Merlin fic
May. 9th, 2009 12:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
auntiemeeshI bring you fic on this lovely Saturday afternoon.
Title: The Darkly Closing Clouds
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: PG-13 (some slightly mature subject matter)
Pairings: Merlin/OC, Arthur/Gwen, all off-screen as it were
Word count: approx. 6600 words
Summary: Arthur and Merlin are not much more than boys when they first meet, but everyone has to grow up sometime.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, no profit, etc.
Betaed by the superb![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
slightlytookish who has a knack for saying just the right thing to help me see what is or isn't working in a scene.
Spoilers: General spoilers for the entire first series, more specific ones for 1x02 (Valiant) and 1x11 (The Labyrinth of Gedref)
Warnings: peripheral character death, acknowledgement of het relationships, some of this is future fic.
A/N: This is basically my attempt to reconcile the Camelot 90210 approach to Arthurian legends as seen on the BBC (which I love, don't get me wrong), with something approximating the relationship Merlin and Arthur have in the more traditional legends.
The Darkly Closing Clouds
i.
“Merlin, you really are an idiot.”
Later, after they’d saved each other’s lives a half dozen times apiece, Arthur would still be saying the same thing, but the words would be imbued with a certain fondness, even affection. Right now, however, they’d only known each other for a few days and things weren’t going so well. There was no fondness, no affection in Arthur’s words. In fact, there was a fair amount of anger, and Merlin found himself wondering if he was about to get sacked, less than a full day after being given the job in the first place.
To be fair, Merlin was feeling rather angry himself, and wasn’t at all sure he’d mind being sacked. It wasn’t that he truly disliked being a manservant so much as he just rather hated Arthur most of the time. Aside from his proficiency with a sword and shield, which he’d been proving all over Merlin’s hide just that morning, he had little to recommend him. He treated the servants like they were his personal toys, to be played with as he saw fit and discarded once broken.
And then this afternoon, Merlin had seen Arthur and a few of his fellow knights down in the town, while he was running errands for Gaius. They had been laughing and jostling each other and then they proceeded to smash up a produce seller’s cart when their scrabble turned into a wrestling match. It might not have meant anything to Arthur, but Merlin knew how much that food meant to the man. He would be unable to sell any of it now, and would go home with empty pockets, unable to buy the things he needed, food for his children perhaps, or medicines for his wife. He would suffer for the prince’s thoughtlessness, and Merlin had been unable to stand by and watch. Not that there’d been much he could do, honestly. He’d helped the man put his stall to rights, gathered up as much of the produce as he could and put it in a basket. Someone, possibly Merlin himself, he mused ruefully, would be reaping the benefits of the ruined food while in the stocks tomorrow. Once back at the castle, however, he’d confronted Arthur, full of indignity and righteous anger at the prince’s callous mistreatment of the townsfolk. And then had come that hated, over-used line.
“Merlin, you really are an idiot.” Arthur’s face was red, whether from being scolded by a servant or out of sheer frustration, Merlin couldn’t begin to guess. “In case you didn’t know, there is a market square where all the townsfolk are expected to display their wares. Not that I should need to explain myself to you, but that man was in clear violation of my father’s edict that the throughway be kept clear of stalls and carts. It was either break up his cart or arrest him. I chose to let him return to his family, but he won’t be hawking his wares on the throughway again, any time soon.”
“Oh, erm, well,” Merlin trailed off, feeling a trifle foolish and even more angry for it.
“Just go away,” Arthur responded, clearly as eager to get rid of his unwanted manservant as his manservant was to go. “My stables need to be mucked out. And my horse curried. And you need to be back here in an hour to help me dress for tonight’s banquet.”
Merlin nodded and slipped out, still nursing his anger, but beginning to suspect that there was slightly more to Arthur than he’d first thought.
ii.
Arthur woke with difficulty, feeling heavy and slow. Something nagged at the edge of his awareness, something important, but it eluded his sluggish thoughts. It was a long time before he thought to open his eyes, and longer still before what he was seeing held any real meaning.
A loud shishing and roaring filled his consciousness, the ebb and flow of waves over stone, he finally realized. Overlaid on that, closer, was a mumbled voice, uttering words that seemed just on the edge of understanding, but that eluded Arthur’s comprehension. Something about the half whispered words caused a shiver to chase down his spine, and he shifted slightly, becoming aware that he was lying on a cold, stony beach. He had just a second to wonder at that before memory came rushing back and the world came into focus around him. He bolted upright, looking around wildly.
