Summary

Arthur and Gwen reveal painful truths to Merlin, tempering his joy after the harvest's magical restoration.

Chapter 35 The Wounded Realm

Merlin couldn't tamp down the exhilaration bubbling up as he strode through lively castle corridors. Servants whistled cheerful tunes carrying their loads while knights laughed boisterously recounting the marvels witnessed. The warm acceptance of the magically restored harvest kindled hope in his heart. He and Galahad had slipped away to revel privately earlier, both giddy as young schoolboys over magic so openly working awe and wonder – over the work they had done. Approaching the royal chambers, he burst through the doors, swept up in the day's euphoria.

"The harvest restored astonished one and all! Their pure shock and joy–"

His eager grin faltered taking in Arthur and Gwen's grave expressions, the two of them stood just inside the room. His eyes slid past them to Percival, Ranulf cradling his broken arm, and Geoffrey standing around the long oak table, apparently just arrived as well. Quiet solemnity blanketed the chamber, unlike the ongoing celebration beyond these walls.

Merlin blinked, his own cheer punctured by the strained atmosphere, his grin collapsing to mirror their unsmiling faces. Ranulf gave a slight shake of his head and averted his gaze as he sat down, his chair scraping against the stone floor.

"What is it?" Merlin asked. "Has something happened?" No servants present either, he noticed, shutting the double doors with a soft click and then closing the distance with the others around the table. The promising hope in his chest curled into uncertainty wondering what shadows now fell across their shining victory.

Arthur's features were severe, Gwen's just as grave as he spoke. "Painful revelations have tempered the day's celebrations for Gwen and me despite our outward appearances. All of you, please sit. We have something to share."

Merlin eased gingerly into a chair, his posture tense as if the cushioned seat had suddenly lined with spikes. As the others found their places around the table, he caught himself chewing on his fingernails – an old childhood habit that resurfaced whenever he braced for scoldings, a tell he thought he'd left behind in Ealdor. Arthur and Gwen took their usual positions, the king at the head of the table with his queen by his right side.

Merlin scarcely breathed. Apprehension warred within him, held at bay only by Arthur's solemn demeanor. Surely the magical origin of the harvest's restoration still lay undiscovered or all would not be rejoicing… The tentative optimism he had nurtured now curdled like spoiled milk – so often in the past do secrets spilled lead to sharp reprisal.

Arthur began his serious tone low, drawing Merlin's attention. "As you know, restoring the harvest was a hard-won triumph for Camelot and for magic. Merlin, your efforts shone brightly – truly – well done. However, in the midst of our celebration, Gwen and I have come to learn some... distressing truths."

He paused, and Merlin felt his stomach drop at the sudden heaviness in Arthur's voice. Dread prickled along his skin as the king continued.

"Our perspectives proved painfully narrow these long weeks," Arthur said. "In working to erase magic's pall, we blindly brought another upon innocents seared by almost thirty years of war."

Merlin's brow furrowed deeply, his leg bouncing uncontrollably under the table. "What… what do you mean?"

"You've surely noticed the change in Elyan's countenance," Arthur said carefully.

Merlin averted his gaze, remorse and loss creasing his brow. "Yes... I've – noticed," he replied quietly. When his magical truth had been unveiled to the knights, the fraternity he once cherished with Elyan had corroded. The other man's formerly vibrant smiles were now twisted grimaces full of unspoken accusations.

"He has abandoned his post," Gwen added softly, though the words carried like a leaden weight, "and us."

Merlin felt the air leave his lungs in a harsh exhale. "What?" he breathed, glancing around at the others. By their grim faces, he knew they were already aware.

"Not too long ago, I saw myself a victim of magic," Gwen continued, her expression turning inward. "Haunted by the curses of sorcery. Time and again, evil was unleashed upon me, scarring my soul little by little." Merlin swallowed when she pressed her hand against her midsection and peered into his eyes. "You helped to drag me out of the mire of darkness, Merlin. And my strong belief in Arthur's vision for unity also played a part to mend my brokenness. My fear diminished. Yet, that is not so for many others."

Gwen then recounted her harrowing exchange with Elyan the previous night, how for those souls scarred by magic's curses, the repeal of the law only fueled a sense of betrayal, an unholy desecration of their beloved Camelot. Elyan's spirit had withered like a flower starved of sun, the joy that once blossomed within him had shriveled in the chill of unhealed wounds. Merlin's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. Why must blessings bear curses as well?

Though her eyes shimmered, not a single tear slipped down Gwen's regal cheeks. Arthur grasped her hand, his face shadowed by a deep unease. "Elyan's fury over sorcery wrecking his spirit only reveals to us that wider wounds were left to fester," he said. "We've ignored many of our citizens' scars."

