Chapter Summary: Prince Arthur asks his questions. The queen makes a proclamation.
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Chapter XXVI: As Long as We Remember Them
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Earlier that morning, Camelot's crowned prince and his uncle loiter just outside the protection of the castle shield.
The mid-morning sun glints upon the buckles of the trunks filled with clothes and mathoms. The ornate carriage made of fine wood, attached to two sturdy stallions, creaks and heaves as it takes in the piles of luggage being crammed in by servants.
"Well, Arthur, it's been another fun visit," Uncle Agravaine remarks brightly. "Remember what I told you about those councilmen. Don't let your mother stress too much, would you? She's becoming less patient with my pranks." The lord lets out an aggrieved sigh, as if his younger sister is but a simple commoner who has time for his mischief and not the queen of one of the largest kingdoms in Albion. "She's not even going to send me off — how cruel. Even Tristan's cross with me. Be thankful you don't have siblings, Arthur. They change as they grow up and you're going to miss how adorable they were."
Arthur lets his uncle rant some more, listening with intermittent nods. Finally, after nearly half-an-hour, Uncle Agravaine runs out of words and takes a deep breath.
"Well. Spit it out then." Uncle Agravaine clears his throat and sends Arthur a knowing look. "No matter how fond you are of me, I know you won't let me blabber endlessly like this unless you're keen to ask something of me."
Arthur's mouth quirks in amusement. "Make no mistake, Uncle; I am very fond of you."
Uncle Agravaine scoffs. "Out with it."
Arthur smooths his expression into a blank mask. "What is your judgment on Merlin?"
Uncle Agravaine grins a grin that almost splits his face in half. "He's very comely and witty. Fit to be a prince consort, in fact. I thoroughly approve of him." The lord claps Arthur on the shoulder and nods rapidly.
Arthur shoots him a glance filled wryness.
Uncle Agravaine drops the pretense and sighs. "Oh, all right." A note of contemplation enters the lord's dark eyes as he sobers up. "I have not observed anything you haven't, Arthur. I know not what you wish to hear. He's loyal to his friends, obviously. He's very loyal to you."
"To me?"
"He agreed to lie to a queen to keep you out of trouble, did he not? Then, he saved your life at almost the cost of his own." Agravaine points out before straightening his collar. "He survived a curse that would have been fatal to anyone else. That makes me sure his magic is as powerful as the rumors say."
It's as his uncle said; this information is nothing new for Arthur. To the prince's utmost surprise, however, Uncle Agravaine adds more.
With uncharacteristic seriousness, Uncle Agravaine meets Arthur's eyes and says, "You should trust him."
Arthur blinks rapidly, silently inquiring.
"I know you're starting to."A smile ghosts the lord's lips. "But perhaps you are seeking validation that it's the right thing to do. So here is your validation, nephew of mine. I sense no maliciousness nor an ounce of complex calculation within the soft mind of that boy."
"You should not underestimate him," Arthur replies.
"Oh, I don't," Uncle Agravaine denies easily. "I've noticed, however, when it comes to you or Lord Balinor, Merlin truly is a bit of a soft touch."
Arthur can say nothing to deny the truth of that.
The prince watches as his uncle boards the carriage and bids him farewell. "I'll see you at your nameday, Arthur. Stay alive and careful!" With that last semi-serious last greeting, Uncle Agravaine enters the carriage and tarries no longer.
Arthur watches as the lord's entourage gets farther and farther away.
When Arthur was barely a tween, Uncle Agravaine has taken one look at how his mother coddled him and knew that the court would eat the prince alive should the situation continue. The lord has taken it upon himself to expose Arthur to the tragic, calculating, and crummy ways of politics, and teach him how to navigate them. Arthur doesn't think he can ever repay his uncle back for those lessons.
Uncle Agravaine has posed himself as the jester lord to escape the heavy responsibilities that comes with being the queen's brother; he has let others underestimate him thoroughly. Arthur, however, knows not to undervalue his uncle's words.
Arthur trusts his uncle, and, more importantly, he trusts his uncle's judgment.
