A/N: Also begins mid ep.5.12 "The Diamond of the Day". Italics = thoughts or emphasis or dialogue quoted from series episodes. Bold = written material that's being read. Sorry for any confusion…
Dear Gaius
"You know, Merlin…" Arthur spoke deliberately, so emotion wouldn't escape and betray him in his tone. "All those jokes about you being a coward. I never really meant any of them." You just had a different sort of courage, and damn it all, I still don't get that. "I always thought you were the bravest man I'd ever met."
Someone who lifted his chin and spoke his mind to the crown prince – to the king. Until today.
Arthur paused, hurt and anger smoldering together in his chest to watch Merlin stand there, hands at his side. Eyes brimming – meeting his hopefully at the implied compliment. You are brave. I rely on you… I trust you.
And yet, obviously Merlin didn't trust him. Not enough to tell him the truth. I've been given too much time to think about facing Morgana again, and I'm scared. I don't think we can do this.
I don't think you can do this.
It was unbearable, Merlin's subservience – like premature defeat. So Arthur set out deliberately to provoke – something. A reaction, an explanation, a defense… something.
"Guess I was wrong."
Nothing.
And in the end, it was Arthur who looked away, who turned away, moving aimlessly to the other room in a defeated retreat of his own.
Merlin believed in the impossible, and then it happened. And if he didn't believe this time, if he was absenting himself from Arthur's side – though of course a servant wouldn't accompany a warrior to the battlefield anyway – Arthur felt alone. He was the king, and he would have an army at his back, and he'd be alone.
Across the adjoining chamber, he heard the respectfully soft click of the door latch as it closed behind Merlin without another word spoken, and the noise pierced his heart like a slender splinter, to bleed and bleed.
He felt that effect for another hour or so, weakening, exhausting, draining, debilitating.
And though he didn't really want to repeat their non-conversation, and though he didn't always trust Gaius' excuses for Merlin's absences, he gave himself a reason for passing by the physician's quarters. Checking to see that supplies for the sounded were gathered and packed. That Gaius had all the help he needed.
I have an urgent errand to run for Gaius. Vital supplies that I can't obtain here.
The room was empty. Not cluttered, as though Gaius and his part-of-the-time assistant were still in the midst of arrangements, but as if they had been completed early. Arthur wondered if Gaius was overseeing the organization of the infirmary-wagon, in the stables or in the courtyard.
Pausing to inhale the pungent, usually-soothing herbal tang of the air, a moment of calm in the frenetic pace of battle preparations, Arthur cast his gaze once more around the room. Because if he didn't come back – if Morgana was victorious and returned to rule as Camelot's queen…
There was a lumpy cloth bag on the side table under the window, like one last thing mistakenly overlooked. Placed to attract attention and remembrance – and there was a folded scrap of parchment propped against it.
Arthur stepped to the table for a closer look. Dear Gaius, written on the outside, in Merlin's hand.
Which was odd. If Merlin truly was running errands for Gaius, what need of a note left here? It was more indicative of… a final farewell.
Arthur sneered in further disappointment. So Merlin couldn't even stand before Gaius with his hands at his sides and his eyes full, telling lies – he'd leave the old man who'd been both guardian and friend for nearly a decade, a note.
His fingers twitched, and disappointment dissolved toward curiosity. What was in the note? What was in the bag?
Before he could think twice – well, I am king, after all – Arthur threw one leg over the bench and sat down, plucking up the note where his thumb would open the crease, and the bag with his other hand. It was light and rustle-y, and the drawstring wasn't tied – he glimpsed more folded parchment, even as his eyes tracked to the words scrawled in inelegant haste.
Dear Gaius. This time we got to say goodbye, and I'm glad for it – but if this doesn't work, if the cave in the Valley of the Fallen Kings holds nothing for me, then I will see you in Camlann.
Or maybe not, for I won't be with you, but with Arthur. Of course. If this is really the end, the end of everything, I will still give my life defending him. Mordred and Morgana will only get to him over my dead body, I swear it to all the gods that meddle with human lives. And he won't know anything – but it won't matter, if we're both past caring.