“Oh, thank god! Anhora said it was just a sleeping draught and you’d wake up soon, but that was hours ago.”
Arthur allowed Merlin’s anxious words to spill over him, trying to slow his suddenly pounding heart and understand how he was still alive. “But I drank the poison,” he muttered. “I died.”
Just like that, Merlin’s fear switched over to anger. “You stupid, stubborn, bloody-minded fool. What were you thinking, drinking the poison? That’s my job, what I’m here for. Erm. Sire.” Merlin trailed off, cheeks pinking up.
Arthur felt oddly lightheaded, staring at his servant. He was completely out of his depth here. “Merlin.” He waited until he was sure he had Merlin’s attention. “What happened?”
“Oh.” Merlin was silent for a moment, one of his odd pauses where he seemed to be trying to decide between which of multiple stories he’d like to tell today. “It was all a trick, you see. Anhora said you needed to prove the purity of your heart, and sacrificing yourself for me proved your worth. It was only a sleeping draught. He said you’d wake up shortly. He lied. You’ve been out for a good four hours, at least. And I couldn’t feel you breathing.” Merlin’s own breathing sped up at this, and he looked as though he might start panicking again.
“What were you thinking, Arthur?” Merlin continued sharply. “It’s my job to drink the poison, remember? I drink the poison, you live, everyone goes home happy.” Seeming to run out of steam, Merlin subsided, mumbling something about two headed coins and dragons that Arthur decided he’d pretend he hadn’t heard. It was altogether possible that his manservant was a bit cracked in the head, but he’d got used to him now and it would be far too much bother to break in a new one.
“I wouldn’t,” Arthur found himself replying, with some horror.
“You wouldn’t what?” Merlin asked, still flushed with remembered fear, but with just a hint of pleased comprehension beginning to lurk at the back of his eyes.
Arthur spared a half second to think of something plausible to say here, but the sleeping draught must have also contained some sort of truth spell or something, because he found that he didn’t want to lie about this.
“I wouldn’t have gone home happy. We’ve already done the ‘you drink the poison, I live’ thing and it did not make me happy. I don’t understand you, most of the time. You’re the worst manservant I’ve ever had, you treat me with not an ounce of the respect I deserve as Crown Prince, but you’re unfailingly honest with me and you make me…” he paused a long moment and then continued, grudgingly, “you make me think about what I’m doing and how it affects others. I’ll be a better King because of you.”
What Arthur didn’t say, even in this odd moment of introspective honesty, was that he would simply miss the best friend he’d got, if Merlin were to die. There were some things that Merlin didn’t need to know.
Gathering up the shreds of his dignity, Arthur pulled himself to his feet, putting some distance between himself and Merlin, and effectively ending the awkward and far too revealing conversation.
“Right, I’m feeling much better, now. Time to head home.” He took a look around, noticing the presence of their horses with a frown. He was pretty sure they hadn’t been here earlier. Anhora must have summoned them, he thought and then put the matter aside. He was hungry and tired, felt gritty and sore from lying on the rocky beach for hours, and wanted nothing more than a hot bath, a meal and his bed. Possibly not in that order. Swinging himself up into the saddle with a grunt, he started back to Camelot at a canter, not looking back, knowing that Merlin would follow.
iii.
“Quit pacing, Merlin,” Arthur ordered.
“I’m not pacing. Not exactly,” he added, at Arthur’s skeptical look. “I’m just…walking…back and forth…in a repetitive pattern. Look, I’m just a little nervous, all right?” Nervous was one way to put it. Honestly, Arthur thought Merlin looked about ready to puke. He needed a distraction.
“What have you got to be nervous about?” He asked, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Iorlith is a fine girl, she’ll make you a wonderful wife. I’m the one that should be nervous.” He pouted, knowing Merlin hated it when he did that.
“What on earth have you to be nervous about?” Merlin asked. “It’s nothing to do with you at all, you’ll just sit back and watch me pledge my life away.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Arthur agreed pleasantly. “But the delights of marriage will likely addle you so badly that you’ll become an even more incompetent manservant than you already are. You’ll be late in the mornings, you’ll be distracted. Before you know it, I’ll be washing my own socks. My people will lose all respect for me, and the kingdom will fall to ruin. No, on second thought, you’d better not marry her, after all.”
“Shall I just tell her the wedding’s off, then?” Merlin asked, “explain how you’re too much of a prat to share me with anyone else?”
“Poor girl would be better off if you spared her from marrying such an idiot as yourself,” Arthur rejoined. “Still, if you must marry her, I’ll just have to make the best of it, I suppose.”
