Missing scene from 1.09 "The Battle of Bardon Pass"
TW: mention of sexual violence, blood, injuries, trauma
"You're hurt."
It's not a question but a statement, spoken softly as the pain radiating from her overwhelms his senses. He's careful to keep his touches light and her body at arm's length, yet even from this distance, he feels so much of her. Little glimpses of her soul dance at the tips of his fingers—a stark contrast to the void he sensed last night. After the initial shock, he had embraced the silence, now understanding it as the product of dark, powerful magic. He had been too lost in his own pain, too desperate for connection, and too intoxicated by her beauty to act on his concerns.
Despite all the violence, the abuse, and the heartache, she remains good inside, still open. He could cry for her and never stop. The fear of losing control terrifies him, but the fear of feeling nothing at all is new and raw. That fear haunts him too.
"I'm fine, Merlin." She betrays her whispered words and half-smile by unconsciously tightening her grip on his forearm. "It's nothing."
He takes in her tear-streaked face, the dried blood caked across it, the red marks and scratches covering every inch of exposed skin he can see. He thinks she might be right; in the scope of a lifetime of sorrow, perhaps this does feel like nothing to her.
"It's not nothing to me." Her eyes fly up to meet his, and fresh tears threaten to spill over at the kindness in his voice. Guilt and remorse flood him for all the hurt he's caused. He knows her pain all too well—the loss of her husband, the agony of seeing her son torn from her arms, the guilt she carried like a cloak around her. I could spend a thousand years trying to make up for everything. He knows he would never deserve her forgiveness.
"I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you." He hangs his head in shame, certain she can hear his heart pounding against his ribcage. He yearns to be closer, to feel her, but he must have her permission. With his hand lingering inches from her broken, beautiful, terrifying, open face, he silently pleads with her.
"Let me see you, please?" A hint of confusion shines in her eyes—those lovely eyes, deep as the sea. My queen, so beautiful. Unable to speak, she leans into his open palm, and he gently draws her body into his embrace. A silent sob shakes her as his other hand finds its way into her hair. All she ever wanted was to be seen.
Images of her thoughts and memories flood his mind until he feels he might drown in her consciousness. Her state of mind settles in his stomach, burning through his chest until he can almost taste her confusion, her sense of abandonment, her fear. He smells damp, cold, moldy air, tastes blood and bile in his mouth. He sees the scoffing face of the nun, and many other faces, flickering like flashes of light in the darkness—some twisted and demonic, others warm and soothing. He sees his own face too. When he feels her skin being torn open by the sharp buckles on a guard's armor, he knows he's the one she killed to escape Pendragon. The man is all over her, around her, inside her, and he can't bear it. He wants to take it all away, to deliver her from her own memories, to make it all undone. But he knows he can't.
He tells her how sorry he is, over and over again, because he doesn't know what else to do. In his helplessness, his uselessness, his silent tears mix with the ones he feels on her cheeks.
"Is God punishing me for my mistakes?"
Merlin gently pulls her out of his embrace, cupping her face in both hands.
"Igraine, you did nothing wrong." She closes her eyes and drops her head. "You did nothing wrong," he repeats, bringing their faces together. When she doesn't pull away, he kisses her—her face, her eyes, the broken skin above her eyebrow—so gently it feels like a mere breath on her skin. It calms her, and as the adrenaline fades, her mind stops racing.
She returns to her body and feels dirty, cold, sore, and tired. Most disconcertingly, she feels as though she doesn't belong to herself. Embarrassment floods her. Fury follows. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she wishes to vanish—and her mind retreats from his.