Fic - What Infinite Heart's Ease [2b/3]
Aug. 25th, 2012 04:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arcadianmaggieWhat Infinite Heart's East - Part 2b
“Come,” Arthur barked in response to the knock on his door. He had retreated to his chambers in the aftermath of the attack on the great hall, needing respite from the sudden crushing weight of responsibility. There had been his father’s body to contend with; preparations were already underway for his burial. Arthur couldn’t even think about Uther being gone; he had no time to mourn just yet. In addition, an investigation into the attack was underway. Leon had been left in charge of discovering as many details about their identities and motives as he was able. His men had been remarkably efficient, leaving not a single sorcerer alive. Save Merlin, of course. Arthur especially wasn’t prepared to face decisions regarding him.
“Sire?” Arthur stiffened, identifying the voice. His barely suppressed rage rose to the surface.
“Did you know?” he asked, whirling around to face Gaius, voice accusing.
“Did I know?”
“Yes. Did you know?” His words were measured and careful, holding a warning, as he advanced on Gaius.
“Know what, sire?” Gaius asked.
“Don’t play that game with me. You know exactly what I’m asking. Did you know Merlin was a sorcerer?”
Gaius hesitated, considering his answer. Arthur could see the thoughts playing out over his face as he weighed his possible responses. Finally, he sighed, shoulders drooping and said, “Yes. I knew.”
“Get out.”
“Sire, I have things I must discuss with you. About the attack. Merlin isn’t—”
“I said get out. Because you were my father’s friend, I will not have you banished from Camelot. But if I were you, I would stay out of sight for the foreseeable future.”
“Sire, this is important. You must listen. Merlin—”
“I said get out,” Arthur roared. “Or I will have you thrown in the dungeons with Merlin and have you tried for treason. Do you understand me?”
Gaius hesitated, then said, “Yes, sire,” before bowing and leaving the room.
Arthur sighed and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed, head bowed. His hands were trembling with anger. Arthur took a few deep breaths trying to calm down. He needed a clear head to deal with what he still needed to face. Merlin.
-o-
Merlin groaned, blinking in the dim light. His head throbbed and he felt as if he were bruised all over. Everything hurt. He wasn’t even sure where he was. The ground was cold and the air felt damp. He could make out the dirt floor, but nothing else was familiar. Struggling to sit up, he groaned again as the throbbing in his skull intensified. A wave of nausea overtook him and he gagged, bile rising in his throat. He slumped back down on the ground, waiting for the urge to be sick to pass. Merlin raised a shaky hand to his head, pressing it to his temple and winced at the tenderness. What had happened to him?
Everything came rushing back at once—the flames roaring through the great hall, entertainers dropping their guises to reveal a group of sorcerers bent on destruction. The chaos and smoke had caused him to lose sight of Arthur temporarily, but he did his best to keep whomever he could safe while the fighting was ongoing. His heart plummeted when he saw a sorcerer across the hall taking direct aim at the king. There was no one even close enough to potentially stop him.
Merlin had no time at all to think, not if he wanted to save Uther. His chest felt hollow knowing a lifetime of hiding was coming to end. He had little hope for a favourable outcome once his long-held secret was revealed, and already despair was settling into his bones. This wasn’t how he wanted Arthur to find out, not like this. He had no other choice, however. Not one he’d be able to live with, anyway. His eyes flashed gold as he ran to the centre of the hall and extended his hand, the ancient words tripping from his tongue like the names of old friends. He realized immediately that he was probably too late. His spell flew across the room to meet the one already in motion, but before it could reach its target, he saw the force of the sorcerer’s blast send Uther reeling. Then the hall was lit up as bright as the sun as the two spells collided, the force filling the air with the clap of thunder. The other blast died away as its wielder absorbed the shock of Merlin’s magic, then he crumpled to the ground where he lay unmoving.
Before Merlin could even lower his arm he saw Arthur, his beautiful Arthur with a look on his face he would never forget—betrayal, anguish, grief, anger—and the despair took root, turning his bones to lead. He didn’t even try to defend himself as the hilt of Arthur’s sword connected with his temple, robbing him of consciousness.
As the memories rushed back, the bile rose in his throat and he leaned over, retching onto the ground, his head throbbing anew from the exertion. He rolled away from his sick, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, eyes stinging from tears. Now that he had remembered the events from earlier, his location was no longer a mystery. He was in Camelot’s dungeons.
What that meant he was still unsure of, but from the look in Arthur’s eyes, a look that made his stomach twist just thinking of it, he knew with certainty any previous feelings Arthur held for him had been destroyed in a single moment. He curled into a ball, wrapping his arms around his aching head, and wept.
Some time later—he wasn’t sure how long he had lain there drifting in and out of consciousness—he heard voices nearby. Then he heard the creak of hinges as his cell door was opened. He squinted, lifting his head toward the sound and groaned at the pain that shot through him from the movement.
“Merlin?” Gaius knelt beside him, gently gripping his shoulder.
“Gaius?”
“Here, I’ve brought you some medicine for your head. Can you sit up?”
“I think so.” Merlin struggled upright, aided by Gaius’ arm around his shoulder. He felt the bile rising again as a wave of nausea overtook him and he leaned over, gagging, swallowing rapidly at the saliva pooling in his mouth.
“Poor boy,” Gaius murmured. “See if you can drink this. It will help you feel better.” Gaius held a small phial to his lips and Merlin reached up a shaky hand, swallowing down the bitter liquid.
“Lie down again. Give it a few minutes.” Gaius helped Merlin back down and gently pet his hair while he waited for the medicine to take effect. Soon the throbbing in his head turned to a dull ache and his stomach stopped roiling.
Gaius helped him sit up again, and he moved so his back was against the wall.
“Dear boy. I always feared you’d grow careless and your secret would be revealed one day, but I never imagined it would happen in quite so dramatic a fashion.”
Merlin gave a weak chuckle. “You know me. Always full of surprises.”
“I do know you,” Gaius said in a fond voice.
“How bad is it?” Merlin asked.
Gaius’ face sobered. “Bad.”
Merlin nodded. He expected as much.
“The entire court saw you kill King Uther with magic.”
“I didn’t—”
“Shhhh,” Gaius cut in. “I know. Of course you didn’t. But that’s how it appears. And that’s how it appeared to Arthur as well.”
Merlin closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “What is he going to do?” he whispered.
Gaius didn’t answer.
Merlin picked his head back up to look at Gaius. “Gaius?”
“What can he do? You know the laws. I had hoped…” Gaius sighed.
Merlin didn’t need him to finish. He knew what Gaius was thinking. Merlin had also hoped things might one day be different for magic users. That one day, he’d be able to tell Arthur everything and Arthur would care for him enough he’d forgive him for lying all those years. That he’d even change the laws. Those dreams seemed like the romantic notions of a child now. Arthur would never forgive him; he apparently was even willing to send him to his death. Merlin shivered, feeling empty, hollow; he wasn’t sure he was even capable of more tears.
“When will it take place?”
“Two days from now. Tomorrow Uther will be laid to rest and Arthur will be crowned. A more formal coronation ceremony will take place at a future date, of course, but he will take his oath tomorrow. Then on the following morning you’re to be executed.”
Merlin winced. “Two days. That’s not much time.”
“You will not be here, of course.”
Merlin looked over in surprise. “What?”
Gaius gave him an exasperated look. “Merlin, I’m going to assume that’s the concussion talking. You are to use your magic to escape. When they come to bring you to the pyre, this cell will be empty.”
“But how…”
“In whatever way possible. You’re the most powerful sorcerer this land has ever seen. I believe you have a great destiny. I had thought yours and Arthur’s were inextricably entwined—and perhaps that still may come to pass—but you will not die on the pyre two days hence.”