There was a knock on the door just then, pausing the conversation while Arthur waited in vain for Merlin to answer the door. When his manservant only continued to pace distractedly, Arthur sighed and called for whoever was out there to come in.
A liveried servant poked his head hesitantly around the door. “It’s ready, Sire.”
“Ah, excellent. Thank you.” Dismissing the servant, Arthur turned back to Merlin. “Now, where was I?” he mused aloud, then snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes. As I was saying, you’re likely to be all addle-pated and distracted, running late all the time, and that just won’t do. So I’ve taken steps to prevent the problem.”
Merlin froze at that. “When you say steps, what exactly do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing like that,” Arthur replied, seeing the panic on Merlin’s face. “It’s just that your room in Gaius’ quarters is much too far away to be of real use to me. It takes forever to summon you as it is, and once you’re married and have someone to distract you from your duties, it will be impossible. No, it won’t do, that’s all. I’ve found a closer room for you, so you’ll have no excuse not to respond promptly when I need you.”
“A new room?” Merlin asked, turning around to look fully at Arthur.
“Come on, I’ll show you where it is. The servants have already finished moving your things, what little you have, that is.” Arthur beckoned Merlin to follow, and went out into the hall.
They only walked a short distance, down one flight of stairs and along a short corridor, before Arthur stopped in front of a door indistinguishable from every other. “Well, go on. Take a look, see what you think.”
Merlin opened the door hesitantly, as if afraid that an afanc or cockatrice might jump out at him, and then froze once more, halfway through the doorway.
Arthur jostled him the rest of the way in and surveyed the room with satisfaction. It was a large chamber, with soft furs on a bed that had to be three times as large as the hard little cot Merlin had been sleeping on, a wardrobe, shelves for his books and scrolls, a large table all set up with the arcane equipment Gaius had been teaching Merlin to use. What they did with all those bottles and bubbling pots and things, Arthur couldn’t begin to guess, but they seemed to be necessary so he’d made sure Merlin had a set. There was also a small bower off to one side, with all the frilly, fluttery things that Iorlith might need.
“Sire,” Merlin’s voice was choked with some emotion that Arthur pretended not to hear, “it’s too much, far more than I deserve.”
“Well, yes, I completely agree with that,” Arthur answered with a fond smile that was hidden behind Merlin’s back. “But it was the only room available and so it will have to do. I’ll be sure to find some extra duties for you, to make up for it. The armory, for instance, is in a terrible state. Everything in it needs to be cleaned, fixed, and sorted out properly. And my stables are a mess. You’ve really been slacking there, Merlin.” Arthur continued to list more and more ridiculous duties, knowing that Merlin didn’t hear a word he said.
iv.
When Uther Pendragon died, it happened quietly, unexpectedly. If he’d ever allowed himself to give any thought to it previously, Arthur would have said he’d expected his father to die in battle, or perhaps at the hand of a vengeful sorcerer. Certainly not slipping away in his sleep, no warning and no last words.
After wearing the crown of Camelot for three months, Arthur was beginning to understand some of his father’s more infuriating behaviors. He was tired down to his bones, and wondered if he’d ever sleep a night through again. He was walking a razor’s edge trying to keep all the neighboring kingdoms and petty warlords at bay without actually going to war with any of them. He was beginning to suspect, however, that a war with someone was inevitable. It seemed more and more likely that he would lose his father’s allies if he didn’t prove his strength of arms and force of men.
If that wasn’t enough, his advisors were all clamoring for him to marry and produce heirs. The choices being put before him ranged from King Bayard’s twelve-year-old daughter to the Lady Morgana. He’d barely restrained his hysterical laughter at that point in the conversation. “You want me to marry Morgana?” he’d asked, instead, with a dumbfounded stare. “Morgana?” The very thought made his skin crawl. He’d told himself it was because she was so very hateful, but the truth of the matter was, she was too much like a sister to him. They may not share blood, but they had been raised for many years by the same man and the relationship they had forged was not one that would support marriage.
Even Merlin was starting to harp on the subject.
“I know it isn’t what you want to hear, Sire,” Merlin started at the end of one long and especially trying afternoon, “but really, marriage isn’t so bad. You should give it a try.” He’d been married to Iorlith for nearly two years now and was still almost as giddy as a newlywed some days. And ever since she’d started to show and Merlin had admitted she was with child, he’d been nearly unbearable in his happiness. Arthur supposed he should want that for himself, and he did, to some extent, but only in a very vague, abstract way. He couldn’t quite picture any woman in the role of his wife, bulging with child and glowingly happy. It was an…unsettling idea.
