As they reached the nursery doors, Guinevere, aware it would be empty, gently pushed them open and led them inside. The size of the room left Eira and Isaac speechless. It was larger than their entire home, plus the homes adjacent to theirs. Guinevere picked up a small horse figurine and approached Isaac and Simon, her voice soft and gentle.
"Hello, Simon," she cooed, not wanting to frighten him. "Do you think bear might want a friend?" She slowly raised the horse so that it could 'see' the bear.
Simon, initially shy, buried his face in his father's chest. But Guinevere, a master at calming nerves, did a high-pitched voice for the horse. "Oh hi bear! Do you want to come play with me? My name is... Honey."
The sound of it made Merlin erupt in laughter. Even the stoic Isaac cracked a smile as Simon, emboldened, peeked out from his hiding place. He cautiously reached out and made the bear 'pat' the horse on the head. Finally, his curiosity overcoming his shyness, Simon started exploring the vast collection of toys, his eyes wide with wonder. He had never seen anything like it.
Observing the boy's newfound delight, Merlin turned to Isaac and Eira, "Shall I fetch something from the kitchens? They'll be preparing lunch now."
Isaac and Eira nodded gratefully, and Merlin paused, a half-smile on his face, "What does the little one eat? I'm used to fetching for a big baby, not a little one."
Guinevere chuckled, her laughter lightening the atmosphere. "Don't worry, Merlin, I won't tell Arthur you called him that," she teased, nudging him playfully. Isaac watched them with narrowed eyes, still wary despite the Queen's friendly demeanor.
"No need for anything special," Eira reassured Merlin. "He can eat the same foods."
Merlin nodded with a smile and disappeared through the door. Mordred, who had been guarding outside the door, stepped into the nursery in his place, but not before he and Merlin shared a loaded glance. When Merlin returned, he found Mordred on the floor having been 'defeated' by Simon, who also seemed to have commandeered Mordred's cloak. Mordred, surprisingly, seemed to be enjoying the game.
Seeing Merlin, Guinevere rose from the floor and stood. "I'm afraid I must be taking my leave," she said, her voice sincere. "Arthur will be expecting me soon." She looked at Eira and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Please," Guinevere continued, "I swear to you, you have nothing to fear. Your lives and your freedom are safe. Today was a shock for us, but Arthur… he just wants to understand."
Eira met Guinevere's gaze, a flicker of doubt replaced by a sliver of hope in her eyes. Perhaps there was truth in the Queen's words.
With one last lingering look, Guinevere headed for the door. "I will see you soon," she said, offering a friendly wave before disappearing into the hallway.
Merlin and Mordred shared a look of relief once Guinevere exited—a moment of camaraderie in contrast to their usual tensions. As the room settled, Merlin busied himself with the remnants of their lunch, then joined Simon on the floor, now deep in an architectural endeavor with wooden blocks.
"Can I try something?" Merlin asked, the warmth in his voice coaxing Simon to look up and nod shyly.
With a subtle flick of his wrist, Merlin added the remaining blocks to Simon's tower, enhancing it without taking over. The horse figurine Guinivere had offered earlier suddenly seemed to come alive. It galloped across the floorboards, whinnying softly, and nudged its way into the base of the block tower.
Simon's face erupted in a huge smile and squeal of pure delight. Eira, on the other hand, gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. Mordred, aware of Merlin's magic, was nonetheless surprised by the blatant display.
"You have such power, and yet you've done nothing?" Isaac exclaimed, his voice laced with disbelief.
Mordred, surprisingly, was the first to respond. He bristled, shooting Isaac a heated glare. "Em-Merlin is the reason you're even here, not in the dungeons!" he retorted, his voice tight with anger.
Merlin, bewildered by Mordred's sudden defense, looked at him in astonishment. He'd noticed the young knight's reverence for Emrys, but this was a whole new level of loyalty.
"Merlin has been guiding Arthur for ten years," Mordred continued, his voice dropping a notch. "Arthur's a better man because of it. Progress may not be as fast as you'd like, but you can't undo thirty years of prejudice and hatred overnight!"
Merlin felt a lump form in his throat. Mordred's words, spoken with such conviction, were unexpected and oddly touching. Shame washed over him for the way he'd been treating Mordred, always wary when Mordred had done nothing to deserve it.
"Ten years of guiding him and the king still understands nothing of magic. That's not slow progress, that's failure!" Isaac spat.