And maybe you won't be coming back here, in that case. But if you do, I want you to know all of this, read all of these letters, finally. All my gratitude, every time. If not for you, I would have been dead long ago, and I know I act and sound ungrateful, particularly this year, I know I've ignored your advice – but I do treasure it. All the worry and caution and even the scolding, Gaius, I heard you. I listened. And I loved you for it. For the book you gave me, the things you taught me about life and medicine and magic. I was proud to…
The emotion of the letter twisted Arthur's heart with guilt, for what he'd said in his chamber, for what he was doing now in theirs, but… that word jolted him right out of the missive's flow of feeling and inexplicable references.
Magic.
Logic tried to assert itself – Gaius knew at least half as much about magic as he did about medicine, and if he intended Merlin to replace him someday, then…
Gaius has heard of a sorcerer, an old man, living in the Forest of Glaestig… But, This sorcerer will be entirely different – I have chosen a woman.
Arthur trusted Gaius' knowledge; it had never been wrong, had it? He'd trusted Gaius' trust in both Dragoon and Dolma… with varying results.
If this doesn't work. A cave in the Valley of the Fallen Kings.
That did not sound like vital supplies. That sounded a lot more like A rich variety of people with a range of different beliefs, seeking to protect you… One day you will understand, just how much they've done for you.
Arthur shuddered. If Merlin had gone after that old man for his help at Camlann… What should he do when they showed up at the battlefield? And after?
When I am King, things will be different – you won't have to live in fear.
But if, sounded like Merlin wasn't sure. Ignoring the deeply personal closing of the letter, Arthur scanned the first lines again – another shiver rippling through him at the ironclad avowal of loyalty-to-the-death. Merlin meant over my dead body literally – and Arthur had called him coward.
Mordred and Morgana… That was news to Arthur. A disappointment, but not an impossibility. He'd knighted Mordred in good faith that being raised a druid did not equate with having or using magic – but the state of Mordred's vacant prison cell after the execution of the girl who'd attempted to assassinate Arthur was undeniably conclusive. And it wasn't such a leap of logic to assume that he'd seek out Morgana – the current champion of sorcery – for alliance and maybe revenge. Morgana might accept him even after he'd stabbed her, if she held her temper long enough to realize that as a former knight of Camelot, Mordred might have valuable information.
Arthur wondered if Merlin had left already – if there was time to catch him, to discuss his self-appointed mission to recruit a magic-user to fight on their side. To force him to take some company for protection, for the love of Camelot, that valley was infested with bandits, to Arthur's shame and annoyance. Or would that cross the line from not being able to stop someone using magic, even on their side, to actively generating something he was duty-bound to prosecute?
Something else caught his attention, before he could stand from the table and stride from the room.
He won't know anything… Maybe that referred to Arthur himself, never aware that they'd tried to match Morgana's magic at this battle, even illegally and without his permission. But… all of this. Implied more.
The folded papers in the cloth bag rustled suggestively, and Arthur laid down Merlin's farewell letter to Gaius to investigate.
Drawing the whole stack carefully free, to keep them ordered so that none could tell they'd been interfered with, he twisted the collection to find the one that was darkest and most brittle with age.
Again, Dear Gaius written across the outside.
Handling the rest of the stack carefully, he thumbed it open. This note, the earliest written, was scrawled carelessly, as if dashed off in a great hurry. Arthur had seen Merlin's writing so many times over the years he knew it immediately – but it seemed to hold such reckless enthusiasm, compared to the neat, cautious way Merlin wrote now, a style that lingered even in the haste of today's letter.
Dear Gaius,
So we're off to the cisterns again, me and Arthur and Morgana because of course she won't stay behind. Don't worry, that monster, that afanc, won't stand a chance.
And… yet I'm writing this. Just in case, all right? I lied about knowing about elements, really the dragon told me but I couldn't say that to you, obviously – forgive me?
We'll be all right. I know we will. Arthur's brave and a capable warrior, and I've got the spell that will work… Just, if it doesn't, please tell my mother I love her and I've missed her and I'm sorry I wasn't more careful? And thank you for everything. Hopefully I can get back in one piece before you actually find this…
Arthur read it twice. And then again.