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A few days ago, Gaius and Balinor set up a daily routine for Merlin to exercise and get the blood flowing within his long unused muscles. While specific potions and thorough care slowed down the atrophy, ten full days of unconsciousness still had a harsh effect on Merlin's body.
When the lesson ends and Balinor rises to assist Merlin on the aforementioned routine, Arthur chimes in with an off-handed tone, "I can help him."
The Court Sorcerer sends the prince a look of inquiry.
Arthur shifts in his seat and casually says, "Merlin and I also have something of import to discuss anyway."
Merlin's eyes grow to the size of dinner plates. Arthur can practically hear what the apprentice wishes to convey from where he's sitting. Why on earth are you implying such suspicious things in front of the one man we don't want to arouse suspicion from!?
Sometimes, Merlin truly is tragically obvious.
The Court Sorcerer's narrow eyes scrutinize both of them for a tense-filled second. Then, he blinks and lets out a hum.
"He's still recovering. Don't keep him up too late," Balinor tells the prince before leaving the chambers without another question — just as Arthur expects.
As soon as the door closes behind his mentor, Merlin throws out an anti-eavesdropping spell and hisses at Arthur.
"What the hell?"
"By obviously letting him know that we have private discussions, we're implying said discussions have nothing to do with him," Arthur explains succinctly.
"Oh," is all Merlin replies with, the fires of his anger immediately doused.
The apprentice can be described as even-tempered for the most part. When it comes to anything involving Balinor, however, sense seems to desert Merlin entirely. Arthur wonders if Merlin notices it himself.
The prince can somewhat understand that feeling. Balinor is one the very few people he trusts and value completely.
He rises to his feet, stretching his legs after sitting down for a long while. He trods towards the bed, ignoring the twinge in his left leg through years of practice.
Merlin looks up at him and raises a brow. "You're actually going to help me?"
"I can always sit down and just watch you fall on your backside," Arthur quips. "But then, Balinor will likely skin me if he finds out about it."
The apprentice rolls his eyes and pulls back the quilt from the lower half of his body. Carelessly, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and plants his bare feet flat on the cold rug placed around the bed. Arthur watches Merlin stifle a hiss at the chill.
With the tips of his boots, the prince pointedly pushes the pair of slippers set just inches away from where Merlin's feet landed. After sending Arthur a narrow-eyed glance, Merlin dons them and stands up on shaky legs. Arthur grasps his upper arm and aids him in straightening up. Merlin grunts and rubs his calf, discomfort blatant in the pinch of his brows.
After pausing to adjust himself and shaking off the prince's hold, the apprentice gingerly pads towards a wall, his steps faltering but his knees steadily holding him up. With one hand on the stone wall for support, he begins walking around the chambers and exercising the muscles in his legs.
Arthur follows closely and watches carefully. Balinor may not skin him should he let Merlin fall but the Court Sorcerer will definitely favor him with that disappointed 'I thought you better than this' stare that everyone in the castle loathes to be the recepient of.
One prince and one apprentice walks idly around the large chambers of the royal room, only the sounds of toterring steps and stifled grunts accompany them.
The curtains of the large windows are still drawn, showcasing stars that hang brightly on the carpet of the night sky. The waning half-moon beams through the glass of the windows, the corners of the chambers unreachable by torches coloring a bluish tint. Below, a few homes and establishments emit firelight. People are sparse on the streets, as they have been in the past week when the threat of war looms over their heads.
It's a quiet and beautiful night, Arthur thinks. Not really a night suited for confrontations and melancholic truths.
"Tell me." Merlin is the one who breaks the silence between them. Sweat dots his forehead at the effort of keeping his legs and whole body moving.
Arthur considers playing obtuse.
He has, however, tarried long enough. After nine days, it's time to face the inevitable.
"Lily is Balinor's daughter," he says bluntly, unable to do anything to soften the impact.
Merlin breathes out and sorrow flashes by his face. "How did you confirm it?"
"I've kept a couple of Lily's belongings."