Eira, perhaps mirroring her husband's sentiment but in a gentler way, spoke up. "But how can you just watch? How can you stand by while your own kind…" she trailed off, not wanting to frighten Simon, who was now staring at them with a mixture of confusion and worry.
Merlin's eyes flashed and three shimmering horses materialized before Simon, identical in size to Guinevere's gift. They weren't solid creatures, but rather formed of pure, electric blue light. Tendrils of energy danced around their sleek forms, resembling flowing manes and tails. Despite being composed of crackling energy, the horses exuded a gentle luminescence, more playful than frightening. Their bright blue eyes, formed from concentrated sparks of light, seemed to twinkle with amusement. They instantly captured Simon's attention and calmed his burgeoning fear. Focused on Eira's question, Merlin didn't see the shock and fear directed at him for so casually performing advanced magic.
A shadow crossed Merlin's face, and his eyes seemed to hold a lifetime of sorrow. "I remember them all," he said, his voice low and haunted. "I warned them, helped them escape when I could, but I admit it wasn't often that I could. Under Uther," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "it was a constant dance with death. For every sorcerer that escaped, he'd have gone on rampages, killing many more people in his blind rage, magical and not." A flicker of pride entered his voice as he continued. "But with Arthur… it's different. Anyone caught using magic for good, he finds a way to dismiss charges or simply looks the other way. He believes in justice, but the fear of magic runs deep. He hasn't been taught the truth."
Isaac growled but Eira spoke first. "Why haven't you taught him then?" she asked gently.
Merlin sighed, a heavy weight settling in his chest. "It's complicated," he admitted. "I fear that if I'm the one to tell him, when he finds out about my magic he'll believe he's been manipulated all these years. He might think I was lying, that his father was right all along." His voice dropped to a whisper, haunted by past mistakes. "I've done so much wrong already, trying to protect him. I killed his father… not purposefully, I was tricked, but I should have realized. The thought of Arthur hating me…," Merlin trailed off, swallowing hard. "And if he does, he wouldn't trust anything I say." By the end, Merlin had tears in his eyes, and it was taking all his focus to keep himself from breaking down.
A heavy silence descended upon the room. Mordred, for the first time, truly saw Merlin not as the powerful Emrys, but as a man burdened by guilt and self-doubt. The Druids had done Merlin a disservice, forgetting that Emrys was also human. Eira looked genuinely sympathetic. Isaac remained skeptical, but his anger had subsided somewhat at Merlin's admission that he had killed Uther, even if it had been unintentional.
Mordred reached out and patted Merlin's shoulder. "He might be angry at first," Mordred said gently. "He might feel betrayed and… overreact. But it wouldn't last. He needs you, Merlin." In his mind, Mordred projected to Merlin, "And the Once and Future King needs Emrys."
Isaac scoffed. "You're a coward who hides behind excuses, afraid his feelings might get hurt. A boy who sharpens the very swords that cut us down." Eira flinched at the harshness in Isaac's words, though a part of her resonated with his frustration.
Merlin looked as though Isaac had ripped a vital organ from him. The accusation resonated deeply. Weren't these the very doubts that gnawed at him in the quiet of his own mind? He had called himself a coward countless times, questioned his every move. He simply stared at the floor, incapable of forming a reply.
Mordred, sensing the weight of Merlin's despair, reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. "You've done the best you could, Merlin," he said gently. "You grew up in a world that wanted you dead from the first breath you took. It's shaped you, made it hard to trust. That doesn't make you a coward." Mordred heard Isaac huff in disagreement, and he clenched his teeth to avoid lashing out at Isaac again. It wouldn't help the situation.
Merlin managed a small, almost imperceptible nod, but his eyes remained glued to the floor. A welcome distraction came in the form of a small tug on his sleeve. Simon, oblivious to the tense atmosphere, demanded more blocks to build stables for his "horsey friends."
Looking down, Merlin was surprised. The horses he'd conjured weren't just shimmering constructs. Simon could touch them, feel their ethereal forms with his small hands. Merlin had created them with his magic in a moment of whimsy, not focusing on their physicality. A strange sense of wonder filled Merlin for a moment, a respite from the crushing weight of Isaac's words.