What the hell?
He remembered the afanc – he remembered all the monsters. The moment of first laying eyes on each of them, the despair that threatened at the obvious impossibility of victory… The energy of fatalistic resolve to do his best and go down fighting, anyway. That feeling was here in this letter; Merlin had felt it, too – and he was no kind of warrior, not then and not really now. The first of many times they'd faced fantastic danger, together.
But there was that infallible belief – don't worry, it won't stand a chance.
Somehow connected oh-so-breezily to a mention of the dragon – and that was a couple of years before its release, wasn't it? For the love of… Camelot, Merlin must have found its prison – and talked to it – and trusted it… Arthur wanted to thump his head several times against the table. Damn his ignorant peasant innocence and his incorrigible curiosity.
I've got the spell. Arthur remembered a gust of air, blowing the torch he'd used as a last resort, thinking then of defending their retreat against the monster.
Well, they'd dabbled in the edges of magic over the years, looking for solutions, breaking enchantments, hadn't they? He'd blown the Horn and then taken the potion that would allow him to see spirits; he'd requested the ritual at the Cauldron; he'd authorized the attempted healing of his father with magic. But this… implied that Merlin had performed magic, that day.
Gaius could, Arthur knew. He'd never asked specifically if the old man had, on any given occasion, because of the law he'd been born and had sworn to uphold, and why would you want such a friend and a valuable ally to incriminate himself? He trusted Gaius' motives, even if the old physician had crossed the line he was skirting, risking exposure for the greater good and protection of king and kingdom.
And Merlin. If Arthur was honest, it wasn't as shocking upon reflection, to think that the apprentice had done as the master, at least as far as research went.
Merlin capable of performing effective magic… was he frightened by that thought?
In those early days, Merlin had been foolish and impetuous and careless. Arthur remembered that Gwen's father had been the only one cured of the disease caused by that afanc in the water. He remembered that she'd been accused of sorcery and imprisoned – he remembered arguing for her life to be spared, if she'd only intended good to come from the magic performed in healing. His heart still twisted to think of what might have been – what might not have been – and tonight when they were alone, he intended to hold her very close and tight.
Tomorrow he was going into battle again. This time against Morgana, for the sake of his queen and his kingdom…
Magic had twisted Morgana, hatred and enmity and now she sought to destroy what she had once risked her life beside him and beside Merlin to defend. When he caught up to Merlin – or maybe a couple of the knights could carry the message when they followed him to the Valley – he'd have to warn him. Probably that old Dragoon, or whatever his name really was, knew the safeguards against the corruption of prolonged usage of magic. Probably Gaius did too – but Merlin was foolish and reckless.
And, Arthur had to admit, his young manservant had been acting different, this year. Somber and cheerless… he hoped it was not the beginning of losing Merlin to the lure of sorcery's evil. After Camlann…
I've got the spell that will work – just, if it doesn't…
If this doesn't work…
Arthur looked at the folded papers in his hand differently. If each one was a farewell, when Merlin was trying something risky – something magical, each time? – didn't Arthur had the right to know. Didn't he have the responsibility, now that they were facing an enemy sorceress again? He understood why Gaius and Merlin would not have suggested magic to him as a solution, even if it was necessary, but surely they had talked tactics and possibilities, before now?
Curiosity burned. The need to know weighed on him with the memory and urgency of tomorrow's march.
He laid the afanc note down on its Dear Gaius, and opened the next.
Dear Gaius,
I know you told me to stay out of it, but honestly, when you told me that, it was already too late. I'm sorry I bungled the druid boy's treatment – I guess I'll have to pay more attention to your lessons next time? There'll be a next time, I'm sure.
Unless, of course, we're caught. Which is why I'm writing this… Last time, I managed to get my goodbye note back – and I think I'll be able to this time… But just in case.
Sorry, the dragon again. Also told me I shouldn't help the boy. He said he was destined to kill Arthur, or something. But I guess, if we're caught, he'll be executed right along with me. And, after all, I don't want that to happen.