A wooden hair pin. A handkerchief of silken made. A pocket mirror. Arthur hasn't touched any of them for three years until a week ago.
"Among them, I found a strand of hair I used to test our assumption."
If Arthur found nothing he needed among them —
Deep in the storage chests in the Court Sorcerer's room, a simple dress or two, a castle talisman in the shape of the Triple Moon, and a tattered satchel lay untouched. Fortunately, the prince has no need to disturb them.
Balinor and he have stashed the items for safekeeping just in case — just in case a relative who's late for the funeral pyre wishes for keepsakes.
Four years later, and no such person arrived.
Because they're already here in the citadel, already keeping her memory through those meager belongings.
Arthur has hoped, as he watches the blood test bubbles, that the results will not provide the evidence they expect. While Balinor has treated Lily like his daughter, it's a different matter entirely to find out she was of his blood after her death.
Especially since, apparently, dragonlords treasure their children more than their lives.
Arthur wonders if Lily knew. Or had Balinor never suspected even slightly? Is it such a coincidence that, out of the years he refused to take in an apprentice, he chose his hidden daughter as his first?
"We won't speak of it to Lord Balinor," Merlin demands, his tone unwavering. He pauses his trods and attempts to stare down the prince.
Arthur locks eyes with him for a beat.
— Stormy-blue eyes blank and unseeing, the gloss of death upon them. Lips pale and bloodless, black hair spilling unceremoniously on the ground and fanning her head like a dark halo —
— His eyes two pools of black, poisoned veins shooting darkly across pallid grey skin. Gritted teeth and darkened lips stained with rotting blood —
Arthur looks away, suppressing the unbidden memories, before saying, "Half a year."
"What?" Merlin sends him a puzzled glance.
"I'll keep your secrets for a half a year before informing him."
He adopts tone that brooks no argument, his stance unyielding. The decision is not one made lightly. He has known for a week now of Lily's true parentage and he has debated about what to do next just as long.
Once, Arthur may have decided differently. If Merlin had died because of a dagger meant for him, Arthur can admit to himself that he'll likely keep the truth of Merlin's parentage close to his chest for the rest of his life. Merlin lived, and Arthur luckily will never live in selfish guilt.
Although the prince has taken a long time to convince himself of it, Lily's death is not his fault. Although telling Balinor of her parentage in the near future will be an event wrought with hesitation and grief, Arthur has come to peace with it after days of being wracked with indecision.
Merlin's spine straightens, and his fingers grasp the windowsill he's using for support in a white-knuckle grip. "Don't —"
"You have no say on the matter," the prince cuts off, blue eyes snapping to and piercing through the apprentice by the window.
Anger sparks in the prince's chest because this version of Lily — this Merlin — has no right to decide things for Balinor.
Especially since Merlin is leaving Arthur to bear the brunt of the consequences of this secret.
The prince suffocates his fury and breathes out. His wrath is not for Merlin, not truly, but rather at this whole impossible and heart-wrenching circumstances. "Perhaps, by then, you'll be back to your world and won't even be here when he hears of it."
The prince witnesses the moment epiphany hits the apprentice; the man's eyes widen and his lips part, his whole countenance lined with a note of loss.
Merlin has probably never thought that Balinor will learn the truth after he leaves this realm — likely never thought he'll not be here to at least mitigate the damage the truth will cause.
Arthur observes him in silence.
Even though the duration of mentorship has been short so far, Merlin obviously cares greatly for his mentor. Arthur wonders — Is Merlin truly seeing Balinor, Camelot's Court Sorcerer of more than twenty years? Or is he seeing the ghost of his own father, one who he has barely known?
After their last talk, Arthur knows Balinor's counterpart died shortly after Merlin met him.
Should Arthur be thankful that Balinor at least spent three years with his daughter in this realm? A humorless smile upticks the corners of the prince's mouth. A silver lining for the desperate, Arthur thinks.
Merlin begins once more after he gathers his composure. "You-You heard what he said — about a dragonlord's children—"
"All the more reason to tell him," Arthur cuts off once more, a hint of impatience slipping in his tone.