Merlin gave a small smile. “You seem pretty sure about that.” He wished he could feel such conviction. Right now, he was having a difficult time believing he had anything left to live for at all.
“I am. Now listen to me. We haven’t much time.”
“All right.”
“One of the sorcerers who died in the hall—I believe him to be the one who struck Uther down—was a man named Alvarr.”
“Alvarr. The name sounds familiar.”
“It should. He was a druid. He’d often come to see me when he was in Camelot. We traded on many an occasion.”
“Why would he kill Uther? Because of all the recent attacks?”
“That I do not know. But I do have this.” Gaius reached in his robes to pull out an object from one of his pockets. He reached for Merlin’s hand and placed the item in his palm. Merlin brought it closer to his face to examine it.
“That’s Morgana’s ring.”
“Alvarr was wearing it.’
Merlin whipped his head up, then groaned at the sudden movement. “What was Alvarr doing with Morgana’s ring? Does that mean she’s living with the druids? Or that she’s behind the attack today? She did try to kill Uther once before.”
“Both are possible. There’s something about Morgana I’ve never told you. A secret I swore not to tell.”
“I already know.”
“No, I don’t think that you do.” He shook his head. “Not about this. Morgana and Alvarr were acquainted. She made it a point to visit me whenever he was in Camelot to trade. I never discouraged it, thinking it was good for her to know other magic users, to become familiar with the druids. I thought it was beneficial for her to have connections to others of her kind, just in case.”
“I can understand that.”
“Yes, well, I was unaware of just how close they had grown.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean, Merlin, is that when Morgana left Camelot, she was with child.”
-o-
When Merlin opened his eyes again, he felt the presence of someone in the room with him.
“Gaius?”
There was no answer. He struggled to a sitting position, taking a moment to wait for the nausea to subside. The medicine he had taken earlier was largely still in effect, but his head ached and his stomach hadn’t fully settled.
“Who’s there?” he asked, squinting into the darkness.
He saw the vague outline of a figure shift in the darkened corner of the cell, concealed by shadow.
“Who are you?”
The figure moved, taking a step into the dimly lit room.
“Arthur,” Merlin gasped.
Arthur remained silent.
His expression was dark, thunderous, and was one Merlin had never seen him wear before. He was almost unrecognizable. For the first time in his life, Merlin felt afraid of Arthur.
“Arthur, I’m sorry,” he choked out, voice cracking with emotion.
Merlin hadn’t thought it possible, but he watched as Arthur’s expression twisted into something even more ugly—full of hatred and rage.
Arthur surged toward him and he cowered away, scurrying like a crab until his back touched the wall and he could go no farther.
He pressed against the hard stones as Arthur’s hand reached out, grabbing him around his throat. Then he was being bodily lifted by his neck; he struggled to get his feet under him, his hands scrabbling on the wall behind to help him gain his balance so he wasn’t dangling like a puppet from Arthur’s fist. The wound at his neck, which Gaius had treated before he left, split back open. The sharp pain barely registered over his overwhelming despair and heartbreak.
“You’re sorry?” Arthur voice was soft and menacing, face inches from his own. “For what, exactly? For lying to me? For using me to get closer to the king? For killing my father?” His voice grew increasingly louder with each word spoken until the last question was a roar.
Merlin couldn’t speak. Arthur’s fingers around his throat pressed against his windpipe; waves of emotion crashed over him like the pounding surf, each question smashing into him like a fist. He tried to shake his head, but Arthur’s grip was too tight. Tears leaked from his eyes and slid down his cheeks.
Arthur’s hand closed tighter, pressing harder, making it impossible for Merlin to breathe. He could feel the trickle of blood slipping down his throat, soaking into the neckline of his shirt.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now.” His hand squeezed even harder. Merlin reached up to try and pry Arthur’s fingers from his throat. His head spun and spots started dancing before his eyes as his lungs burned from lack of oxygen. “Why shouldn’t I just choke the life right out of you? Rid the world of one more sorcerer. Tell me, Merlin. Why shouldn’t I just kill you now?” Again Arthur ended on a yell, shaking Merlin, knocking his head backward on the stone. His body was limp, flailing like a rag doll.
Just as he was beginning to black out, Arthur let out a growl, then threw him to the floor, releasing him. He landed hard, feeling the impact on his shoulder and hip, knocking his head against the ground again. Merlin lay gasping, shaken, trying to fill his lungs with air.
Arthur was pacing now, hands clenching and unclenching. Merlin was afraid to move, not wanting to call attention to himself. The blood seeping from his throat tickled, but he didn’t dare try to staunch its flow or wipe it away. This was an Arthur he had never seen, not even on the battlefield against his greatest enemies. Gaius had told him Arthur was crazed with anger and grief, unreasonable and unwilling to even hear about Alvarr and Morgana’s possible connection, but Merlin could never have imagined the man he saw before him.
Then Arthur was down on one knee next to him, leaning in. His voice was soft, seductive. “Have you nothing to say, Merlin?” He reached out his hand and Merlin flinched, but Arthur’s touch was gentle as he trailed a finger down the side of his cheek, rubbing it across Merlin’s lower lip. “No pretty words to seduce me with? You don’t want to offer to suck my cock with that gorgeous mouth of yours, beg for leniency?”
Merlin lay unmoving, breath hitching as the tears rolled down his cheeks. He almost wished that Arthur had killed him, so he wouldn’t have to see him like this.
“Are those tears I see?” Arthur moved his finger to the corner of Merlin’s eye and slid it down the side of his nose. “Very impressive. But I suppose it should be no surprise. You were quite the expert at your little game. I never suspected a thing.” Merlin’s tears fell even harder. “You had me right where you wanted me. The Prince of Camelot at your command. I’d have done almost anything for you. I was even willing to give up my duty.” His hand still roamed Merlin’s face, gently, tenderly, fingers stroking his cheeks, as if of their own volition, disconnected from the cruel words coming from Arthur’s mouth. “I even imagined I l—” his voice cracked as he spoke the words and the cold harsh mask dropped for just a moment. Merlin felt his insides being sucked dry at the bleak hopeless look in Arthur’s eyes, desolate, so full of pain and loss he felt the echo in his own. Then the mask was back in place; his hand withdrew from Merlin’s skin.
Arthur stood up and turned his back to Merlin. The silence stretched on. Merlin just wanted him to leave, so he could fall apart in peace, mourn the loss of the most precious thing he’d ever known.
“Haven’t you anything at all to say?” Arthur question broke the silence. The words sounded as if they were being torn from his throat. Merlin wondered if he imagined the tremour in his voice, the shaking of his shoulders. He almost thought he must be weeping. Merlin wanted nothing more than to pull his aching body from the ground, wrap his arms around his prince and hold him close. That he was the reason for the look he’d seen in Arthur’s eyes made him ache unbearably.
Knowing this might be the last chance he’d have to speak to Arthur, Merlin forced himself upright. He had to let Arthur know how he felt.
“I didn’t kill your father,” he began. Arthur’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t move. Merlin continued when he realized Arthur was listening, letting him speak. “I was trying to stop another sorcerer’s attack, but I was too late. I’m sorry I never told you. I wanted to. So many times…” he paused, his own voice breaking. “I was afraid. That you wouldn’t be able to forgive me. That I’d have to go.” He was openly weeping now, the words coming out between sobs. “That I’d lose you.”
He took a deep shuddering breath, trying to get back under control. He had more to say, more he needed Arthur to know. “It wasn’t a game. I told you that before. It was never a game.” He paused again, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my magic. I’ve only ever used it to protect you. I would never hurt you, Arthur. Never. I love you. You’re my prince… my king. Everything I am is in service to you.”