“Enough, Merlin!” he growled when he could stand it no more. “If you continue to harp on this same tired old idea, I’ll have you out of my court.” He regretted the words the minute they were out of his mouth, even more so when he saw the look on Merlin’s face. But he was king now, and he couldn’t very well be lectured at in that insufferably presumptuous way by his manservant.
Merlin bowed his head, muttered an apology and retired, leaving Arthur to brood. And when he returned to his chambers late that evening, it was a stiff and silent Merlin that assisted him in getting ready for bed.
“Oh for… you pout like a little girl, Merlin. Out with it. Have your say and leave me in peace.”
If he thought that would thaw his friend out, he was mistaken. Merlin looked at him soberly for a long moment before nodding.
“You may not like it, and you may not want to hear it, but the truth of the matter is, my lord, that you must marry. This is not some whim that your advisors have come up with, a way to occupy feeble minds and pass the time of day. It is a pressing concern throughout Camelot, that the King has no heir. If you should die, the kingdom will fall and your people will be left unprotected. No one expects you to marry tomorrow or next week. But they do expect you to be thinking seriously about it.” He was quiet for a moment, moving about the room to pick up the scattered debris of the day. “If you don’t want to find yourself married to a child, or, or to Morgana,” and his face twisted just enough that Arthur knew Merlin understood the exact reasons for why that was wildly inappropriate, “then you need to take the reins in your own hands. Find a girl who is pleasing to you as well as your lords. And do it soon.” With that, he bid Arthur good night and left the room.
Arthur spent the next few weeks brooding and turning the idea over in his mind, and barely noticed that Merlin was keeping an unusual degree of distance between them.
v.
Merlin paced anxiously, listening to the cries of pain coming from behind the door. The baby had started coming late in the night and the midwife had kicked him out of the room as soon as she arrived, claiming that the presence of an anxious father only made things more difficult. In spite of her words, it took everything he had to wait outside in the corridor while his wife screamed in pain just yards away.
Gaius had provided a bit of comfort earlier, but some time ago he’d been summoned away on an urgent errand. There were others waiting with him now, but he was unable to give much of his attention to their words of reassurance. Iorlith’s cries had grown quieter. He could barely hear her, now, through the thick wooden door separating him from his life. He hoped that meant her ordeal was nearly over.
A touch on his arm drew his attention and he turned to see who it was. “Gwen.” He blinked, wondering when she had arrived and why she looked so strained.
“Come and sit down, Merlin,” she said with a soft tug on his arm. “It might be a while yet.”
“Oh, well, I just…” he gestured, helpless to articulate his need to be on his feet, to be ready to spring into action should action be needed.
Gwen smiled her understanding, patted his arm once more, and receded from his awareness as swiftly as she moved from his side.
Time passed in a blur as he listened to the rising and falling voices in the bedchamber, so that it came as a surprise when the door actually opened. But instead of the midwife, a servant slipped out, closing the door behind her. She looked around the corridor, moved swiftly to Gwen’s side, whispered in her ear for a moment, and then slipped back into the room. Merlin, watching this with some confusion, saw Gwen bite her lip, dart one quick look in his direction, and then hurry off.
It was fine, he told himself to counter the uneasiness growing in his belly. They probably just ran out of towels or something. Gwen would be back shortly and she’d reassure him that everything was fine. And in truth, it was not very long before Gwen returned, but instead of bearing a pile of fresh towels, she was trailing a step behind Arthur. Arthur, who bore a troubled expression as he strode up to Merlin.
“Sire?” Merlin asked, confused. “I’m sorry, my lord. Gwen should not have bothered you.” Arthur was still finding his way as King and Merlin seriously doubted he’d appreciate being summoned to the side of a mere servant. And despite the fact that Merlin had once thought they were more than master and servant, that they were perhaps something resembling friends, Arthur’s lack of patience with him these past few months had convinced Merlin he’d been wrong. Pulling the king out of some council session or training exercise, no, council session based on the dirt-free state of his armor, wasn’t going to improve things.
“Don’t be daft, Merlin.” Arthur leaned against a wall, arms and legs crossed. “Of course she should have. You should have sent someone hours ago.”
Merlin let it go and nodded distractedly, eyes following Gwen as she gave a soft knock on the door to his room before slipping inside. Listening intently, Merlin realized it had gone absolutely quiet. He could no longer hear Iorlith, or the voices of the midwife and her assistant. If they were done, shouldn’t the baby be crying? He was pretty sure the baby should be crying.