Anyway, if it does. I'm really sorry for not paying better attention to you, but you should know I really do appreciate your warnings and your teaching and training and everything. And tell my mother I'm sorry, and I love her. And maybe, someday tell Arthur why I helped the druid boy to begin with.
"Merlin…" Arthur growled, pinching the stack of unopened letters savagely. If each of these was going to make him want to bang his head on the table…
That boy was Mordred. How could he forget? It was the first time he'd actually defied his father's orders, and helped a criminal escape. Criminal. Without an accusation, without a trial, without even a name, his father had condemned the boy for being what he was born. A druid.
And even though Arthur had made his peace with the peaceful druids, there were still those like Kara – like Morgana – who were consumed by bitterness and sought revenge with violence. And the just response to that vengeful passion – the swift execution of an unrepentant attempted-assassin - had alienated Mordred…
Arthur snorted to himself, refolding the note. Of course Merlin had gotten involved without thinking, way back then; of course he'd protected a little boy without caring about the consequences.
Or the magic. Merlin had never feared magic, Arthur realized suddenly; he'd feared the danger.
Which said something about magic itself, didn't it?
Arthur didn't want to examine that too closely. He laid the Mordred note on the afanc note, and opened the third, plunging into yet another memory.
Dear Gaius,
I've seen Anhora. I asked for another chance for Arthur to lift this curse, and he's going to take it and ride to the Labyrinth of Gedref. I can't let him go alone.
Arthur closed his eyes, clenching his fist around the sheet involuntarily. That, he'd never quite gotten over. That paralyzing fear that everyone was going to die, and it was his fault, and he couldn't fight it, and he couldn't die for his people – they were dying for him. It resonated with a suppressed fear for tomorrow…
If he could drink a cup of disguised poison and wake up with the curse his half-sister threatened over, and his people safe, he'd do it. He'd even drink the actual poison.
But after all, that had worked out. Merlin had been at the Labyrinth. Merlin had sought out the sorcerer to beg his help… Merlin was a far better servant of Camelot than Arthur had ever been. He didn't let his pride get in his way – though evidently he didn't let the law get in his way, either.
They were definitely going to have to talk.
Leaving the rest unread, Arthur laid the unicorn note down and unfolded the next from the stack.
Dear Gaius.
These letters were smaller and darker than those of the previous notes, which appeared dashed off in a hurried hand. This was far more deliberate.
I'm sorry. I failed to protect Arthur from the Questing Beast. It was my responsibility, my fault that it happened. Morgana had one of her dreams again, and I should've listened, I should've asked her all the details, but I thought… I thought I could handle it, I was sure this wasn't any different than the afanc, maybe, in spite of its size and your warning.
I'm so sorry I didn't listen.
I'm going to make it right, though, Gaius, I promise. No matter what. The dragon says it will take ancient, powerful magic, and so I'm going to the Isle of the Blessed. I don't care how dangerous it is – and I know I'm not listening to your warning again. I just, I can't lose Arthur without trying everything. You understand, don't you? If it doesn't work – or if it does, but the price is my life and I don't come back…
The letter concluded with the same sort of sentiment as the others. Messages for his mother, gratitude for Gaius' care and instruction. Apologies.
Arthur closed his eyes again, straining through the fog of memory, but though both times he'd faced that fearsome beast were relatively clear in his mind, the rest of those days was a blur. Except for that one odd conversation when he thought that Merlin was quitting – only to hear the first of those surprisingly-poignant declarations of loyalty. I'm happy to be your servant til the day I die.
Disconcerting thought – was Merlin still happy being Arthur's servant? Gwen was queen, and their friends were all knights, and of course they never stood on protocol in private, but… was Merlin still happy.
Hardly ever, all year this year. Was that the effect of too much corruptive magic – or was that because they'd acquired Mordred in the expedition to Ismere? Destined to kill Arthur? Or something?
Why hadn't Merlin ever said?
Arthur had to answer his own question honestly. Because you'd have mocked and ignored him. Maybe even threatened him, like when he'd spoken against Agravaine…
He redirected his thoughts deliberately, to wonder what Merlin had found on the Isle that had been so effective in healing. His memories of that place were the substance of nightmares, honestly – death and darkness, infested with wyverns.