Arthur whirled around and Merlin could see the faint light shining against the dampness of his cheeks. “Why should I believe you?” he cried. “You’ve been lying to me for years.”
Merlin had no answer for him.
-o-
The castle was quiet as Arthur sat vigil. All day people had been coming to pay their respects, to bid farewell to the king. Uther had been unyielding in many ways, but his people loved him. Camelot had thrived under his leadership.
Now Arthur was finally alone with his father. He studied the face of the man whose boots he was meant to fill. Uther looked older in death, his years mapping lines on his face, but he was still far too young a man to be lying there, cold and motionless. He appeared smaller somehow, too. Arthur had always thought of his father as an imposing man, broad and strong, but looking at him now he seemed no larger than Arthur himself. Indeed, he had never given it much thought, but Arthur realized the last time they spoke, he and his father had stood eye to eye.
“I wish…” Arthur said, trailing off, reaching out his hand to touch Uther, then drawing it back.
His father could no longer hear him, he knew. And of wishes, he had far too many. Regrets as well. He wished he could have made his father proud. All his life he had sought his approval, strived to be the kind of man, the kind of leader, his father would respect. Yet he always fell short, never once felt as if he measured up. And now he’d never have the chance to prove himself.
He wished he had more time. Recent conversations, now tainted by heartbreak and bitterness, weighed heavy in his mind. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to be king. Wasn’t ready to have everyone relying on him, expecting him to know the best course of action. He wasn’t ready to have the weight of the kingdom falling on his shoulders.
Wasn’t ready to make the hard decisions.
“I wish you could tell me what to do, Father,” he whispered.
But there was no answer.
Arthur allowed himself to feel the grief he had been holding back all day. The shock of seeing his father lying on the ground, his chest charred, eyes blank. The heartbreak and betrayal of discovering Merlin was not the man he thought he knew. If he opened the door to his emotions even the smallest crack, he had no doubt they would come cascading through, too powerful to be contained. Trying to hold himself together while facing Merlin had been difficult enough; he couldn’t keep his pain at bay any longer. His chest felt like it was being ripped opened up from the inside as the anguish of the day tore through him. He leaned over his father’s body, wrapping his arms around his cold still form, laid his head on Uther’s chest and wept.
He had never felt more alone.
-o-
Merlin didn’t want to move the next time he awoke. His throbbing head, the sharp sting at this throat, his bruised neck, surely marked by the fingers that had been so tightly wrapped around it, these pains couldn’t compare to the ache in his heart. He didn’t even open his eyes, not wanting to see the dim light of his dungeon cell and be reminded of where he was, the events that had brought him here.
His magic was formidable, he knew. He could feel it thrumming under his skin, reaching out to touch the universe around him, dancing over the physical space, slipping through the world’s unoccupied spaces like water in a jar of pebbles. It instinctively recognized the inherent power in the earth and the sky, the water and the breeze, in all living things. Just how powerful it was he didn’t know, but Merlin was tempted to test it, wondering if it was strong enough to turn back time. He could hear Gaius’ voice in his head, chiding him for even considering such a notion. He knew, of course, the madness in such an idea, the inherent dangers, the possibility of rending reality wide open; nonetheless, the ache of loss was too unbearable in the now to not want to attempt anything possible to take the hurt away.
To go back to a time when Arthur still loved him.
Knowing Arthur had felt that way about him—there was no mistaking what Arthur had been about to say—made the loss even harder to bear. Arthur was a physical man, not given to discussions about his feelings. If he was angry, he lashed out. If he was happy, he laughed. The way Arthur had surrendered himself to Merlin when they were together, so trustingly, so completely, made Merlin think Arthur’s affections must be as strong as his own, but it was nothing they had ever talked about. Merlin read his feeling in the touch of his hand, the kisses from his lips, the press of his body against his own, the nip of his teeth against his skin. He had wondered, and hoped, attributing probably more than was wise to these physical displays, but Arthur kept so much bottled up inside; Merlin had never known for sure.
That this was the manner in which he found out the extent to which Arthur had cared was heartbreaking on its own. To learn it at the same time he lost Arthur forever was devastating.
Merlin reached up to his neck and pressed his finger against the bruise behind his ear, feeling the dull ache. He clung to this tangible reminder of what they had shared; Arthur’s mark proved it had once been real. Already, it was almost impossible to remember when the only thing he could see behind his closed lids was Arthur’s face, twisted with hatred.
He pressed harder, as if he could permanently imprint the mark upon his skin. It would begin to fade in a few days, he knew. The thought filled him with an overwhelming sadness. Despondent, he curled tighter in on himself, tears squeezing themselves out of the corner of his eyes, and he pressed again, and again. And again.
-o-
Arthur stared out the window in the fading light. Below in the courtyard he could see the stand for the pyre, wood piled high all around. Over the years, he had seen many a sorcerer burn, but never before had the flames been intended for someone he knew. He rubbed his arms, suddenly chilled, feeling the goose pimples on his flesh, even though the night was warm. Arthur hadn’t allowed thoughts of Merlin to enter his mind during the events of the day. Going on too little sleep and too high emotion, he knew he’d be unable to think rationally. First he had to get through his father’s funeral. Having sat vigil with him the evening before, purging his emotions during the long night, Arthur was able to maintain his composure during the service, speaking stoically about his father’s reign to those who had gathered. He accepted the condolences offered, and tried not to think about all the people who were not there to stand next to him.
More difficult to endure had been the afternoon when he stood before his knights and the members of the court and swore his oath as King of Camelot, promising to serve and protect, to defend the land and her people from all their enemies. He felt like a fraud as the heavy crown was placed on his head and everyone knelt before him, paying homage and pledging their allegiance. He was only a man, not unlike any other. Yes, he had been raised and trained to don the mantle of leadership from an early age, but he knew it was only an accident of birth that placed him in this position. What, after all, made him more qualified to rule than anyone else? He felt unworthy.
And now… now that the ceremonial obligations were out of the way, he had to face his first act as king: putting to death the sorcerer who had murdered his father. Consigning his former lover to the flames.
Sending Merlin to burn.
The thought of Merlin, with his sweet smiles and adoring looks, roasting on the pyre made him sick. He was probably the worst kind of fool to be swayed by sentiment, but he had no idea how he’d be able to go through with the execution on the morrow. Bile rose in his throat just imaging it. His anger, although still raw and present, had at some point receded to the background to be overtaken by despair. He felt helpless, bound by duty.
Arthur closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window frame. His chest ached. He couldn’t reconcile the boy who had slipped under his defences and stolen his heart with the being he saw in the great hall, hand outstretched, eyes glowing with unnatural power. He wanted to believe the words he was told in the dungeon—that Merlin was innocent of his accused crime. But even if that were the case, his magic was indisputable. How could he be trusted when he had been lying to Arthur for years?
With Morgana’s troubled past always on his mind, Arthur had harboured grandiose dreams of how things might be different once he became king. He imagined he’d gradually change the laws, easing up on the restrictions against magic. Perhaps making Camelot a place Morgana could one day once again call home. Although he couldn’t argue with the prosperity and peace his father had brought to Camelot, he had never agreed with Uther’s unforgiving stance. Yet time was against him. The laws in place were the ones by which he must abide. Even if he wanted to offer Merlin leniency, the circumstances made that impossible. Too many people were convinced of what they had seen; he could not let the act go unpunished.