He shifts and leans against the windowsill, lessening the weight on his left leg. He faces Merlin, expression determined. If nothing else, he needs the apprentice to understand this.
"You think keeping this from him will spare him sorrow. You think ignorance will do him no harm." Arthur has a lifetime of experience of people thinking keeping things from him means protecting him. He tires of such pretense. "No. You're making him vulnerable. You're robbing him of the right to protect himself. Do you think we're the only two who might know of Lily's parentage? An enemy might know or find out, and use this against Balinor. And he'll be clueless and defenseless against it."
His remarks render Merlin speechless. The apprentice swallows down the rest of his protest, his lips pursed in a somber line.
Perhaps Merlin will learn to apply this line of thinking to his King Arthur once he returns to his realm.
The prince shakes off the matter that he has no right to interfere on and reiterates firmly. "I'll tell him in half-a-year. He has the right to know."
"If you're so keen to let him know, why wait half-a-year?" Merlin shoots back, his eyes narrow.
Without missing a beat, Arthur replies, "Because he won't let you leave."
When the words drop, Merlin looks like he has been slapped.
"Lily is dead." Arthur pushes down the wave of grief that threatens to surge at the statement. The wave may be smaller than it had been four years ago, the wound no longer fresh, but it doesn't leave him unscathed. "But you're still alive. You may be the child of his counterpart but his blood still runs in your veins. He won't allow you to go back to a world where you'll be openly persecuted for your magic."
Arthur has known Balinor all his life. He knows the Court Sorcerer's principles and beliefs, and how far the man will go to follow them. Arthur can say with confidence that Balinor will disapprove of sending Merlin back, especially after this whole Forrotian Cwealm debacle.
Especially after seeing all the scars and nightmares Merlin's realm has bestowed upon him.
In the days of silent contemplation, there are moments where Arthur himself has hesitated.
Indeed, Merlin will be a valuable and irreplaceable ally for Camelot's people should he choose to stay. But it's not such a one-sided deal. This Camelot will provide him a safe environment where he can perform and learn magic to his heart's content, easily achieve high ranking and fame in court, and gain a father he obviously longs for.
While Merlin bequeaths his loyalty and efforts to the other realm, can that Camelot provide him the same?
Merlin's next protest drags Arthur out of his musings. "I — I'm not her replacement." Offense and incredulity underline the apprentice's tone.
Arthur can't help but smile wryly at that. "Of course not. But with his counterpart dead in your realm, why can he not claim you as another child of his?"
The notion evidently leaves Merlin off-kiltered. "Will he really prevent me from leaving?"
"Perhaps not directly, if he sees it's truly your wish," Arthur amends. "He will, however, make it very difficult."
Disbelief wreaths across Merlin's face. Arthur supposes the idea of Balinor being stubborn and possibly malicious against their goals is still a foreign one for the apprentice. The prince, however, knows of Balinor's ruthlessness when it comes to the very few things he values.
Children are the treasure of our people, Balinor says. Why then will he carelessly allow his own to go back to an ungrateful and dangerous realm?
For several minutes, Arthur silently watches as Merlin, with furrowed brows, visibly debates with himself.
"All right. Half-a-year." While the apprentice appears only half-convinced, he must have, however, seen sense in Arthur's words and has decided not to argue for now. "You think I can get home in less than half-a-year?" Merlin asks instead.
When Arthur nods, relief sinks the apprentice's shoulders and relaxes his expression. The uncertainty of his return has evidently been eating away at him. One sign of reassurance from the prince has wiped away most of his worry. Arthur is slightly surprised at the trust Merlin has placed upon him and his capabilities.
The trust is mayhaps misplaced.
Because Arthur has not revealed the full truth.
For half-a-year, he will do his utmost to help Merlin return to the other realm. He will use his connections and gather the information that may be useful. He will ensure that they'll explore every possible avenue they can.
If they fail to succeed in half-a-year, however—
Well.