Merlin was rendered speechless, his thoughts whirling as he scratched his forehead and rubbed the back of his neck in agitation. Yes, he'd ignored the clear signs that Elyan struggled with wounds still raw, but he thought Elyan's chill had only affected himself. That there were others like him feeling the same towards sorcerers and magic had been a convenient omission from thought for him.

Percival leaned forward, the chair creaking under his bulk. "How do we reconcile if so many like him are consumed with rage and suspicion?" he asked, his voice tight with worry.

"Elyan knows too much as well," Ranulf added somberly. "Arthur, if others discover our deception surrounding Merlin and Emrys, it would only compound their distrust of us… of the Crown."

The words were stone heavy in Merlin's gut as he glanced at Arthur, whose jaw feathered when he lowered his gaze. A myriad of emotions battled beneath their paling features, struggling to comprehend the immense truth and deception that had been unveiled.

"It could ruin you, King Arthur," stated Geoffrey plainly, tension suddenly rising, "even if your reason is valid for the protection of a soul. And yet we all have agreed to the deception. Regardless what happens, you won't stand alone, sire."

If the truth were revealed, it would ignite a devastating scandal – a reign tarnished by lies concealing a sorcerer in their midst, shattering the dream of Albion. Yet Geoffrey spoke wisdom; the king had loyal allies who would stand by his side, come what may.

Arthur inclined his head, a steely determination in his eyes. "You strengthen my conviction, Geoffrey. Should the need arise, I shall bear that burden as a sovereign must. The rest of you would then carry the mantle, striving ever onward for the unity we envision."

Gwen turned a disapproving look towards Arthur, though she remained silent. A chill ran down Merlin's spine as images of a ravaged Camelot, of their vision disintegrating to ash, flashed through his mind. The notion of forging the united realm without Arthur's unwavering guidance struck him as utterly inconceivable. The mere idea of being deprived of the king's wisdom and leadership left Merlin awash in a creeping dread that gripped his very soul.

"What are we going to do?" Merlin asked, cutting through the tension, his gaze sweeping the assembled inner circle. "Percival's right. If people are suffering, we have to do something about it."

Gwen straightened, setting her shoulders. "Now that we grasp the true depth of this affliction, we cannot turn a blind eye to those still grieving from past transgressions." She gave Arthur's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Nor lose kin to old wounds reopened. Before seeking remedies, we must first acknowledge and empathize with their anguish."

Merlin's expression was grave, doubting even their combined powers could tackle an issue of this magnitude. "We've all borne the scars of magic's darkest forms, Gwen. The question remains – where do we begin to unravel such a tangled skein? What can possibly be done?"

Arthur's eyes blazed with renewed tenacity. "We shall begin by addressing the people directly," he declared, purpose ringing in every word. "Let them know their sovereigns have not forsaken them in this hour. Geoffrey, fetch quill and parchment. It is time to put voice to our resolve."

The crinkle of crisp parchment accompanied Geoffrey's movements as the elderly scholar gathered his materials. Percival sat up a little straighter, his eyes alight with steadfast fortitude. Even Ranulf, cradling his broken arm, managed a solemn nod of solidarity.

"Once that message rings out, we must then turn inward," Arthur continued, his voice resonating with conviction. "If we cannot find unity and solace within our inner circle, how can we hope to bring it to the realm?"

Merlin felt Arthur's words reinforce his own commitment. Beside them, Gwen's fingers tightened around the king's hand, a proud smile curving her lips in silent affirmation.

"I am ready, your highness," Geoffrey replied, quill poised over the fresh parchment.

Arthur straightened, allowing a weighty pause before beginning. "People of Camelot..." His brow furrowed as he considered his words carefully. "In this season of renewal and celebration, we must not forget those among us still suffering, their souls weighed down by the long shadow of our conflict with magic..."

"Erm, sire," Geoffrey interrupted. "Perhaps we should maintain an even more celebratory tone first, before easing into the somber matter at hand? Something akin to – 'People of Camelot: Our lands overflow with bounty once more, and jubilation rings through the kingdom.' A little more along those lines, sire."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully, his chin dipping as he considered Geoffrey's words for a long moment. "Why must you so frequently correct me, you old scholar?" he asked, though his tone was more wry than reproachful.

Geoffrey's bushy eyebrows rose pointedly as he met Arthur's gaze. "You do have a habit of rushing the conclusion, my lord," he replied, his tone even. "My role is to provide a steadying hand when affairs of the realm require linguistic precision."

Merlin chuckled along with the others as Arthur scoffed out a laugh, the king's commanding stance briefly breaking under the elderly scholar's gentle rebuke. After a moment, Arthur's face turned pensive once more.

