man was the one foretold as your murderer, and he acted in violence first, do you see why Merlin would not hesitate to end the threat he posed – in fact or in potential, in that moment and with you so near?"
"… He didn't seem bothered. Like he wasn't sure why we were making a fuss."
"If you worry that the lingering effects of his own trauma have affected him, to seem like he's lost his heart or his soul, don't be. Just… watch to see how he cares for your knights, your friends, who are recuperating. Watch to see how he cares for that dragon that makes you so nervous. Perhaps he lost compassion for your enemies, Arthur, but perhaps that protects him. Do you see?"
"Because he's had to fight in his own way, and kill. Yes, I've seen how that can twist a man up inside. I've felt it. And… no, I don't want that for Merlin."
"He has not lost the ability to tell the difference between friend and enemy, Arthur. Do not ever doubt his conscience. It is intact, and pure, as is his –"
"Arthur? What are you doing here?"
"Nothing, Merlin, I'm just leaving. Go back to bed."
"Are you hurt? Do you need something? I can –"
"No, I said. Just… you need your rest. I'm just going, to bed myself, so you – get some sleep, and I'll see you in the morning."
"There's blackberry jam for Gwen's breakfast biscuits – I asked the cook when we got back."
"Good. I'm sure she'll love that. Good night, Merlin – and don't trip on the last –"
"Oops. Night, Arthur."
…
"Good night, my lord."
"Heaven help us all, Gaius."
"I believe it is, sire. I believe it is."
In the autumn of the fourth year of the reign of King Arthur of Camelot (of Brytannea), the annals of the council contain a surprising invitation for yet another peace treaty. From a former queen, an undeniable power and the leader of a substantial army – of no kingdom, but looking to conquer land. Many arguments were made, and a consensus reached that the threats were significant and therefore the demands were sure to be also.
The sorcerer who had no seat at the table, but attended anyway – he spoke infrequently, but when he did, it was worth taking heed of – declared bluntly that Arthur would die at the place of meeting. That Arthur's bane was himself; he was too trusting. The words recorded seem surprisingly calm.
The council recommended that their king decline – or at least negotiate for different terms, an alternative place of meeting. No one registered surprise when Arthur went anyway to meet the witch who'd claimed his name – and his throne, once. No one registered surprise that Merlin went as well – except maybe the witch.
And no one was surprised, except maybe Arthur, that the meeting was indeed an ambush.
The witch brought a creature of dark magic – see the accompanying scroll for the court physician's commentary – to neutralize Camelot's magic. There is speculation that she expected to cripple Merlin. There is speculation that she did not expect him to retaliate by drawing Arthur's sword (in later years it came to be known properly as Excalibur).
Experts agree that the wound was mortal. Experts do not agree on whether her body was recovered, buried, or burned.
The next year is very quiet. Sometimes Merlin thinks about Morgana, about where she ended up after the traveling spell he interfered with, and whether she's making her way back to Camelot.
They travel through the kingdom, and see evidence that the people in Camelot's villages are starting to accept magic back again – maybe cautiously, but for the most part, peacefully. One old woman gives Arthur a magic horn, and Merlin stores it with the rest of the artifacts in the vaults that he's organized.
On Arthur and Gwen's anniversary, Merlin magics a picnic – all except the food. It's a marvelous day, and he falls asleep under a nearby tree, content in the knowledge that his king and queen are safe and happily in love.
They entertain company from other kingdoms, in Camelot. Notably, King Rodor and Princess Mithian from Nemeth; he doesn't remember meeting them before, but they are both kind and pleasant. Merlin offers to juggle eggs at dinner, and Arthur turns him down emphatically – but there is a twitch at his lips that makes Merlin feel successful, anyway. Merlin entertains company from other kingdoms – a pair of druids that bring a prophecy on a little scrap of paper that he tucks into the book he's currently reading to mark his place.