It seemed like a very long time before the door opened again and Gwen came back out, followed by the midwife. Gwen’s eyes were red, and the midwife looked grim. Merlin shook his head, refusing to believe what his gut was telling him.
“I’m so sorry, Merlin,” Gwen whispered, pressing into him for a tight hug.
“What? No. I don’t understand.” Merlin floundered through a haze of fear and denial, trying desperately to grab onto something solid.
“The babe was turned around,” the midwife said, voice laden with sorrow. “We did everything we could, but we simply couldn’t free him in time.”
“No. You’re mistaken.” Merlin, always good at denial, simply refused to hear this. “Lithy’s just resting. That’s all. She’ll be ready to go again soon, and then the baby will be born just fine.”
“It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid,” the midwife answered. “Your wife was very brave and refused to give up, but in the end it was too much for her.” The woman may have intended to say more, but Merlin was no longer listening. He pushed past her into the room that had been his and Iorlith’s together.
There was a stench of blood and death in the air, so strong that Merlin almost gagged at the thought that it had come from his Lithy. She was lying on their bed, covered to the neck with a blanket. The blanket did nothing to hide the truth, however.
“No, no, no,” he whispered as he searched for her hand under the blanket. It was cold and limp, not yet stiff, but providing no signs of life. He clutched it to him as he called to her. “Wake up, Lithy. Come on, wake up. Please, Lithy, please wake up.” He choked over the words and could say no more.
“Come away, Merlin,” Arthur’s voice was an unwelcome distraction. “Let the midwife finish cleaning her up.”
Merlin allowed Arthur to pull him away, but balked at the door. “No!” he shouted “I can fix this. Just leave me alone and I can fix this. A life for a life, right?” Tearing himself away from Arthur’s grip, he rushed to a small cabinet and pulled out his book of spells, flipping frantically through it.
“I don’t think one of Gaius’ potions will do any good now,” Arthur protested, following Merlin and attempting to come between him and his book.
Wordlessly, Merlin thrust out his hand and threw Arthur across the room, pinning him to the wall. He held Arthur there absently with one part of his mind while he searched the book for the right spell. He tried one after another, summoning the magic with desperation, but nothing worked. Iorlith continued to lie pale and still on the bloodstained bed.
Finally, he tossed the book aside, clenched both fists and raised them above his head. “A life for a life,” he shouted raggedly, barely noticing the tears streaming down his face. Gathering his power about him like a visible miasma of anguish, he called out to the old gods, offering himself up in exchange. The air turned dark and oppressive, a sharp peal of thunder burst overhead, and crackling balls and spears of lightning flew about the room, shattering furniture and scorching the stone of the walls and floor. In the center of it all, Merlin held his arms out and waited. It was to no avail, though. He continued to live and Iorlith did not. After a long moment, the energy dissipated, the air cleared and the sun shone in through the window again. Merlin dropped his arms and fell to his knees, weeping in despair.
“All this time,” he heard Arthur whisper hoarsely, some time later, “all this time, you’ve been a sorcerer, haven’t you?” He looked up, dully, to see Arthur standing several feet away, face bone white, eyes furious. “You said it yourself, years ago, and I was too blinded to see it for the truth it was.” He looked breathless with anger and some other emotion Merlin was too exhausted to understand or care about. “You’ve lied to me for years, betrayed all the trust I’ve put in you.”
Merlin stared back, too distraught to care that his secret had been revealed. “Well, then, you’d best arrest me and call for the executioner, hadn’t you?” Even right then, in that moment, he knew the anger that was rising up to overwhelm him was ill-placed, but there was nothing left in him but the anger and the grief, and they needed a release somewhere. “But know this, my lord. My sorcery, evil and filthy as you may see it, has saved your life more times than I can count. You can kill me now, but you can never undo that. You owe your life to sorcery.”
Arthur met his stare with an angry glare of his own. Merlin had no interest in games, however, and turned his head away, retreating back into himself. He knelt in the middle of the floor and grieved, oblivious to the movement around him as the midwife and her assistant finished making Iorlith presentable and clearing away the evidence of death. A long time later he looked up, vaguely aware that Arthur hadn’t arrested him yet, only to find himself alone with Iorlith. No longer constrained by the presence of others, he climbed into the bed, wrapped his arms around his wife and just held on, waiting.
vi.