But that had only been the first year, and already he was a third of the way through Merlin's stack of notes. So had these dangers and risks that Arthur had not been fully aware of abated… or had Merlin gotten better at dealing with them without fear for his life? Had he simply stopped fearing for his life – or had he stopped bothering to leave a communication for Gaius?...
The next letter was not addressed like the others – and when Arthur opened it, he received a shock. It wasn't Merlin's scrawl at all, but Gaius' spidery elegance.
Dear Merlin,
My life is already near to its end. There has, for the most part, been very little purpose to it, very little that will be remembered. In contrast, Merlin, your life is destined for greatness. Live by the tenets I have taught you, and I believe you will, in time, become the greatest warlock ever. To have known you has been my greatest pleasure, and to sacrifice myself for you is but an honor. You are and always will be the son I never had.
Wait, what? Gaius considered that Merlin would be a greater man than he was? Arthur admitted that Merlin was a good man, a brave man and knowledgeable and capable, but… greater than Gaius? The ending was not so surprising; everyone knew how Gaius had treasured Merlin.
But… warlock. Gaius called Merlin a warlock. That meant… what? What was the difference to someone with the ability - and rare occasion - to use magic?
Druids were raised in the religion of magic, the prophecy and lore and history, though not all of them practiced, or were able to learn – as Arthur understood it. Sorcery was magic sought after, pursued and learned and earned by repetition and sacrifice – an ominous thought he did not want details on, but…
That had not been Morgana. Perhaps she had defended Mordred as a boy, perhaps she had challenged Uther's views on magic when Gwen was falsely accused, but Arthur couldn't think she'd even had opportunity to learn. Gaius had given her potions – though evidently he was teaching and training Merlin, Arthur highly doubted the old man would have allowed Morgana access to the information.
And there was that once when Morgana had been abducted by the druids. And that year she'd been abducted by the sorceress Morgause, before betraying them all. Had she been forced into sorcery? Had she been curious, and tempted by the power? Or was it something else – those dreams Merlin had mentioned believing, Arthur could remember years before Merlin ever came to Camelot, Morgana claiming to have dreamed about things before they happened. No one said magic – of course no one would. But what if…
Warlock. What if that meant before Merlin had even met Gaius and his books and his knowledge and research. What if that referred to something innate?
How was Arthur supposed to deal with something like that?
Absently he laid aside the note Gaius had written for Merlin – taking some unknown risk of his own? – and unfolded the next from the stack. Another one written in an untidy hurry.
Dear Gaius,
I have to go to the druids. Uther thinks Morgana's been kidnapped –
What?
and Arthur has been ordered to rescue her, and it's my fault because she was so scared, and I know you told me not to tell her about my magic, but maybe I should've because telling her where to find the druids was a mistake and now people are going to die because of me –
My magic. Arthur shivered, and once again focused his concentration elsewhere.
Morgana's kidnapping was their second year as master and servant. Arthur remembered the fire started in Morgana's room that had frightened her – unduly, he'd thought then. Then followed the routine of searching for a sorcerer who may or may not have attacked – but when she'd disappeared from the citadel, he had believed. He remembered that raid on the druid camp – unlike the one he'd led as an untried boy that still twisted his stomach in spite of the forgiveness spoken by another druid boy in Elyan's voice – it had been justified. So he thought.
His stomach lurched, just a bit, to think that Merlin had experienced a similar feeling of culpability.
Morgana's dreams – magic, emerging? That sort of innate magic that the terms witch and warlock referred to? And Morgana had gone to that camp of her own volition…
and I don't know what will happen when we get there but if I'm found out and killed, I'm sorry. I really am – but I don't think I was wrong, in telling her where to find people that could and would help her. I don't know if she's going to get that chance again – if I can't talk to her about magic, and you won't. I'm not saying you're wrong, not now when I might not see you again, but… I don't know. I've got to go, I'm late, so just – read the other notes. I still mean it all.
Arthur filled his lungs, held the breath, then let it out in a long hard sigh.