The rest of the time in the nursery passed in a subdued manner. Mordred kept stealing worried glances at Merlin. The irony of Isaac calling Merlin a coward wasn't lost on him. Here he was, a magic user himself, yet hesitant to reveal his secret even in this room full of his own kind. Eira, too, seemed on edge, frequently sending nervous glances towards her husband. The only sounds were the hushed tones of playing as Simon made stables for his new friends.
Finally, Gwaine appeared at the door, a signal for their departure. A single thought echoed in Merlin's mind: how could he possibly be Emrys, the beacon of hope, when he himself felt so utterly lost? He had never claimed that title for himself, yet he faced the expectations that came with it, nonetheless.
Arthur stood before the window of the small council chamber, his reflection ghosting against the glass as he gathered his thoughts. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken questions. "Gaius," he finally said, his voice controlled but tense, "I need your complete honesty. There will be no repercussions, no accusations. Just give me the truth. Understood?"
Gaius bowed, his heart racing with cautious hope. "Of course, Sire."
"I suspect you shielded my father from information about magic. Information he wouldn't have… appreciated. I need to understand. To rule justly, I need the truth," Arthur said firmly.
"You have my word, Sire," Gaius responded.
Arthur sat and pressed his hand against the table. "Then explain this child. How can one so young already possess magic?"
"Magic itself isn't something learned, like swordsmanship," Gaius explained. "It's a part of nature, a current that flows through all living things. Throughout pregnancy, when the connection to this natural flow is greatest, the unborn child absorbs some of this flow and it becomes magic of their own. Gaius continued, "For some, this magic manifests naturally during adolescence, a surge of power as their bodies mature. For Simon, this is happening earlier than is typical, but it's not unheard of. For those with weaker magic, it might remain dormant, requiring years of study to awaken if it can be at all."
Arthur listened intently. "So, a sorcerer can't just… learn more magic?"
"No," Gaius explained. "A sorcerer is limited to the magic they were born with." He paused, considering his next words. "I believe that's part of what made King Uther's purge so easy for some to accept, Sire. The idea that others could have this power, something they themselves would never possess in meaningful quantities, bred resentment."
Arthur felt a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. "You speak of resentment? They're living knowing others could kill them with a wave of their hand. Burn their homes with a whispered word. You've said magic is not like skill with a sword that can be learned or wealth that can be earned – this is power that sets them apart from birth, makes them dangerous from the moment they draw breath." The vehemence of his own response seemed to surprise him, but he pushed on, voice rising. "Tell me, Gaius, how am I to protect my people from those born with such abilities? How many times have we seen this power corrupt?
"If I may, Sire," Gaius said carefully, "perhaps we should consider why so many turned to darkness in the first place. When one is hunted, when one must hide what they are..."
Arthur's expression darkened. "You suggest this is our fault? That my father—." He stopped abruptly, the muscle in his jaw working.
"Sire, those with magic once lived openly. They were healers, craftsmen, farmers. They used their gifts to serve their communities, just as any skilled tradesman would." Gaius's voice carried the weight of memory. "It was fear and persecution that drove many to darkness."
"And I suppose next you'll tell me Morgana had no choice?" Arthur's voice was bitter, but there was a note of uncertainty beneath the anger. "That we drove her to betray everything she once held dear?"
"Morgana was terrified," Gaius explained softly. "A young girl burdened with prophetic visions that terrified her. Imagine living in constant fear of discovery, of execution for a power you can't control."
Arthur stood and looked out the window, his shoulders rigid. "She could have come to me. She was like a sister to me, Gaius. We grew up together, trained together, shared everything." His voice cracked slightly. "Why didn't she trust me?"
"Would you have understood then, Sire? If she had told you she had magic?" Gaius asked gently.
The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, Arthur asked in a voice barely above a whisper, "Did my father know? About magic?"
"Yes, Sire," Gaius said sadly. "Before the Great Purge, magic users even served in his court and armies."
Arthur whirled around. Instead of relief or understanding, Arthur's reaction was one of fierce defiance. "There must be a way to... to remove it. To cure them." There was something almost desperate in his voice now.
"Magic is not a disease, Arthur," Gaius said firmly. "Nature is without motivation, evil or otherwise – it's the wielder that determines the purpose."
Arthur's next words were quiet but filled with bitter resignation. "And yet I've fought so many who chose darkness." Memories flooded his mind - battles against enemies who wielded powerful magic for selfish and destructive purposes. Morgana's face contorted with rage, framed by her wild unkempt hair.