Arthur stalked through the corridors of Camelot with a fearsome expression. To say that the meeting with his councilors had not gone well was akin to saying that dragons had warm breath. True as far as it went, but vastly understating the case.
Paying little attention to where he was going, he strode through the halls until he found himself in front of a familiar, thoroughly charred door. The sight brought him up short. The rooms Merlin had shared with Iorlith for such a brief period of time were empty. What Merlin hadn’t destroyed in his grief, he’d had burned along with his wife and child. Merlin had then removed himself to the farthest corner of the castle, taking up scant abode in the dusty, drafty topmost level of the northeast tower. He had allowed no visitors, not even Gaius, and rarely left his rooms. Privately, Arthur wondered if he’d taken up the eating of rats again, since it seemed to be either that or slowly starving himself to death. And that wasn’t a comfortable thought.
Growling, Arthur turned on his heel and made his way to another section of the castle, attempting to put his former manservant out of his mind. Distraction was not easy to find these days, however. Morgana, usually great fun to bait, was marking the anniversary of her father’s death. He had learned long ago to respect her desire for privacy on this day. His men were no longer comfortable in his presence and would not relax enough to divert him. And Merlin, well, Merlin was a large part of what he wanted to be distracted from.
Soon he found himself standing in front of another door, this one intact. Raising a hand, he hesitated just a moment before hammering several times against the wood. As soon as the door opened, he pushed inside.
“Please, Sire, do come in,” Gwen welcomed him with just a hint of wryness in her voice. Over the years she had gradually relaxed in his presence and now was more wont to roll her eyes than stammer disconcertedly when speaking with him. And somewhere along the line, he’d realized that he found her matter of fact presence remarkably welcoming and pleasant. She was like a balm for a sore soul. And wasn’t that ridiculously poetic, he thought with an internal shake of his head.
Arthur looked around the room while he collected his thoughts. Gwen had started spending more time at the castle since her father died, and she’d been given a room here to make things a little easier for her. Arthur knew he bore no responsibility for her loss, but he still felt that he hadn’t done enough to prevent Tom’s death. And so he continued to make sure she had what she needed to keep going. This room was small but warm and dry, close to Morgana’s chambers and more and more showing the personality of its inhabitant.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” Gwen finally asked, when Arthur’s brooding silence had gone on slightly too long for politeness.
“I…” Arthur paused, realizing he had no actual reason for being here, but not willing to admit any such thing. “I require your services this afternoon,” he finished, coming up with a plan. “Thanks to Merlin’s outrageous display of magic,” and he would never admit, not even under pain of torture, how truly frightened he’d been when Merlin had flung him against a wall as easily as he’d have swatted a fly, “I’ve had to rewrite half the laws of the kingdom to prevent his execution as a sorcerer. Although,” he scowled, “I don’t know why I bothered, since he won’t come out of hiding long enough to hear the news.”
“It’s not really hiding, though, is it, if everyone knows where he is,” Gwen replied, far too reasonable for his taste.
“Please, Gwen,” Arthur growled, “Do not believe me stupid enough to think he’s hiding from me or anyone else in Camelot. It’s his own life he’s too cowardly to face.” And that was maybe a trifle harsh, but Arthur was still stinging from Merlin’s betrayal, and he’d yet to sort out the mess of anger and worry and compassion he felt when thinking about his former manservant.
Gwen’s face softened and she reached out as though to touch him, but drew back, smoothing down her kirtle instead. “I do not think you stupid,” was all she said.
Arthur sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. “I know how you feel about magic and its users, but I was hoping you would talk to Merlin.”
Now it was Gwen’s turn to look disconcerted. She took a step back and looked away, toward the small window overlooking an inner courtyard. “What do you wish me to say to him?”
“That he has responsibilities to fulfill. I’m naming him Court Sorcerer and making him one of my advisors. This will be a much more useful post if he ever stops sulking and leaves his rooms.”
“He has suffered a great loss, my lord,” Gwen chided, revealing that she had perhaps forgiven him more than Arthur had. “It has only been a few months since Iorlith and the babe died. He needs time to heal.”
“That’s all very well and good,” Arthur countered, “but he’s not healing, he’s hiding, and it’s doing no one any good.”
“Why do you not speak with him yourself, then?” Gwen’s tone was even, but the slight furrow in her brow revealed her exasperation.