Arthur's aims will take a drastic turn. Hence, telling Balinor everything will only allow him to gain a helper.
The prince ignores the twinge of guilt that tugs at him and moves the discussion along.
After more than a week of digesting all that Merlin has told him, he has formulated countless questions.
"What's your mother's name?"
Merlin blinks rapidly. "Hunith. You're going to search for her?"
Arthur notes down the name before nodding. He hesitates for a moment before saying, "Of the time I've known Lily, I can recall only one time she mentioned a guardian — a woman who raised her. Although, she never referred to that woman as her mother."
The past is rarely something Lily discussed with Arthur or with anyone else as far the prince knew. Her reticence to speak of family and of the time before her apprenticeship is apparent only to the very observant; she was secretive in a way very few would notice.
Arthur has known this and never pried. He has, after all, inferred several information from her reactions on certain topics and discussions, so her secretiveness never concerned him.
After her death, however, Arthur nurtures an uncharitable suspicion sometimes, one he fights to disperse whenever it crosses his mind.
Perhaps one of the very few things she had in common with her male counterpart is their inability to completely hide away their prevarications.
"Was she estranged from her mother?" Merlin's murmurings pull Arthur out of his wandering thoughts once more.
"Perhaps." Lily always had a slightly somber air to her whenever parents were brought into conversations.
Estranged?
Arthur considers another and a more likely possibility — that Lily's mother has long passed away. He doesn't say this assumption out loud.
"We'll find out more once we determine Hunith's whereabouts."
It may have been easier to directly and bluntly ask Balinor. Or it may cause the Court Sorcerer to clam up and guard the information with fervor.
Then, there is the matter of the queen's proposal.
The fact that it occurred at all perturbs Arthur. Should it have coincided with Balinor and Hunith's affair . . .
Arthur believes there are lines his mother would never cross. That is the truth now.
The past may have been entirely different.
Arthur halts that line of thought; he must look into the details before he speculates further.
Merlin, after a moment's contemplation, restarts his exercise. Standing still for several minutes, however, has weakened the joints of his legs. His knees buckle abruptly as soon as he takes a step.
Arthur's hands shoot out and firmly clamp around Merlin's biceps. The prince hauls the apprentice up, and saves him from falling to the floor. Merlin wobbles forward and nearly tumbles onto Arthur himself. Fortunately, he steadies himself quickly.
"Thank you," Merlin says perfunctorily, his gritted teeth and stiff posture belying the discomfort coursing through his lower half.
Arthur lets go only when he's assured that Merlin can support himself. Frustration lines the corners of the apprentice's eyes, and his fingers are stiff upon the wood of the windowsill.
"Don't be impatient," the prince says. "The fact that you can stand more or less unsupported less than two weeks after you've woken is impressive enough."
"Is it?" Merlin remains unconvinced. "After being poisoned before, I was unconscious for almost a week. Yet, I could walk around unhindered just a few hours after I woke." He takes a tentative step forward and appears slightly triumphant when he's able to do so with little difficulty. "I don't know why it's taking me so long now."
As Arthur keeps finding out, Merlin's sense of proportion truly is skewed beyond belief. "And your physician said nothing about you walking about so casually shortly after being poisoned?"
Merlin looks up in thought. "Well, Gaius jested that it was a miracle I was on my feet."
Arthur doubts it was a jest at all. "Your magic likely helped you recover then. This time, however, the curse of the Forrotian Cwealm probably kept your innate magic too occupied to aid your body."
A note of pondering and curiosity enters Merlin's features as he absorbs the information. He takes a few more steps, and Arthur obediently trods right beside him. "Never thought of it that way. Does that mean without my magic, I really wouldn't be able to stand at all right now?"
Arthur hums in agreement. Without much hesitation, he shares, "More than ten years ago, an assassination upon me almost succeeded. I'd been bedridden for a mere five days and given the best recovery potions. Yet it took me more than a month to even get my feet to finally support my weight."
Merlin sends him a concerned and pitying glance. "I thought that, with Camelot wrapped around in such advanced magic, you wouldn't have encountered such danger."