Probably it was because of Merlin that most of the camp had escaped that day. And probably Morgana could have and should have taken responsibility, admitted she'd sought them out, even from curiosity or the sort of flouting of her guardian's laws she seemed to make a habit, sometimes. Honestly, she'd managed to leave the citadel on such unsanctioned trips as often as he had; why hadn't she been smarter about leaving, that day?
Perhaps the discovery of whatever innate ability she possessed that made her a witch, had turned her attention from the suffering innocents of Camelot, to her own possible suffering.
But she wasn't innocent, anymore.
Arthur carefully laid that note down, upside down over the ones he'd already read. If Morgana had ever had occasion to write a series of letters like this – to Gwen, maybe? before she'd decided to betray them and side with Morgause – what might they have said?
I'm sorry? I love you all? I want to explain how I feel, and what I think?
His chest ached to think of all the mistakes and misunderstandings and wrong choices that had led all of them from there, to here.
Dear Gaius,
I'm sorry.
Arthur made a rude noise aloud in the stillness of the room. It seemed his manservant was forever thanking Gaius for his instruction, and simultaneously apologizing for ignoring it.
I don't like it any more than you do, the idea of Arthur accepting Morgause's challenge. But he has a right to keep an oath he made, to keep his honor, and I don't think Uther as the king or his father, should keep him from that. I'm sorry I didn't tell you what we're going to do, but I swear I will guard him with my life. If he doesn't come home, neither will I.
Arthur shuddered. Wasn't that the very thing Merlin had sworn in the note he'd written today? Over my dead body.
Even knowing what he knew now of Morgause, he couldn't be sorry he'd gone. That he'd kept that oath that Merlin had known would be important, no matter how he felt about putting his head on that block, or seeing his mother – no matter the rage he'd returned with, the self-righteous indignation at the idea that his father had requested magic and then betrayed its user.
But hadn't he done just that.
With old Dragoon, giving promises that had been rescinded because the outcome wasn't what he wanted. If he'd kept that promise as faithfully as he'd kept the one made to Morgause, how might things be different now?
Shame swept over him in a cold, wet wave to think… he was more like his father than he liked. Dragoon hadn't promised results, only his best effort. And Arthur had declared, magic is evil – just like Uther. Maybe he hadn't combed his kingdom looking for any hint of it to punish, maybe he hadn't jumped to that conclusion against all logic when otherwise inexplicable things happened – but had he made things difficult for Gaius and Merlin? Had he prevented them from being able to speak to him honestly and openly? Had he created his own enemies – Kara, and Mordred?
Did he want to keep reading.
Arthur laid the last sheet down, lightly and carefully. And selected the next.
Dear Gaius,
I'm leaving. I know what you think about Freya – that's her name, the druid girl, she has a name, she's a person – and the creature that Arthur's been hunting for killing those people. I know you think that turning her in to the king is the right thing to do, but it's not. The curse isn't her fault, if you knew her, if you saw her, you'd know that.
I'm leaving and I'm taking her with me. She won't hurt me, don't worry, we'll go far away from everyone and I'll break the curse, I will, you know I can.
I know what we've said about Arthur, and my destiny. I haven't forgotten, and it isn't as if I don't care. It's just – she needs me a lot more than Arthur does, right now. And the way I feel when I'm with her – she understands me, I really think she might… like me, as much as I like her. I think we can be happy together.
And if you'd heard what he said last week about people who use magic – that we're evil and dangerous… He doesn't want me, not really. He can't accept me, and maybe he never will.
Arthur pushed roughly away from the table, dropping the note like it had caught fire. He had to pace for a few minutes to keep from exploding – shouting, or sobbing. Or both. Another druid, that Merlin had considered innocent, and freed – and which had resulted in several deaths.
"Hells, why didn't you…" he said aloud, kicking over the stool in the struggle of his feelings.
No, he knew why Merlin hadn't said anything. That sort of communication between him and his servant had been forbidden many times over. And it kept Merlin isolated, when choices like this came up – and of course he made decisions based on his emotions in the moment. And then of course he felt guilty when they went wrong.