“Because I am the King,” Arthur snapped. “I do not run my own errands.” At Gwen’s startled, “of, course. I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry,” he sighed and raised a hand to stay her before she could retreat into stammering discomfort. “Besides,” he continued in a softer tone, “he needs someone to cajole and soothe him. In all honesty, I’m still far too angry with him. If I go up there, I’ll just end up shouting. Then he’ll throw a lightening bolt at me or something and I’ll have to throw him in the dungeon, which doesn’t seem like much of an improvement to me.”
Arthur never used to have to explain himself like this. He ordered people to do things and they did them. He missed those days. Although, to be fair, it was really only a select handful who ever argued with him, and that handful was a finger short without Merlin. Ye gods, Arthur was tired of everything coming back to Merlin. He wished he’d never let a mere servant become so close. At the same time, he wished he knew how to stop being angry with Merlin, how to find a way back to that oh so unlikely friendship they’d had, once upon a time. But that was gone, likely forever. And it would be a long time before he was able to fully trust Merlin again, if he ever did. In the meantime, he’d learn from his father’s mistakes and do what he had to do to keep Merlin working for and not against Camelot. If that meant welcoming magic back into his kingdom, then so be it, magic would be welcomed. And when Gwen agreed to speak with Merlin, he simply nodded and made his excuses. There would be nothing of Camelot left to protect if he didn’t get back to his councilors and hammer some sense into them.
vii.
Merlin had long had a talent for seeing the shape of things. Today, for instance, as he looked around at his cluttered and dusty rooms, he had a strong sense of an impending visitor. Or perhaps it was just the vibrations of someone stamping their way up the stairs that led to that impression. Either way, someone was on their way to see him, and his rooms were a mess.
He knew who it was, of course. There were only a few people willing to brave the Court Sorcerer in his quarters, and only one with such a purposeful stride. “Well,” he stated to the small grey tabby that shared his quarters, “if he insists on coming to see me unannounced, he’ll have to take me as I am. It’s not like he’ll be expecting anything different, anyway”
The cat, kitten really, not yet full grown, gave him a reproachful meep and then, as the footsteps drew nearer, ran to hide under the bed. “Some help you are,” Merlin muttered, and set about clearing off a table, at any rate, and putting out some food. A few small, winter-shriveled apples, a wedge of cheese, a loaf of bread; it wasn’t much but it would have to do. Unannounced visitors and all that.
Merlin knew, or at least suspected, what this visit was about and rather wished he had some strong ale to offer his guest. The best he could do at the moment, however, was to set some aged cider to warm over the fire. It was the last of the season’s yield and he’d been saving it.
There was a loud rap at the door, which was flung open immediately thereafter, and Merlin looked up to see the king upon his doorstep.
“Sire,” he murmured, “what an unexpected pleasure. Do come in.”
Arthur scowled, but strode into the room, looking around intently.
“You’ve moved things around,” he muttered, as if that were a treasonous act. And perhaps, Merlin mused, maybe in Arthur’s mind, right at this moment in time, any change not initiated by himself was indeed perceived in that way.
“I moved the table, yes,” Merlin allowed. “It was too dark against the far wall and my eyes are not what they once were.”
Arthur snorted and looked at Merlin for the first time since entering the room. “There’s nothing wrong with your eyes,” he stated.
“Well, true. But it’s much more pleasant to sit in the warmth of the sun, however feeble it may be at the moment.” Merlin gestured to the table and chairs, sitting near the west-facing window in a pool of weak sunlight. “Sit and tell me what brings you all the way up here to my humble abode.”
Arthur did sit, but for a long while he said nothing, just picking at bits of bread and cheese until they were nothing but crumbs. Merlin, sitting across from him, thought Arthur looked tired and unexpectedly old, the dim sunlight catching the glint of grey in the king’s hair and casting shadows under his eyes. It was a disturbing thought, but one Merlin could not afford to dismiss. It was not a happy chance that had brought Arthur here.
“We’ve known each other a long while, Sire.” Merlin finally broke the silence. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“As if you don’t already know.” Arthur’s tone was surly, just this side of unfriendly, but Merlin knew him well enough by now to see past that. He nodded slightly, but waited, letting Arthur take his time.
“We were … friends, once.” Arthur finally burst out, as if he could hold back no longer.
“I suppose we were,” Merlin agreed, surprised. “Strange friendship though it was.”
“You have been a good advisor to me,” Arthur continued, looking around the room again as if it held some secret he desperately needed to find. “I owe my life and my kingdom to you, many times over. But,” Arthur paused, his lips twisting as though the words were fighting him. “I need your advice now, but I need your friendship more.”
Merlin wondered how much that admission had cost Arthur, and suspected it was quite a lot. “You have always had it, my lord,” was all he replied, however.