Arthur recalls Merlin's tale of fighting off assassination attempts for his counterpart at least thrice a month. One man doing what should have been the work of hundreds and still getting no credit for it all.
The prince briefly wonders again why Merlin longs to go back to such toil.
"It's not as common as it is in your world but there will always be moments of carelessness that enemies will not hesitate to take advantage of," Arthur eventually replies.
Merlin nods in understanding. Arthur then realizes they have digressed quite a bit. He pulls the topic back.
"I've discreetly inquired about practitioners of transdimensional travel."
Merlin lifts his head and stares with wide anticipating eyes.
Arthur, with a hint of genuine apology in his tone, continues, "Seeking answers on a forbidden art is not as quick as you hope it to be. People who practice it will not carelessly admit their knowledge. And we need to be cautious ourselves lest the fact that we're inquiring about something outlawed be discovered."
While the prince could have employed the help of the Spymaster's network to speed up their search, the Spymaster's loyalty belongs first and foremost to the reigning monarch. Arthur deigns not to risk it.
Arthur begins his search in a more unconventional information network using beggars, orphans, and drunkards whose presence many ignore or overlook when discussing secrets.
After the queen's proclamation and the grand events that would follow it, Arthur plans to turn his full attention to gathering information. For now, however, his princely duties can only come first.
Disappointment sags Merlin's shoulders. "Nothing yet then?"
"Nothing conclusive has come back to me." Arthur observes Merlin's form as the apprentice continues to trod. "We'll visit the area where you arrived in this realm in two weeks and see what else we can find. And we'll also consult that dragon of yours. Mayhaps he discovered something."
Merlin pauses for the briefest of seconds before nodding stiffly in agreement. Then, contemplation crosses his features.
"What books are in the East Wing of the library?" Merlin prompts.
"The East Wing?" Arthur immediately grasps the line of thought.
He was so occupied with looking for outside sources that he overlooked a possible answer in plain sight.
Knowledge is a weapon and, in the wrong hands, it is a fatal one. Years ago, the court isolated information — spells, practices, potion recipes, secret creatures — that the ignorant or the malicious may take advantage of. Some proposed to destroy the books and documents entirely; others, however, reasoned that to lose this information is to lose a way to defend against them. Hence, the tomes stayed, overly protected and treasured.
"We need a written certificate," Arthur murmurs.
Merlin's brows furrow. "You don't have one?"
"Only the queen, her First Advisor, and the Court Sorcerer have continuous access to it," the prince says. "I had a certificate once but I was focused on studying The Pries —" Arthur cuts himself off. What he studied then is irrelevant now. "Additionally, even with a certificate, we still need either my mother, Uncle Tristan or Balinor to accompany us as we browsed."
Unease crosses Merlin's features as he murmurs, "Why is it so strict?"
"It should be. It contains dangerous knowledge after all."
"Knowledge like detailed information about transdimensional travel?"
"Perhaps, perhaps not. As I said, those types of magic are forbidden to even exist so written documentation about it will be sparse." In his mind, Arthur is already beginning a tentative plan for it. "It is, however, worth trying to try and search there. I'll see what I can do."
Silence settles in, both of them ruminating for a while.
Then —
"Did the King Uther of your realm truly managed to kill all the dragonlords?"
The apprentice falters and Arthur's arm shoots out again to balance him.
An insensitive question, the prince knows. He did not ask it out of cruelty, however.
Because if there's a way — a spell, a potion, an artifact, a weapon, a plague — that even a non-magic-user like King Uther can use to inflict harm on the dragonlord population, then Arthur will need countermeasures to guard against it.
Merlin's expression pinches. "That's what I was led to believe but . . . it seems impossible that Uther could have the ability to commit genocide on a race that can control dragons."
"He managed to commit genocide upon magic-users who are no less powerful," Arthur points out.
The apprentice leans against the windowsill to rest and releases a sigh. "I really don't know the details. He was a cruel man with cruel means that I cared not to find out."