One day he is surprised by Arthur in a truly foul mood. It has nothing to do with Merlin, but with Arthur's paperwork, which Merlin usually leaves undisturbed – because he doesn't like when people disturb his desk, he gives his friend, his king, the same consideration. But Gwen promises that she'll take care of responding to the missive, and Arthur subsides from a roar to a growl.
Who's the Sarrum? Merlin asks, because he's never heard the name (title?) before.
No one, Arthur says forcefully. And that is the end of it.
Then they receive word that Morgana has returned.
She wants Camelot, Merlin tells Arthur. She wants us dead. Arthur grunts because he already knows this, but still doesn't really want to talk about it.
And then they receive word that Morgana wants to meet. In a place that no one has heard of before except Percival – who knows where it is – and Merlin. Who knows what it means, from his book-marker scrap of prophecy.
So he rides next to Arthur. And he sleeps next to Arthur. And no one says anything when he accompanies Arthur to the appointed meeting place – a drab tent that flaps tattered edges, making Merlin shiver like the wind is trying to tell him something.
Morgana is accompanied by a Saxon warrior. Merlin assumes he's the leader of whatever army she's gathered to deal with Arthur's knights – and briefly wonders if his trick in sending her further away resulted in her being able to find these men.
Arthur, Morgana says, her chin up from the black fur she wears to keep off the chill of the wind. Dear brother. It's so good to see you again.
She doesn't mean it. And she ignores Merlin, who's happy for that. He's nervous because he knows she intends to betray them all, and he's the only one who can counter her magic. He wonders what he will do if she tries to retreat, like before – whether he will let her go, and in another year they will repeat this. And again, and again. But Arthur seemed so upset when he killed Mordred outright, Merlin can't quite make up his mind to kill Morgana.
Why are you here, Morgana, Arthur says, and he sounds tired. Maybe just from their ride. You know you cannot have Camelot.
Maybe not all of it, she says. But I could make it very difficult for you to hold it all, without help. I could make your allies re-think their support.
So what do you want, Arthur says.
It's absolutely ridiculous that I would have to buy my birthright, Morgana says spitefully. But I'm prepared to offer you gold. In return for peace – and half the kingdom. Which should have been mine when our father died, anyway.
Her Saxon companion steps forward with a large chest in his arms; Merlin thinks he must be very strong, if the chest is full of gold. Or maybe they want it to look like more than it is.
I think you gave up any claim to inheritance rights when you killed our father, Arthur says, and Merlin hates his tone. It makes his chest and teeth ache.
I know thinking was never a strong point for you, Morgana sneers, but just consider…
The Saxon reaches to lift the lid of the chest, as if to display the gold. Except, his eyes are on Merlin, and he's angled toward him, like it's his choice, and he's letting the base of the chest fall as if he means to spill out whatever's inside. And Morgana's looking at Merlin the same way as she had when she first laid eyes on him a year ago.
Eager. Aggressive. The shadows in the box move and look solid and -
Merlin twists in place, reaching for Arthur's sword, that Sir Elyan as the king's brother-in-law, is carrying bare across his arms, ceremonially. Elyan flinches – maybe Merlin's cut his arm accidentally; he'll fix it later. Or maybe it's the monstrous sight of the contents of the chest that the knight reacts to.
It looks like an enormous earthen tongue. Flying through the air toward Merlin – who almost freezes in disgust and horror. Almost.
He shoves Arthur's sword through the thing – and it's more like air than earth. There's no resistance whatsoever, and Merlin lurches forward, leading with the sword-point until it cleaves another body, straight through.
The monster from the chest wriggles, shriveling and shaking to dust. He can feel the tremors from Morgana's body through the blade in her chest as he stares astonished into her eyes.
I never meant to…
But this is it, he knows, even as her lips move in a familiar spell, and the air begins to wrap around her body in silver swirls. And he's both going to let her go, and kill her.