Indeed, he had been convinced himself. When he went down to the dungeons to confront Merlin, he was driven by rage, sure that Merlin had made a fool of him by lying to him for years, seducing him in order to get closer to the king. He had been certain Merlin had cast the spell that brought Uther down. His feeling of betrayal, having witnessed Merlin’s perfidy with his own eyes, was compounded by a deep hurt he had yet to examine too closely. He was all too aware of how completely he had surrendered to this boy who was not what he seemed.
But now Arthur was beset by doubts. Merlin’s tears, which he had tried to harden his heart against, were persuasive. The stricken expression, the look of despair is his eyes, felt an echo of his own. Arthur had no idea any longer what was truth and what was false. After Morgana, Guinevere, Lancelot… his own judgment was suspect. And Merlin himself had confirmed how obtuse he had been.
The light continued to fade, and the objects in the courtyard became more difficult to make out in growing darkness. In contrast, the thoughts in Arthur’s head were slowly crystallizing into sharpness. If his father knew what he was about to do, his disappointment would be greater than any he had shown while he was still living. Arthur knew he was likely betraying his oath to Camelot in his very first hours of reign. But he couldn’t go through with the execution. He could not. If there was the slightest chance Merlin had been telling the truth, he couldn’t condemn him to the fire. Arthur gave himself a moment to indulge in one of the many happy memories he had of Merlin—laughing and falling backward on the bed, pulling Merlin on top of his chest, smiling up into his shining blue eyes. His throat tightened and tears stung at the corner of his eyes. It couldn’t all have been a lie, could it?
Arthur shook his head, refusing to dwell on the loss. There’d be time enough ahead of him to mourn, a lifetime without Merlin to brighten his days. Even if it had been a lie, if Merlin was a master manipulator who’d had him fooled the entire time, even if this decision was one he'd regret later, if Merlin returned one day to complete his revenge and his kingdom fell to ruins around his feet, even if Merlin truly was the assassin he appeared, Arthur still could not put him to his death. He had no idea how strong Merlin’s magic was, what exactly he was capable of. Arthur hoped he already had plans underway to escape from Camelot’s dungeons. But even were he not able, Arthur path was set; Merlin would have the means to secure his freedom.
-o-
“Come.”
The door opened and Gwaine entered Arthur’s chambers.
“You wished to see me, sire?”
Arthur turned from the window to stare at his knight. He knew Gwaine had been closest to Merlin, and was unafraid of breaking rules.
“I did.”
Gwaine’s posture was tense and he was unsmiling. He regarded Arthur warily.
Arthur walked over to the knight and stopped in front of him. He studied Gwaine’s face. Gwaine stared back, defiant.
“Did you know?” Arthur asked, voice soft, but laced with a trace of menace.
Gwaine didn’t even pretend to not understand what he was referring to. “I suspected.”
“And you didn’t see fit to discuss your suspicions with me?”
“I did not.” He raised his chin a small bit higher and didn’t flinch from Arthur’s intense gaze.
Arthur made a small noise and crossed his arms in front of his chest, continuing to stare; his face revealed nothing.
Gwaine became more and more agitated the longer the silence drew on. Finally, he blurted, “You can’t mean to go through with it tomorrow.”
“Can’t I?” Arthur asked, voice scathing. “He’s a sorcerer. Apparently, you suspected, but didn’t see fit to inform your prince. Your king. Perhaps if you had, my father might still be alive.”
“You cannot believe Merlin had anything to do with your father’s death.”
“Were you not in the hall? Did you not witness what happened?”
Gwaine’s expression shifted minutely. If Arthur had not been watching carefully, he might not have seen the tiny moment of uncertainty. But then it was gone almost before it had even appeared.
“Merlin didn’t kill your father. I don’t know what happened in that hall, but I do know Merlin would never have hurt Uther. Things are not always as they appear.”
“He’s a sorcerer. My father has hunted his kind down for decades. Why wouldn’t he hate the King? Why shouldn’t he want to kill him?”
“Because he loves you,” Gwaine said forcefully, voice raised. “He would never do anything to hurt you.”
Arthur turned from Gwaine, sucking in a deep breath, trying to control the rush of shame he felt. How could Gwaine sound so certain, be so quick to defend Merlin, when Arthur was willing to think the worst?
Irrationally, he was angry at Gwaine, angry at his easy acceptance of Merlin, his staunch defence of the boy. Jealousy reared its head, like a beast clawing at him from the inside. He knew Gwaine and Merlin had always been close. Now he wondered just how close they had been. He whirled back around. “He’s a liar. That much is clear. Or have you just been taken in by his pretty face as well? Is that it? Is that what happened?”
Gwaine’s jaw clenched, as if he were biting back words. Arthur wanted to see him crack, wanted to watch Gwaine suffer too. Wanted someone to hurt as much as he did.
“How did he convince you so easily, hmm? Did he falls on his knees, suck on your cock between his pretty pink lips? You’re awfully quick to rush to his defence.”
Gwaine’s face flushed and his nostrils flared. Arthur felt a pang of satisfaction, knowing he had struck a nerve. He continued with his taunting. “Or did you just want him to? Is that it? Is that what you thought about at night, while Merlin was warming my bed? Did you wish it were you?”
Arthur circled around Gwaine now, like a predator, moving in for the kill.
“He’s very good. You’ve seen his mouth. The things it can do…”
Gwaine didn’t move, but Arthur watched the vein in his neck throb, the muscles in face twitch.
“There’s still tonight, you know. I’ve no use for him any longer, after all. And he won’t be dead until tomorrow. There’s still time enough for you to have a little fun, to give him a try.” His mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “I can even leave you the keys…”
Arthur pulled the key ring from his belt and dangled it in front of Gwaine’s face. “It will be our little secret.”
“You bastard,” Gwaine spat out, eyes flashing as his hands curled into fists. Arthur was sure he had succeeded in pushing Gwaine over the edge. He waited for him to strike, ready to return the blow. Then Gwaine went still as he caught something in Arthur’s expression. He was breathing heavily, staring at Arthur’s face. Calculating.
“The guards…” he said cautiously, unsure if he understood what Arthur was saying, if there was added meaning under the surface. “Won’t they be on watch?”
“I’m sure you can think of something to distract them,” Arthur said. “Some wine, perhaps.”
“Some wine,” Gwaine repeated carefully.
“I’m sure they’d appreciate it. Might convince them to look the other way. Let you have your fun; he’s burning tomorrow anyway. I imagine they’d enjoy the opportunity to relax.”
Arthur tore his gaze from Gwaine’s intense stare and started pacing. “I, on the other hand,” he continued, “have been unable to relax. Not for days. I’ve needed to have Gaius prepare a sleeping potion.”
“A sleeping potion… is that right?”
“Yes. From Gaius.”
“From Gaius,” Gwaine repeated again, his words slow and deliberate.
He watched Arthur pace for a few moments more, then reached out his hand, grabbing Arthur’s arm to stop him. He moved to face him. Arthur’s expression was hard, unyielding.
“Arthur?” Gwaine asked, squeezing his arm gently.
Arthur felt a crack in the façade he wore, weakening his resolve for a fraction of a second. He could tell by the shift in Gwaine’s expression—now containing pity and compassion, sorrow and gratitude—that he saw it too.
“Don’t,” he whispered, pulling his arm from Gwaine’s grip, turning away from him. He took a deep breath. He could not afford to fall apart in this moment. Then he walked to the table, set the keys down, hearing them rattle as his hand trembled.
He cleared his throat. “That will be all. You may leave.”
The room was silent, then he heard Gwaine moving. He was startled when his knight knelt before him, reaching for his hand and pressing his lips to the back of it.
“Good night, my lord.”
Arthur closed his eyes and waited for the sound of Gwaine’s footsteps to cross the room, for the door to open and then close. When he opened his eyes, the keys were gone from the table.