And yet you regret causing his death, hover on the tip of Arthur's tongue. But it won't be an accurate statement. Merlin does not regret King Uther's death, only that it came by his hands and that it caused his friend great hurt.
Realization alights Merlin's eyes, and he amends, "But he did love his son —"
"You need not explain." Arthur halts him from overpraising a tyrant in an attempt to provide the prince unnecessary comfort. "I told you; my father died several years ago."
Furthermore, Arthur truly feels no attachment to his deceased father. Others may think he should mourn the father he never met but he has never felt the position of fatherhood empty or lacking in his childhood. Hence, there is nothing to mourn.
Merlin nods in understanding and a little bit of relief.
Arthur stares at him for a moment. He knows that Merlin likely tried to extol King Uther's good virtues because the apprentice thinks he'll value any good information he gathered about the counterpart of his deceased parent.
Which can only mean King Arthur has likely thirst for similar knowledge regarding his mother.
Covertly, Merlin has compared Arthur once more to his counterpart.
Irritation sparks in the prince's chest. He breathes it out, aware that Merlin does it with no malicious thought.
Without much forethought, curiosity momentarily taking hold of him, Arthur blurts out, "What is my counterpart like?"
"A condescending prat," Merlin replies without missing a beat. A smile upticks his lips, removing the heat of the careless insult he uttered. "When he was still a prince, his temper rivals the greatest of fires and his impulses are barely caged." The sigh Merlin releases is a mixture of nostalgia and relief. "Thank the gods he matured and finally got his head out of his arse before he became king."
"He disposed of years of tradition and knighted commoners. He favors the common people more than nobles, and would sacrifice himself for a servant. He'd fight to uphold justice no matter the cost or the risk." Awe and admiration glimmer in the apprentice's eyes and tugs his smile wider. "He's a great king and a good man."
Arthur observes Merlin's expression for a few moments more before glancing away.
And yet, he counters in his head, he continues to uphold a tyrannical law that nearly drove magic-users to extinction.
The prince supposes King Arthur is not without flaws.
Merlin's eyes drift to him, inquiry evident. After a few seconds, the apprentice asks tentatively, "What about Lily? What was she like?"
It's a fair question, given what Arthur has just asked. It takes the prince by surprise nonetheless.
Others avoid mentioning Lily around him perhaps out of consideration. As a result, years after her passing, her name barely passes anyone's lips.
Arthur takes the time to consider his answer. He pushes aside the grief that accompanies his memories of her and attempts to dredge up the time before her death.
Her death does not define her and everyone, especially Arthur, would do well to always remember that.
Merlin has taken a couple of doddering steps before Arthur opens his mouth.
"Scowly," the prince says.
Merlin blinks rapidly, all movements pausing. "Scowly?"
The corners of Arthur's lips tick up. "One of the reasons why barely anyone could pick up your resemblance is because she had a vastly different demeanor." Once one word is out, the rest of his statements come easy.
"She was slow to smile, as if her face was permanently carved into a scowl." Arthur has teased her about it more often than not. "It was almost a year into her apprenticeship before Balinor and I witnessed her smile genuinely. Along with the discovery of how morbid her sense of humor was." Arthur tilts his head, recalling more. "She's easily startled and inexplicably clumsy at times."
"Something we unfortunately have in common," Merlin mutters.
Arthur cocks a brow. "Most of the time, however, she possessed grace that you can only hope for."
Merlin rolls his eyes but there's a hint of a smile upon his lips. "Of course she did."
Arthur finds himself speaking about her for half-an-hour thereafter, pangs of nostalgia and sorrow accompanying some of his anecdotes. Merlin listens with an attentive and interested countenance.
In terms of appearance, Lily was considerably shorter than Merlin – perhaps by palmful or so; Arthur wonders uselessly if she would have grown taller still. Unlike Merlin's lean and filled-out form, Lily's skinny frame stands stark in comparison. She took considerable efforts to hide that through padded dresses and tunics in the first year of her apprenticeship. She had fattened up to a healthy degree afterward though, which appeased Balinor's worries back then.