"Fear and loss can break even the strongest spirit, Sire. They chose to use their magic for revenge, it was not inevitable," Gaius said earnestly. "Those who possess immense power and the will to use it for destruction – they are the true exceptions. Most magic users are simply trying to live their lives, using their abilities for good."
A heavy silence filled the room. Finally, Arthur spoke, his voice strained. "All these years... everything my father taught me..." He looked up at Gaius, and for a moment he seemed not the king but the young boy who used to pepper Gaius with questions about everything. "Tell me about my mother, Gaius. Did my father use magic to have… a child, sacrificing my mother in the process?" His voice shook with a mix of anger and despair.
Gaius hesitated, struggling with the weight of his own conscience. But Arthur's piercing gaze left him no choice.
"You swore to me, Gaius," Arthur said forcefully. "Give me the truth."
Gaius, his heart heavy, confirmed Arthur's suspicions. "Yes, Arthur. Uther used forbidden magic to conceive an heir, but he didn't know it would take your mother specifically," Gaius explained. "The magic simply required a life."
That was something, Arthur supposed. At least his father hadn't knowingly sacrificed his mother. But it did little to ease the pain and anger burning inside him. Gaius watched as Arthur pieced together the truth, each piece shattering his beliefs and ideals until there was nothing left but raw and painful reality. "So… magical potential is set at birth. Some are strong enough to use it without guidance, others need to study. It doesn't turn a man evil, any more than any other form of power." He gestured vaguely at himself. "And my father knew all of this, but sent me to kill them anyway." The words hung in the air like a death sentence, sealing Arthur's fate and forcing him to confront the harsh truth of his role in the Great Purge.
Gaius, with a heavy heart, acknowledged Arthur's realization. He added softly, "Your father, in the time before the ban, saw a rise in magic used for malevolent purposes. Perhaps some oversight was needed—"
"Oversight?" Arthur turned, his voice strained but not angry. "If what you say is true, what he did went far beyond oversight, Gaius. He..." Arthur closed his eyes briefly. "He taught me to hunt people who had no choice in what they were." When he opened them again, they held pain rather than rage. "How do I reconcile the father I knew – the king who taught me about justice and honor – with these actions?" Arthur roughly ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. "And why didn't you tell me sooner? How could you let me continue in ignorance?" His last question was barely a whisper, filled with betrayal and hurt.?
Gaius swallowed hard, a rare break in Gaius's ever calm demeanor. "I didn't think you were ready to hear it, Sire," he admitted, bowing his head in regret.
Arthur's jaw clenched in frustration. "Did you ever think I would be ready? No more secrets, Gaius," he said, firm but not threatening. He frowned when Gaius remained quiet. "Gaius?"
Gaius hesitated for a moment, knowing it was a promise he couldn't make. "Some secrets are not mine to tell, Sire, but I will not withhold information from you solely because I judge that you may not be ready for it."
Arthur wasn't satisfied with that answer, but also didn't think this was the time to argue it.
A knock interrupted them. Guinevere entered, her concern visible as she took in Arthur's troubled expression.
As Gaius left the room, he cast one last glance back at Arthur, slumped over with defeat written all over him. It pained Gaius to see him this way, but perhaps this was the first step towards a brighter future.
Finally lifting his head, Arthur's features were twisted with anguish. "I've been living a lie, Guinevere," he confessed brokenly. "Everything I believed about magic, about my father, even myself...it's all been wrong." He recounted the conversation with Gaius, each word feeling like a stab to his heart. Guinevere listened attentively, her hand offering gentle support. When he finished, he could see a mixture of sadness and understanding in her eyes. "You're not surprised by any of this," he stated incredulously, feeling betrayed by his own naivety.
Guinevere squeezed his hand gently. "I've seen how fear can blind us, Arthur. When I was a servant, I saw how quickly people would blame magic for their misfortunes, even when there were simpler explanations. How many innocent people were accused simply because they were different, or because someone held a grudge." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I've often wondered if your father created the very enemies we feared by treating everyone with suspicion."
Arthur buried his head in his hands, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned white. "I've spent half my life murdering innocent people. And you... you saw the truth while I remained blind," he rasped, his voice raw with self-loathing.
"No, Arthur," she countered firmly, kneeling beside him. "You were raised to be your father's heir, to carry his legacy. I had the freedom to question things you couldn't."