-o-
Continue to Part 2c | Masterpost
“Come,” Arthur barked in response to the knock on his door. He had retreated to his chambers in the aftermath of the attack on the great hall, needing respite from the sudden crushing weight of responsibility. There had been his father’s body to contend with; preparations were already underway for his burial. Arthur couldn’t even think about Uther being gone; he had no time to mourn just yet. In addition, an investigation into the attack was underway. Leon had been left in charge of discovering as many details about their identities and motives as he was able. His men had been remarkably efficient, leaving not a single sorcerer alive. Save Merlin, of course. Arthur especially wasn’t prepared to face decisions regarding him.
“Sire?” Arthur stiffened, identifying the voice. His barely suppressed rage rose to the surface.
“Did you know?” he asked, whirling around to face Gaius, voice accusing.
“Did I know?”
“Yes. Did you know?” His words were measured and careful, holding a warning, as he advanced on Gaius.
“Know what, sire?” Gaius asked.
“Don’t play that game with me. You know exactly what I’m asking. Did you know Merlin was a sorcerer?”
Gaius hesitated, considering his answer. Arthur could see the thoughts playing out over his face as he weighed his possible responses. Finally, he sighed, shoulders drooping and said, “Yes. I knew.”
“Get out.”
“Sire, I have things I must discuss with you. About the attack. Merlin isn’t—”
“I said get out. Because you were my father’s friend, I will not have you banished from Camelot. But if I were you, I would stay out of sight for the foreseeable future.”
“Sire, this is important. You must listen. Merlin—”
“I said get out,” Arthur roared. “Or I will have you thrown in the dungeons with Merlin and have you tried for treason. Do you understand me?”
Gaius hesitated, then said, “Yes, sire,” before bowing and leaving the room.
Arthur sighed and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed, head bowed. His hands were trembling with anger. Arthur took a few deep breaths trying to calm down. He needed a clear head to deal with what he still needed to face. Merlin.
Merlin groaned, blinking in the dim light. His head throbbed and he felt as if he were bruised all over. Everything hurt. He wasn’t even sure where he was. The ground was cold and the air felt damp. He could make out the dirt floor, but nothing else was familiar. Struggling to sit up, he groaned again as the throbbing in his skull intensified. A wave of nausea overtook him and he gagged, bile rising in his throat. He slumped back down on the ground, waiting for the urge to be sick to pass. Merlin raised a shaky hand to his head, pressing it to his temple and winced at the tenderness. What had happened to him?
Everything came rushing back at once—the flames roaring through the great hall, entertainers dropping their guises to reveal a group of sorcerers bent on destruction. The chaos and smoke had caused him to lose sight of Arthur temporarily, but he did his best to keep whomever he could safe while the fighting was ongoing. His heart plummeted when he saw a sorcerer across the hall taking direct aim at the king. There was no one even close enough to potentially stop him.
Merlin had no time at all to think, not if he wanted to save Uther. His chest felt hollow knowing a lifetime of hiding was coming to end. He had little hope for a favourable outcome once his long-held secret was revealed, and already despair was settling into his bones. This wasn’t how he wanted Arthur to find out, not like this. He had no other choice, however. Not one he’d be able to live with, anyway. His eyes flashed gold as he ran to the centre of the hall and extended his hand, the ancient words tripping from his tongue like the names of old friends. He realized immediately that he was probably too late. His spell flew across the room to meet the one already in motion, but before it could reach its target, he saw the force of the sorcerer’s blast send Uther reeling. Then the hall was lit up as bright as the sun as the two spells collided, the force filling the air with the clap of thunder. The other blast died away as its wielder absorbed the shock of Merlin’s magic, then he crumpled to the ground where he lay unmoving.
Before Merlin could even lower his arm he saw Arthur, his beautiful Arthur with a look on his face he would never forget—betrayal, anguish, grief, anger—and the despair took root, turning his bones to lead. He didn’t even try to defend himself as the hilt of Arthur’s sword connected with his temple, robbing him of consciousness.
As the memories rushed back, the bile rose in his throat and he leaned over, retching onto the ground, his head throbbing anew from the exertion. He rolled away from his sick, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, eyes stinging from tears. Now that he had remembered the events from earlier, his location was no longer a mystery. He was in Camelot’s dungeons.
What that meant he was still unsure of, but from the look in Arthur’s eyes, a look that made his stomach twist just thinking of it, he knew with certainty any previous feelings Arthur held for him had been destroyed in a single moment. He curled into a ball, wrapping his arms around his aching head, and wept.
Some time later—he wasn’t sure how long he had lain there drifting in and out of consciousness—he heard voices nearby. Then he heard the creak of hinges as his cell door was opened. He squinted, lifting his head toward the sound and groaned at the pain that shot through him from the movement.
“Merlin?” Gaius knelt beside him, gently gripping his shoulder.
“Gaius?”
“Here, I’ve brought you some medicine for your head. Can you sit up?”
“I think so.” Merlin struggled upright, aided by Gaius’ arm around his shoulder. He felt the bile rising again as a wave of nausea overtook him and he leaned over, gagging, swallowing rapidly at the saliva pooling in his mouth.
“Poor boy,” Gaius murmured. “See if you can drink this. It will help you feel better.” Gaius held a small phial to his lips and Merlin reached up a shaky hand, swallowing down the bitter liquid.
“Lie down again. Give it a few minutes.” Gaius helped Merlin back down and gently pet his hair while he waited for the medicine to take effect. Soon the throbbing in his head turned to a dull ache and his stomach stopped roiling.
Gaius helped him sit up again, and he moved so his back was against the wall.
“Dear boy. I always feared you’d grow careless and your secret would be revealed one day, but I never imagined it would happen in quite so dramatic a fashion.”
Merlin gave a weak chuckle. “You know me. Always full of surprises.”
“I do know you,” Gaius said in a fond voice.
“How bad is it?” Merlin asked.
Gaius’ face sobered. “Bad.”
Merlin nodded. He expected as much.
“The entire court saw you kill King Uther with magic.”
“I didn’t—”
“Shhhh,” Gaius cut in. “I know. Of course you didn’t. But that’s how it appears. And that’s how it appeared to Arthur as well.”
Merlin closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “What is he going to do?” he whispered.
Gaius didn’t answer.
Merlin picked his head back up to look at Gaius. “Gaius?”
“What can he do? You know the laws. I had hoped…” Gaius sighed.
Merlin didn’t need him to finish. He knew what Gaius was thinking. Merlin had also hoped things might one day be different for magic users. That one day, he’d be able to tell Arthur everything and Arthur would care for him enough he’d forgive him for lying all those years. That he’d even change the laws. Those dreams seemed like the romantic notions of a child now. Arthur would never forgive him; he apparently was even willing to send him to his death. Merlin shivered, feeling empty, hollow; he wasn’t sure he was even capable of more tears.
“When will it take place?”
“Two days from now. Tomorrow Uther will be laid to rest and Arthur will be crowned. A more formal coronation ceremony will take place at a future date, of course, but he will take his oath tomorrow. Then on the following morning you’re to be executed.”
Merlin winced. “Two days. That’s not much time.”
“You will not be here, of course.”
Merlin looked over in surprise. “What?”
Gaius gave him an exasperated look. “Merlin, I’m going to assume that’s the concussion talking. You are to use your magic to escape. When they come to bring you to the pyre, this cell will be empty.”
“But how…”
“In whatever way possible. You’re the most powerful sorcerer this land has ever seen. I believe you have a great destiny. I had thought yours and Arthur’s were inextricably entwined—and perhaps that still may come to pass—but you will not die on the pyre two days hence.”