"But you're right. Let me try again from a place of revelry first."

He rose and began slowly pacing behind Geoffrey and Ranulf along the length of the table, arms folded across his chest as he gathered his thoughts. Merlin, Gwen, and Percival tracked his movements with their eyes. Finally, Arthur paused and turned to face them.

"People of Camelot,

"Our lands burst with abundance, our stores overflowing after months of hardship. The peal of celebration echoes through every village and town. We revel in the overflowing bounty renewed, a benevolent gift of magic that flows through the very earth itself."

Arthur paused, his expression growing solemn.

"And yet, in the wake of our restored harvest and deliverance from privation, it would be easy to bask in jubilation However, we must not allow our relief to blind us to the lingering wounds borne by many in our kingdom.

"Too long have we turned our gaze from those scarred by the horrors of the Great Purge and the bloody conflict surrounding sorcery's prohibition. In pursuit of forging a new era of unity and acceptance, we ignored the fact that old agonies have yet to fully heal. While our pursuit of acceptance was well-intended, we cannot stand idly by while citizens remain crippled by the past.

"We see you, people of Camelot who still bear the burns of magic's perversion. Your fears, your rage, your grief – they have not gone unnoticed by the Crown, merely overlooked in our eagerness to move forward. But no more."

Merlin caught Gwen's eye and gave an approving nod. She smiled back, pride mingling with sadness at the king's compassionate words.

"On this day, we vow to tend to your open wounds with care and compassion. We will not abandon you to suffer alone, nor allow bitterness to fester unchecked. Though the path ahead may be arduous, we shall walk it together, tending the infirmities of the past so they need not plague our future.

"Camelot's greatness lies not just in her fertile lands and stout defenses, but in the resilience and unbreakable spirits of her people. It is you who make our realm strong and your pain that we must urgently salve. Have faith – your brotherhood and your king will not forsake the wounded."

Geoffrey set down his quill, sprinkling the parchment with sawdust and then blowing it off with a puff of air. "Well said, my lord. You've endeavored to capture the essence of what needed to be conveyed." He passed the paper to Arthur, who studied the elegant script with a contemplative gaze. "Any revisions, my king?"

Arthur's eyes flicked first to Gwen, then towards Merlin, before finally settling on the parchment, his expression inscrutable as he regarded the elegant script. Retrieving the quill, he made a few final scribblings to mark it as the official record. "Add my seal. Distribute copies to every town and village as fast as your scribes can reproduce it."

Geoffrey gave a deferential nod. "At once, my lord." He carefully blotted the ink before rolling up the parchment. "The scribes will work with utmost haste to disseminate your words throughout the realm." With a final bow to the royals, he turned and departed, his robes whispering against the stone floor as he went to oversee the missive's reproduction.

Gwen rose to her feet, resolve shining in her eyes. "I truly believe these broken bonds could mend if we walk alongside those afflicted, leading by empathetic example." Her gaze turned thoughtful. "But we must have a plan for how to minister to their wounded spirits and bodies."

Arthur nodded, pulling her into an embrace. "You speak true. Physical and spiritual ministrations will be required." He looked Merlin. "Can you work with the healers to ensure they are prepared and have all they need to tend to these lingering injuries?"

Merlin inclined his head. "Of course. I'll coordinate their efforts immediately."

"And I shall consult with Bishop Joseph and the clergy," Gwen continued. "Perhaps rituals, blessings or counseling from their ranks could help provide comfort."

Arthur then turned his gaze to Percival. "If word reaches far and wide, we may see an influx seeking respite and healing in Camelot. Work with the stewards to prepare extra lodging; temporary camps may need to be erected outside the gates."

Percival gave a resolute nod. "It will be seen to, Arthur. I'll ensure we have ample accommodations ready."

"Wherever Elyan may find himself," the king said softly, pulling Gwen into an embrace, "let us hope that through these combined efforts, our message reaches him and offers a path forward from the pain of the past."

Percival nodded solemnly. "Even if Elyan's eyes do not fall upon the written words, perhaps the spirit behind them may yet rekindle whatever flicker of loyalty to Camelot still burns within his heart."

Merlin's resolve had bolstered against diminished despair. This marked a significant first stride, one requiring an immense effort by many to carry Arthur's voice to every village and town. Yet the message itself, its compassion and humility, could potentially reverberate through even the most hardened of souls. Arthur had bridged divides before – perhaps this gesture of solidarity extended to the anguished find purchase across the kingdom, fanning the flames of unity for all once more.

And if anyone could gently pry open the shuttered windows of Elyan's soul, Merlin believed, his gaze fondly sweeping over his friends, it would be Gwen's warmth and devotion unbolting them.