Goodbye, Morgana, he says, and it's odd, but he feels sorrow in the moment.
And she's gone.
Behind him, Gwaine is swearing, but examining the cut on Elyan's arm. Percival punches the Saxon right in the face; since his arms are still full of the empty chest, he's unarmed and shocked into distraction by what just happened to his sorceress, and drops unmoving to the ground.
By Merlin's side, Arthur sighs, his eyes fixed on the place where Morgana just disappeared – starting to fall, her mouth open on her last breath. Merlin lets the sword drop; probably he shouldn't have used it, because of Kilgarrah's warning, but. He's not sorry this time, either.
Is she dead? Arthur asks quietly. Merlin only nods. Arthur lays his hand on Merlin's shoulder. Brought peace at last…
In the eighteenth year of the reign of King Arthur of Camelot and Albion (of Brytannea), Merlin the sorcerer wrote a lengthy missive to his sovereign, found in his chambers after his disappearance, transcribed as follows:
Dear Arthur. Don't be mad at me. I know what I'm doing, truly. You don't need me anymore, not really, Albion is united so there's nothing important left for me to fix. We both know why I was doing it, anyway. A fool's errand, right?
The girl I met last week is an enchantress. She means to lock me up in a tree or a cave – what I see of the future keeps changing, I guess she hasn't made up her mind yet. She doesn't know I know.
Arthur, I'm not going to fight her, I'm going to let her. She can't use any magic she takes from me, and quite honestly I'm looking forward to hours and hours of rest, uninterrupted by dreams. You know.
You are still and will always be the Once and Future King. You will be there for your land and your people when they really need you – and I will be there for you when you really need me. I promise.
It was signed: Yours, Merlin.
"Gaius… Gaius."
…
"How can I bear this? He's always been there for me, I can't get used to not seeing him. His smile, and that light in his eyes when he was happy. He was my conscience, too, Gaius, I relied on his simple wisdom so much."
…
"Is he with you? Is he dead? We can't find that girl – damn her – so I don't know… I don't know… Is he gone, or just…"
…
"We all miss him. It's not just me. Everyone loved him. And we can't even – really – have a funeral. Maybe a memorial, though…"
…
"I was thinking of Camlann the other day, again. And he saved my life. And we've had peace – well, mostly – since then. I wish… I just wish I could have saved his life, you know? But if… if he thinks that this is his peace…"
…
"He promised that he'd be there, when I really needed him. I guess, since he's not here… I'll just have to keep on, the way we would've if… And just, never forget him."
…
"I miss him so much already."
There is a legend that a single tree grew in the rocky pass of Camlann for years, toward the end of the reign of King Arthur of Camelot and Albion (of Brytannea). A white hawthorn.
It is said that King Arthur, sometimes accompanied by those closest to him, made yearly pilgrimages to this unusual site.
Some legends claim that Arthur never died, truly, that he was instead placed comatose on a magical barge and sailed to Avalon (Tir na n'Og), the land of eternal youth. And that one day, the laws of the supernatural will bend for him, releasing him back to the living side of the invisible veil of spirits.
Other legends say that it was not in battle that Arthur's life ended, though at Camlann. That he was surprised – ambushed – by a young sorceress (another word is enchantress, though it might also be an oblique reference to a proper name, or title), capable of changing age or appearance or both. And that from that moment on, a second tree stood beside the gnarled hawthorn – a straight and stately oak.
Of course other legends exist about the return of the king. And what might happen to the man who fells a certain pair of trees growing stubbornly together in a place of death (or just very rocky soil). But if it is future, who can say for sure?
A/N: I promise, this is the darkest one of this collection – a little better from here on out. Next up, Mordred complication…
Also, I'm a NaNoWriMo 2017 winner! This has been my best year yet, plans going relatively smoothly, word count coming out easy, no major self-doubt… But I've got five and a half chapters to go before I'm finished with the story, so… Second wind, anyone?