Merlin gave a small smile. “You seem pretty sure about that.” He wished he could feel such conviction. Right now, he was having a difficult time believing he had anything left to live for at all.
“I am. Now listen to me. We haven’t much time.”
“All right.”
“One of the sorcerers who died in the hall—I believe him to be the one who struck Uther down—was a man named Alvarr.”
“Alvarr. The name sounds familiar.”
“It should. He was a druid. He’d often come to see me when he was in Camelot. We traded on many an occasion.”
“Why would he kill Uther? Because of all the recent attacks?”
“That I do not know. But I do have this.” Gaius reached in his robes to pull out an object from one of his pockets. He reached for Merlin’s hand and placed the item in his palm. Merlin brought it closer to his face to examine it.
“That’s Morgana’s ring.”
“Alvarr was wearing it.’
Merlin whipped his head up, then groaned at the sudden movement. “What was Alvarr doing with Morgana’s ring? Does that mean she’s living with the druids? Or that she’s behind the attack today? She did try to kill Uther once before.”
“Both are possible. There’s something about Morgana I’ve never told you. A secret I swore not to tell.”
“I already know.”
“No, I don’t think that you do.” He shook his head. “Not about this. Morgana and Alvarr were acquainted. She made it a point to visit me whenever he was in Camelot to trade. I never discouraged it, thinking it was good for her to know other magic users, to become familiar with the druids. I thought it was beneficial for her to have connections to others of her kind, just in case.”
“I can understand that.”
“Yes, well, I was unaware of just how close they had grown.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean, Merlin, is that when Morgana left Camelot, she was with child.”
When Merlin opened his eyes again, he felt the presence of someone in the room with him.
“Gaius?”
There was no answer. He struggled to a sitting position, taking a moment to wait for the nausea to subside. The medicine he had taken earlier was largely still in effect, but his head ached and his stomach hadn’t fully settled.
“Who’s there?” he asked, squinting into the darkness.
He saw the vague outline of a figure shift in the darkened corner of the cell, concealed by shadow.
“Who are you?”
The figure moved, taking a step into the dimly lit room.
“Arthur,” Merlin gasped.
Arthur remained silent.
His expression was dark, thunderous, and was one Merlin had never seen him wear before. He was almost unrecognizable. For the first time in his life, Merlin felt afraid of Arthur.
“Arthur, I’m sorry,” he choked out, voice cracking with emotion.
Merlin hadn’t thought it possible, but he watched as Arthur’s expression twisted into something even more ugly—full of hatred and rage.
Arthur surged toward him and he cowered away, scurrying like a crab until his back touched the wall and he could go no farther.
He pressed against the hard stones as Arthur’s hand reached out, grabbing him around his throat. Then he was being bodily lifted by his neck; he struggled to get his feet under him, his hands scrabbling on the wall behind to help him gain his balance so he wasn’t dangling like a puppet from Arthur’s fist. The wound at his neck, which Gaius had treated before he left, split back open. The sharp pain barely registered over his overwhelming despair and heartbreak.
“You’re sorry?” Arthur voice was soft and menacing, face inches from his own. “For what, exactly? For lying to me? For using me to get closer to the king? For killing my father?” His voice grew increasingly louder with each word spoken until the last question was a roar.
Merlin couldn’t speak. Arthur’s fingers around his throat pressed against his windpipe; waves of emotion crashed over him like the pounding surf, each question smashing into him like a fist. He tried to shake his head, but Arthur’s grip was too tight. Tears leaked from his eyes and slid down his cheeks.
Arthur’s hand closed tighter, pressing harder, making it impossible for Merlin to breathe. He could feel the trickle of blood slipping down his throat, soaking into the neckline of his shirt.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now.” His hand squeezed even harder. Merlin reached up to try and pry Arthur’s fingers from his throat. His head spun and spots started dancing before his eyes as his lungs burned from lack of oxygen. “Why shouldn’t I just choke the life right out of you? Rid the world of one more sorcerer. Tell me, Merlin. Why shouldn’t I just kill you now?” Again Arthur ended on a yell, shaking Merlin, knocking his head backward on the stone. His body was limp, flailing like a rag doll.
Just as he was beginning to black out, Arthur let out a growl, then threw him to the floor, releasing him. He landed hard, feeling the impact on his shoulder and hip, knocking his head against the ground again. Merlin lay gasping, shaken, trying to fill his lungs with air.
Arthur was pacing now, hands clenching and unclenching. Merlin was afraid to move, not wanting to call attention to himself. The blood seeping from his throat tickled, but he didn’t dare try to staunch its flow or wipe it away. This was an Arthur he had never seen, not even on the battlefield against his greatest enemies. Gaius had told him Arthur was crazed with anger and grief, unreasonable and unwilling to even hear about Alvarr and Morgana’s possible connection, but Merlin could never have imagined the man he saw before him.
Then Arthur was down on one knee next to him, leaning in. His voice was soft, seductive. “Have you nothing to say, Merlin?” He reached out his hand and Merlin flinched, but Arthur’s touch was gentle as he trailed a finger down the side of his cheek, rubbing it across Merlin’s lower lip. “No pretty words to seduce me with? You don’t want to offer to suck my cock with that gorgeous mouth of yours, beg for leniency?”
Merlin lay unmoving, breath hitching as the tears rolled down his cheeks. He almost wished that Arthur had killed him, so he wouldn’t have to see him like this.
“Are those tears I see?” Arthur moved his finger to the corner of Merlin’s eye and slid it down the side of his nose. “Very impressive. But I suppose it should be no surprise. You were quite the expert at your little game. I never suspected a thing.” Merlin’s tears fell even harder. “You had me right where you wanted me. The Prince of Camelot at your command. I’d have done almost anything for you. I was even willing to give up my duty.” His hand still roamed Merlin’s face, gently, tenderly, fingers stroking his cheeks, as if of their own volition, disconnected from the cruel words coming from Arthur’s mouth. “I even imagined I l—” his voice cracked as he spoke the words and the cold harsh mask dropped for just a moment. Merlin felt his insides being sucked dry at the bleak hopeless look in Arthur’s eyes, desolate, so full of pain and loss he felt the echo in his own. Then the mask was back in place; his hand withdrew from Merlin’s skin.
Arthur stood up and turned his back to Merlin. The silence stretched on. Merlin just wanted him to leave, so he could fall apart in peace, mourn the loss of the most precious thing he’d ever known.
“Haven’t you anything at all to say?” Arthur question broke the silence. The words sounded as if they were being torn from his throat. Merlin wondered if he imagined the tremour in his voice, the shaking of his shoulders. He almost thought he must be weeping. Merlin wanted nothing more than to pull his aching body from the ground, wrap his arms around his prince and hold him close. That he was the reason for the look he’d seen in Arthur’s eyes made him ache unbearably.
Knowing this might be the last chance he’d have to speak to Arthur, Merlin forced himself upright. He had to let Arthur know how he felt.
“I didn’t kill your father,” he began. Arthur’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t move. Merlin continued when he realized Arthur was listening, letting him speak. “I was trying to stop another sorcerer’s attack, but I was too late. I’m sorry I never told you. I wanted to. So many times…” he paused, his own voice breaking. “I was afraid. That you wouldn’t be able to forgive me. That I’d have to go.” He was openly weeping now, the words coming out between sobs. “That I’d lose you.”
He took a deep shuddering breath, trying to get back under control. He had more to say, more he needed Arthur to know. “It wasn’t a game. I told you that before. It was never a game.” He paused again, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my magic. I’ve only ever used it to protect you. I would never hurt you, Arthur. Never. I love you. You’re my prince… my king. Everything I am is in service to you.”