Arthur lifted his head, frustration momentarily replacing the despair. "I could have questioned, gone to Gaius or Geoffrey. Even as a child, I knew people weren't all good or evil. The man who steals to feed his family, is he truly a villain?" His voice grew hollow as he continued, "I accepted ridiculous excuses like 'you can't know the mind of a sorcerer' and 'they will always seek to destroy all that is good.' I never questioned them." His voice cracked with emotion. "How can I be king, Guinevere? My judgment... it failed me completely. I don't deserve the crown. Not even you or Gaius think I'm worthy enough, or you would have told me the truth."
"That's not true, Arthur," Guinevere said firmly, hands cupping his face so he couldn't look away. "I believe in you. Your stance on magic has steadily softened since you lost your father's influence. Your actions in court today prove it. I was giving you time to learn and grow on your own. Your reign is young, your time to learn and adapt is vast. We can learn about magic, its complexities and nuances. We can make fair and just laws that balance safety and freedom."
Arthur's face twisted in frustration. "Laws? Where do we even begin? And would the people even accept them?"
A small smile played on Guinevere's lips. "This is why you have advisors, Arthur. Gaius is a wealth of knowledge when it comes to magic. He may even be able to connect you with others who are willing to share their knowledge and experiences."
Arthur sighed and leaned back in his chair. "But even Gaius doesn't even trust me," Arthur muttered.
Guinevere studied him intently for a moment before speaking again. "Gaius has had good reason to be cautious, Arthur. I hope you will learn the truth behind his actions soon," she said slowly.
Arthur tried to decipher her words, but even his own wife seemed to be keeping secrets from him now. "Because Gaius was still using magic himself?" he ventured uncertainly, feeling disappointment towards Gaius for betraying his father, even though he knew not that Gaius had done nothing wrong.
"No, Arthur," Guinivere replied simply, refusing to say more.
Arthur let out a sigh of frustration..
"Start small, with Isaac and Eira," Guinivere urged firmly. "This is an opportunity to better understand the needs of our magical subjects and how to support them. Don't let the weight of what you've learned hold you back from taking action. You are worthy."
"Even if we changed the laws tomorrow, it wouldn't make them safe here. Generations have been raised on fear and hatred," Arthur said, defeat heavy on his shoulders.
Guinivere kissed Arthur on the forehead and squeaked when Arthur suddenly pulled her into his lap, burying his face in her hair. "Start small," she reminded him softly. She felt rather than saw Arthur's nod. "They're all waiting for you in the throne room."
Arthur sighed heavily but stood up, gently placing Guinevere back on her feet before rising to his full height. "I... I need some time alone. To think," he said, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.
Guinevere nodded, understanding in her eyes. She squeezed his hand once more before quietly slipping out of the room, leaving Arthur to his thoughts.
As the door clicked shut, Arthur felt the full weight of his revelations crash down upon him. He paced the length of the room, his footsteps echoing in the empty chamber. Memories flashed before his eyes - faces of those he'd condemned, villages he'd raided in search of sorcerers, pyres he'd lit. With each recollection, his chest tightened further, guilt threatening to suffocate him.
He stopped before the ornate mirror hanging on the wall, staring at his reflection. The crown atop his head, which had always felt like a symbol of duty and honor, now seemed to mock him. How many innocent lives had been taken in the name of that crown? How many families torn apart, children orphaned, all because of the lies his father had woven? "Murderer," he whispered to his reflection, the word tasting bitter on his tongue.
Arthur's hands shook as he removed the crown, holding it before him. The gold gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the window, a stark contrast to the darkness swirling in Arthur's mind. He set the crown down on a nearby table with trembling hands. For a moment, he considered hurling it across the room, watching it shatter against the stone walls. But even in his anguish, he knew that would solve nothing.
Arthur sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands. How could he face his people now? How could he look them in the eye, knowing the injustices he had perpetrated? The weight of his actions, of the lives lost, pressed down on him like a physical force.
But amidst the storm of his thoughts, Guinevere's words echoed: "Start small." Perhaps she was right. He couldn't atone for years of injustice overnight, but he could take the first step. With a newfound resolve, Arthur stood. He may not feel worthy of the crown at this moment, but he was still king. And as king, he had a responsibility to do better, to strive to be better.
Arthur steeled himself, taking a deep breath before pushing open the door to the throne room.