The realization of Merlin's intended departure, even years ago, vibrated through the bedrock of his conviction of his friend's loyalty, but he trembled to know that it was in response to his own actions and attitudes. How personally Merlin must have taken that. How adept he'd become at hiding the hurt – because Arthur knew he'd repeated the sentiment, at least as often as he'd questioned whether it was correct.
And he cringed to remember, Guess I was wrong…
He cringed to remember the tip of his sword cleaving that creature's thick black fur – he never had seen her as a girl, and wondered if she had been pretty. He'd never seen Merlin with a girl, else.
He cringed to remember how Merlin had encouraged him in his relationship with Guinevere - How can I admit that I think about her all the time. Or that I care about her more than anyone. How can I admit that I don't know what I'll do if any harm comes to her? Harm had come to the girl Merlin cared about – at Arthur's hand. And yet, he'd been there the next day – subdued, but there. And he'd allowed Arthur to coax a smile. And he'd talked Arthur out of marrying Elena – and Mithian, though that was mostly body language – and had never given up on Guinevere's return, even through the months when Arthur couldn't bear to hear her name, from the despair of a broken heart.
Arthur had rarely felt more undeserving.
Merlin said so much, all the time, more than Arthur ever wanted. And yet, it seemed he hadn't said enough. Because sometimes he really did pay attention to what Arthur didn't want to hear…
"You never were going to say anything, were you?" Arthur demanded of the empty air, in the direction of Merlin's back room, up three uneven stairs and through a door left ajar. "Just – let me go my way in ignorance, blindly trampling all over the truth and your feelings…"
He stopped and turned to glare at the two little piles of folded parchment. Any minute Gaius might return, and if Gaius interrupted this exercise in breach-of-privacy, he'd have to demand answers and explanations from the old physician. He could take these back to his own chamber, except Gwen would be there, and he shouldn't let anything distract him from their last night together.
The one thing he didn't think he could do, was to leave the rest of them unread.
The chamber was growing dim – the day was dying. Merlin was long gone, and Gaius maybe returning in moments. Arthur focused, for a moment, on lighting half a dozen candles about the room. On the table. Then he sat down again and picked up the next letter.
Dear Gaius,
Don't have much time, the dragon – and Arthur – waits for no man. Oh, Kilgarrah – that's his name. Did you know? Balinor – my father, told me that.
Arthur let the page fall, feeling numb from shock upon shock.
Or maybe this was all a crazy pre-battle dream. But the candles flickered, and the moments passed, and he didn't wake.
He turned his eyes back to the words.
I forgive you for not telling me sooner. If we don't come back tonight, please tell my mother I forgive her, too. I understand why you didn't say anything – it's the same reason I've never told anyone I loved who I really am. Because the telling puts them in danger…
Black letters swam on cream parchment, and what Arthur saw was the bearded hermit clutched in the boy's arms. What he heard was the half-stifled sobs, and for days after, reddened eyes in spite of their victory.
The son of the dragonlord. And that, the reason why Merlin had grown up fatherless – the Pendragon score to settle with any and all magic. My fault. My fault.
I'm sorry for releasing the dragon – but I made him a promise, when I needed him and didn't have anything else to give in return.
Oh, for hell's sake.
What was it with promises? Should they still be kept when such catastrophe followed?
Arthur supposed if he decided not to regret keeping that promise to Morgause, he wouldn't fault Merlin for keeping a promise like, I'm going to free the dragon.
His fault. My fault. Our fault, together.
I don't want to kill him, he's the last of his kind after all. But if it comes to him or Arthur…
He let the page refold on itself, and drop to the pile that was now higher than the first, and would grow. Inexplicable secrets, bared emotion – incomprehensible. Arthur thought distantly about rereading with slower scrutiny, and wondered if he could.
It felt a bit like drowning. He'd had dreams about drowning, once, a very long time ago… He remembered waking from those dreams to Gaius' concern. And Merlin's cheeky grin. A stupid story about his manservant knocking him out to prevent him eloping…
Arthur put his elbow on the table, and rested his forehead in his palm.
A/N: TBC…