Arthur whirled around and Merlin could see the faint light shining against the dampness of his cheeks. “Why should I believe you?” he cried. “You’ve been lying to me for years.”
Merlin had no answer for him.
The castle was quiet as Arthur sat vigil. All day people had been coming to pay their respects, to bid farewell to the king. Uther had been unyielding in many ways, but his people loved him. Camelot had thrived under his leadership.
Now Arthur was finally alone with his father. He studied the face of the man whose boots he was meant to fill. Uther looked older in death, his years mapping lines on his face, but he was still far too young a man to be lying there, cold and motionless. He appeared smaller somehow, too. Arthur had always thought of his father as an imposing man, broad and strong, but looking at him now he seemed no larger than Arthur himself. Indeed, he had never given it much thought, but Arthur realized the last time they spoke, he and his father had stood eye to eye.
“I wish…” Arthur said, trailing off, reaching out his hand to touch Uther, then drawing it back.
His father could no longer hear him, he knew. And of wishes, he had far too many. Regrets as well. He wished he could have made his father proud. All his life he had sought his approval, strived to be the kind of man, the kind of leader, his father would respect. Yet he always fell short, never once felt as if he measured up. And now he’d never have the chance to prove himself.
He wished he had more time. Recent conversations, now tainted by heartbreak and bitterness, weighed heavy in his mind. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to be king. Wasn’t ready to have everyone relying on him, expecting him to know the best course of action. He wasn’t ready to have the weight of the kingdom falling on his shoulders.
Wasn’t ready to make the hard decisions.
“I wish you could tell me what to do, Father,” he whispered.
But there was no answer.
Arthur allowed himself to feel the grief he had been holding back all day. The shock of seeing his father lying on the ground, his chest charred, eyes blank. The heartbreak and betrayal of discovering Merlin was not the man he thought he knew. If he opened the door to his emotions even the smallest crack, he had no doubt they would come cascading through, too powerful to be contained. Trying to hold himself together while facing Merlin had been difficult enough; he couldn’t keep his pain at bay any longer. His chest felt like it was being ripped opened up from the inside as the anguish of the day tore through him. He leaned over his father’s body, wrapping his arms around his cold still form, laid his head on Uther’s chest and wept.
He had never felt more alone.
Merlin didn’t want to move the next time he awoke. His throbbing head, the sharp sting at this throat, his bruised neck, surely marked by the fingers that had been so tightly wrapped around it, these pains couldn’t compare to the ache in his heart. He didn’t even open his eyes, not wanting to see the dim light of his dungeon cell and be reminded of where he was, the events that had brought him here.
His magic was formidable, he knew. He could feel it thrumming under his skin, reaching out to touch the universe around him, dancing over the physical space, slipping through the world’s unoccupied spaces like water in a jar of pebbles. It instinctively recognized the inherent power in the earth and the sky, the water and the breeze, in all living things. Just how powerful it was he didn’t know, but Merlin was tempted to test it, wondering if it was strong enough to turn back time. He could hear Gaius’ voice in his head, chiding him for even considering such a notion. He knew, of course, the madness in such an idea, the inherent dangers, the possibility of rending reality wide open; nonetheless, the ache of loss was too unbearable in the now to not want to attempt anything possible to take the hurt away.
To go back to a time when Arthur still loved him.
Knowing Arthur had felt that way about him—there was no mistaking what Arthur had been about to say—made the loss even harder to bear. Arthur was a physical man, not given to discussions about his feelings. If he was angry, he lashed out. If he was happy, he laughed. The way Arthur had surrendered himself to Merlin when they were together, so trustingly, so completely, made Merlin think Arthur’s affections must be as strong as his own, but it was nothing they had ever talked about. Merlin read his feeling in the touch of his hand, the kisses from his lips, the press of his body against his own, the nip of his teeth against his skin. He had wondered, and hoped, attributing probably more than was wise to these physical displays, but Arthur kept so much bottled up inside; Merlin had never known for sure.
That this was the manner in which he found out the extent to which Arthur had cared was heartbreaking on its own. To learn it at the same time he lost Arthur forever was devastating.
Merlin reached up to his neck and pressed his finger against the bruise behind his ear, feeling the dull ache. He clung to this tangible reminder of what they had shared; Arthur’s mark proved it had once been real. Already, it was almost impossible to remember when the only thing he could see behind his closed lids was Arthur’s face, twisted with hatred.
He pressed harder, as if he could permanently imprint the mark upon his skin. It would begin to fade in a few days, he knew. The thought filled him with an overwhelming sadness. Despondent, he curled tighter in on himself, tears squeezing themselves out of the corner of his eyes, and he pressed again, and again. And again.
Arthur stared out the window in the fading light. Below in the courtyard he could see the stand for the pyre, wood piled high all around. Over the years, he had seen many a sorcerer burn, but never before had the flames been intended for someone he knew. He rubbed his arms, suddenly chilled, feeling the goose pimples on his flesh, even though the night was warm. Arthur hadn’t allowed thoughts of Merlin to enter his mind during the events of the day. Going on too little sleep and too high emotion, he knew he’d be unable to think rationally. First he had to get through his father’s funeral. Having sat vigil with him the evening before, purging his emotions during the long night, Arthur was able to maintain his composure during the service, speaking stoically about his father’s reign to those who had gathered. He accepted the condolences offered, and tried not to think about all the people who were not there to stand next to him.
More difficult to endure had been the afternoon when he stood before his knights and the members of the court and swore his oath as King of Camelot, promising to serve and protect, to defend the land and her people from all their enemies. He felt like a fraud as the heavy crown was placed on his head and everyone knelt before him, paying homage and pledging their allegiance. He was only a man, not unlike any other. Yes, he had been raised and trained to don the mantle of leadership from an early age, but he knew it was only an accident of birth that placed him in this position. What, after all, made him more qualified to rule than anyone else? He felt unworthy.
And now… now that the ceremonial obligations were out of the way, he had to face his first act as king: putting to death the sorcerer who had murdered his father. Consigning his former lover to the flames.
Sending Merlin to burn.
The thought of Merlin, with his sweet smiles and adoring looks, roasting on the pyre made him sick. He was probably the worst kind of fool to be swayed by sentiment, but he had no idea how he’d be able to go through with the execution on the morrow. Bile rose in his throat just imaging it. His anger, although still raw and present, had at some point receded to the background to be overtaken by despair. He felt helpless, bound by duty.
Arthur closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window frame. His chest ached. He couldn’t reconcile the boy who had slipped under his defences and stolen his heart with the being he saw in the great hall, hand outstretched, eyes glowing with unnatural power. He wanted to believe the words he was told in the dungeon—that Merlin was innocent of his accused crime. But even if that were the case, his magic was indisputable. How could he be trusted when he had been lying to Arthur for years?
With Morgana’s troubled past always on his mind, Arthur had harboured grandiose dreams of how things might be different once he became king. He imagined he’d gradually change the laws, easing up on the restrictions against magic. Perhaps making Camelot a place Morgana could one day once again call home. Although he couldn’t argue with the prosperity and peace his father had brought to Camelot, he had never agreed with Uther’s unforgiving stance. Yet time was against him. The laws in place were the ones by which he must abide. Even if he wanted to offer Merlin leniency, the circumstances made that impossible. Too many people were convinced of what they had seen; he could not let the act go unpunished.
Indeed, he had been convinced himself. When he went down to the dungeons to confront Merlin, he was driven by rage, sure that Merlin had made a fool of him by lying to him for years, seducing him in order to get closer to the king. He had been certain Merlin had cast the spell that brought Uther down. His feeling of betrayal, having witnessed Merlin’s perfidy with his own eyes, was compounded by a deep hurt he had yet to examine too closely. He was all too aware of how completely he had surrendered to this boy who was not what he seemed.