Merlin pads back and climbs the bed as the prince finishes his descriptions and recollections.
Arthur feels oddly . . . light, as if a boulder that's been sitting on his chest has been lifted away.
It's the first time he has spoken of Lily at length to anyone since she passed; Arthur has forgotten how much of her memory he still managed to keep. He's pleased to rediscover it.
"She must have been an admirable woman," Merlin says, a tone of melancholy mixing in his contemplative words.
"She was," Arthur replies quietly.
His gaze shifts to the window where the waning moon hangs at the highest peak. "It's late," he says, abruptly changing the subject. He has been sentimental enough for one night. "I'll let you rest lest we both get scolded by your mentor. We'll speak again once I have results."
Merlin nods, a thoughtful look still upon his face. When Arthur begins heading to the door, the apprentice lifts his head.
Stormy-blue eyes meet Arthur's. "Thank you. For telling me about her."
The prince pauses. Then, he gives a jerky nod and exits the room.
Upon entering his own royal rooms, Arthur starts on his nightly ablutions, his mind going over their whole conversation and interaction. He goes over his plans and priorities once more, pulling on the threads of a thousand thoughts.
The chill of the coming autumn bites his skin as he changes into his sleeping wear, interrupting his musings.
Unbidden, a vision of a cheerful picnic, one Arthur has vividly experienced several weeks ago, materializes in his mind's eye. The smell of spring, of growing leaves and flowering plants, strings his nose.
Mayhap, Arthur thinks, half-a-year truly is enough time for drastic changes.
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Townspeople crowd below the protruding dais of the castle from whence royalty oft makes grand announcements. Hundreds of citizens gather restlessly, temporarily abandoning their chores and duties to hear the proclamation for themselves. Murmurs fill the crisp morning air, gossip abound and relentless.
"What could the proclamation be about?"
"There should be no war. Camelot and Tir Mor should have reached an agreement, I hear –"
"Perhaps . . . the prince's engagement?"
"I did hear that a court apprentice has captured his attentions –"
"Surely it's too soon!"
"Did the prince break his engagement with that Mercia princess for –"
"When love arrives, even a prince becomes impulsive."
"It would be a grand wedding, I bet."
"And with Prince Arthur's nameday coming soon –"
"Shh! The queen's coming out."
Queen Ygraine steps onto the dais with her First Advisor, Lord Tristan, on her right and the Court Sorcerer, Lord Balinor, on her left.
"People of the citadel." Her voice rings loud and clear across the sea of people, immediately invoking attentive silence from the townspeople. "I bring you good news." Her unflawed smile is visible to the individuals near the dais.
After some opening remarks and reassurance that war is nowhere near their horizon, the queen smoothly transitions to the main proclamation.
"To showcase our reconciliation with the Kingdom of Tir Mor, in a fortnight, Camelot will be hosting a grand Apprentice Tournament!"
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A/N:
"As long as we remember them, they are with us; the moment we forget them, they are truly gone." – Carlos Sanchez, The Book of Life (2014)
Thank you, Heart, Stephanie, Calixtus, Hitomyemail for the kofis and for your support! Thank you all for the kudos and comments that really makes me tear up a bit. You are all so amazing and wonderful and I really hope I can repay all y'all's kindness Q^Q
A holiday miracle! I don't know how many miracles I have left in me, to be honest. 2023 was a time of great change of mindset in me. I've re-prioritized some stuff in my life so here's my current feelings: By the end of 2024, if I still haven't finished this story, I've decided to end it with a summary of the whole story. To be frank, I've already started writing the said summary this year because I thought that would be the thing I'm posting next. But I, apparently, had yet one chapter to churn.
I may feel different at the end of 2024; I have lots of ideas planned and I truly love this story. But sometimes, I just gotta learn to let go.
But who knows! 2024 may be the year I finish this after 8 years of it in progress!
Next up: A secret discovered through memory-sharing, one even Merlin remains clueless about.
Happy holidays to those who celebrate and happy delicious-food day to those who don't!
~ Vividpast