But now Arthur was beset by doubts. Merlin’s tears, which he had tried to harden his heart against, were persuasive. The stricken expression, the look of despair is his eyes, felt an echo of his own. Arthur had no idea any longer what was truth and what was false. After Morgana, Guinevere, Lancelot… his own judgment was suspect. And Merlin himself had confirmed how obtuse he had been.
The light continued to fade, and the objects in the courtyard became more difficult to make out in growing darkness. In contrast, the thoughts in Arthur’s head were slowly crystallizing into sharpness. If his father knew what he was about to do, his disappointment would be greater than any he had shown while he was still living. Arthur knew he was likely betraying his oath to Camelot in his very first hours of reign. But he couldn’t go through with the execution. He could not. If there was the slightest chance Merlin had been telling the truth, he couldn’t condemn him to the fire. Arthur gave himself a moment to indulge in one of the many happy memories he had of Merlin—laughing and falling backward on the bed, pulling Merlin on top of his chest, smiling up into his shining blue eyes. His throat tightened and tears stung at the corner of his eyes. It couldn’t all have been a lie, could it?
Arthur shook his head, refusing to dwell on the loss. There’d be time enough ahead of him to mourn, a lifetime without Merlin to brighten his days. Even if it had been a lie, if Merlin was a master manipulator who’d had him fooled the entire time, even if this decision was one he'd regret later, if Merlin returned one day to complete his revenge and his kingdom fell to ruins around his feet, even if Merlin truly was the assassin he appeared, Arthur still could not put him to his death. He had no idea how strong Merlin’s magic was, what exactly he was capable of. Arthur hoped he already had plans underway to escape from Camelot’s dungeons. But even were he not able, Arthur path was set; Merlin would have the means to secure his freedom.
“Come.”
The door opened and Gwaine entered Arthur’s chambers.
“You wished to see me, sire?”
Arthur turned from the window to stare at his knight. He knew Gwaine had been closest to Merlin, and was unafraid of breaking rules.
“I did.”
Gwaine’s posture was tense and he was unsmiling. He regarded Arthur warily.
Arthur walked over to the knight and stopped in front of him. He studied Gwaine’s face. Gwaine stared back, defiant.
“Did you know?” Arthur asked, voice soft, but laced with a trace of menace.
Gwaine didn’t even pretend to not understand what he was referring to. “I suspected.”
“And you didn’t see fit to discuss your suspicions with me?”
“I did not.” He raised his chin a small bit higher and didn’t flinch from Arthur’s intense gaze.
Arthur made a small noise and crossed his arms in front of his chest, continuing to stare; his face revealed nothing.
Gwaine became more and more agitated the longer the silence drew on. Finally, he blurted, “You can’t mean to go through with it tomorrow.”
“Can’t I?” Arthur asked, voice scathing. “He’s a sorcerer. Apparently, you suspected, but didn’t see fit to inform your prince. Your king. Perhaps if you had, my father might still be alive.”
“You cannot believe Merlin had anything to do with your father’s death.”
“Were you not in the hall? Did you not witness what happened?”
Gwaine’s expression shifted minutely. If Arthur had not been watching carefully, he might not have seen the tiny moment of uncertainty. But then it was gone almost before it had even appeared.
“Merlin didn’t kill your father. I don’t know what happened in that hall, but I do know Merlin would never have hurt Uther. Things are not always as they appear.”
“He’s a sorcerer. My father has hunted his kind down for decades. Why wouldn’t he hate the King? Why shouldn’t he want to kill him?”
“Because he loves you,” Gwaine said forcefully, voice raised. “He would never do anything to hurt you.”
Arthur turned from Gwaine, sucking in a deep breath, trying to control the rush of shame he felt. How could Gwaine sound so certain, be so quick to defend Merlin, when Arthur was willing to think the worst?
Irrationally, he was angry at Gwaine, angry at his easy acceptance of Merlin, his staunch defence of the boy. Jealousy reared its head, like a beast clawing at him from the inside. He knew Gwaine and Merlin had always been close. Now he wondered just how close they had been. He whirled back around. “He’s a liar. That much is clear. Or have you just been taken in by his pretty face as well? Is that it? Is that what happened?”
Gwaine’s jaw clenched, as if he were biting back words. Arthur wanted to see him crack, wanted to watch Gwaine suffer too. Wanted someone to hurt as much as he did.
“How did he convince you so easily, hmm? Did he falls on his knees, suck on your cock between his pretty pink lips? You’re awfully quick to rush to his defence.”
Gwaine’s face flushed and his nostrils flared. Arthur felt a pang of satisfaction, knowing he had struck a nerve. He continued with his taunting. “Or did you just want him to? Is that it? Is that what you thought about at night, while Merlin was warming my bed? Did you wish it were you?”
Arthur circled around Gwaine now, like a predator, moving in for the kill.
“He’s very good. You’ve seen his mouth. The things it can do…”
Gwaine didn’t move, but Arthur watched the vein in his neck throb, the muscles in face twitch.
“There’s still tonight, you know. I’ve no use for him any longer, after all. And he won’t be dead until tomorrow. There’s still time enough for you to have a little fun, to give him a try.” His mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “I can even leave you the keys…”
Arthur pulled the key ring from his belt and dangled it in front of Gwaine’s face. “It will be our little secret.”
“You bastard,” Gwaine spat out, eyes flashing as his hands curled into fists. Arthur was sure he had succeeded in pushing Gwaine over the edge. He waited for him to strike, ready to return the blow. Then Gwaine went still as he caught something in Arthur’s expression. He was breathing heavily, staring at Arthur’s face. Calculating.
“The guards…” he said cautiously, unsure if he understood what Arthur was saying, if there was added meaning under the surface. “Won’t they be on watch?”
“I’m sure you can think of something to distract them,” Arthur said. “Some wine, perhaps.”
“Some wine,” Gwaine repeated carefully.
“I’m sure they’d appreciate it. Might convince them to look the other way. Let you have your fun; he’s burning tomorrow anyway. I imagine they’d enjoy the opportunity to relax.”
Arthur tore his gaze from Gwaine’s intense stare and started pacing. “I, on the other hand,” he continued, “have been unable to relax. Not for days. I’ve needed to have Gaius prepare a sleeping potion.”
“A sleeping potion… is that right?”
“Yes. From Gaius.”
“From Gaius,” Gwaine repeated again, his words slow and deliberate.
He watched Arthur pace for a few moments more, then reached out his hand, grabbing Arthur’s arm to stop him. He moved to face him. Arthur’s expression was hard, unyielding.
“Arthur?” Gwaine asked, squeezing his arm gently.
Arthur felt a crack in the façade he wore, weakening his resolve for a fraction of a second. He could tell by the shift in Gwaine’s expression—now containing pity and compassion, sorrow and gratitude—that he saw it too.
“Don’t,” he whispered, pulling his arm from Gwaine’s grip, turning away from him. He took a deep breath. He could not afford to fall apart in this moment. Then he walked to the table, set the keys down, hearing them rattle as his hand trembled.
He cleared his throat. “That will be all. You may leave.”
The room was silent, then he heard Gwaine moving. He was startled when his knight knelt before him, reaching for his hand and pressing his lips to the back of it.
“Good night, my lord.”
Arthur closed his eyes and waited for the sound of Gwaine’s footsteps to cross the room, for the door to open and then close. When he opened his eyes, the keys were gone from the table.
Continue to Part 2c | Masterpost