Arthur finally looked at Merlin directly. “Good.” He nodded, once, and then set about destroying another piece of bread. “It’s about my lady Gwen and,” his lip twisted again, “Sir Lancelot.”
Ah, there it was, Merlin thought sadly, the rot that lurked in the heart of Camelot. He had seen the push/pull of attraction between Gwen and Lancelot, and the growing distance between Gwen and Arthur. It was his fate to see the shape of things and these were events that changed the shape of his world. There was little he could do to stop that, he knew well. But what little he could do, he would. And so he sat with his friend in a dim and dusty tower and listened, and talked, and tried to change what he knew could not be changed.
end
A/N, part two: The title comes from a quote by Sir Walter Scott. “When two friends meet in adverse hour, / ‘tis like a sunbeam through a shower. / A watery way an instant seen, / the darkly closing clouds between.”
Title: The Darkly Closing Clouds
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: PG-13 (some slightly mature subject matter)
Pairings: Merlin/OC, Arthur/Gwen, all off-screen as it were
Word count: approx. 6600 words
Summary: Arthur and Merlin are not much more than boys when they first meet, but everyone has to grow up sometime.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, no profit, etc.
Betaed by the superb
slightlytookish who has a knack for saying just the right thing to help me see what is or isn't working in a scene.Spoilers: General spoilers for the entire first series, more specific ones for 1x02 (Valiant) and 1x11 (The Labyrinth of Gedref)
Warnings: peripheral character death, acknowledgement of het relationships, some of this is future fic.
A/N: This is basically my attempt to reconcile the Camelot 90210 approach to Arthurian legends as seen on the BBC (which I love, don't get me wrong), with something approximating the relationship Merlin and Arthur have in the more traditional legends.
The Darkly Closing Clouds
i.
“Merlin, you really are an idiot.”
Later, after they’d saved each other’s lives a half dozen times apiece, Arthur would still be saying the same thing, but the words would be imbued with a certain fondness, even affection. Right now, however, they’d only known each other for a few days and things weren’t going so well. There was no fondness, no affection in Arthur’s words. In fact, there was a fair amount of anger, and Merlin found himself wondering if he was about to get sacked, less than a full day after being given the job in the first place.
To be fair, Merlin was feeling rather angry himself, and wasn’t at all sure he’d mind being sacked. It wasn’t that he truly disliked being a manservant so much as he just rather hated Arthur most of the time. Aside from his proficiency with a sword and shield, which he’d been proving all over Merlin’s hide just that morning, he had little to recommend him. He treated the servants like they were his personal toys, to be played with as he saw fit and discarded once broken.
And then this afternoon, Merlin had seen Arthur and a few of his fellow knights down in the town, while he was running errands for Gaius. They had been laughing and jostling each other and then they proceeded to smash up a produce seller’s cart when their scrabble turned into a wrestling match. It might not have meant anything to Arthur, but Merlin knew how much that food meant to the man. He would be unable to sell any of it now, and would go home with empty pockets, unable to buy the things he needed, food for his children perhaps, or medicines for his wife. He would suffer for the prince’s thoughtlessness, and Merlin had been unable to stand by and watch. Not that there’d been much he could do, honestly. He’d helped the man put his stall to rights, gathered up as much of the produce as he could and put it in a basket. Someone, possibly Merlin himself, he mused ruefully, would be reaping the benefits of the ruined food while in the stocks tomorrow. Once back at the castle, however, he’d confronted Arthur, full of indignity and righteous anger at the prince’s callous mistreatment of the townsfolk. And then had come that hated, over-used line.
“Merlin, you really are an idiot.” Arthur’s face was red, whether from being scolded by a servant or out of sheer frustration, Merlin couldn’t begin to guess. “In case you didn’t know, there is a market square where all the townsfolk are expected to display their wares. Not that I should need to explain myself to you, but that man was in clear violation of my father’s edict that the throughway be kept clear of stalls and carts. It was either break up his cart or arrest him. I chose to let him return to his family, but he won’t be hawking his wares on the throughway again, any time soon.”
“Oh, erm, well,” Merlin trailed off, feeling a trifle foolish and even more angry for it.
“Just go away,” Arthur responded, clearly as eager to get rid of his unwanted manservant as his manservant was to go. “My stables need to be mucked out. And my horse curried. And you need to be back here in an hour to help me dress for tonight’s banquet.”
Merlin nodded and slipped out, still nursing his anger, but beginning to suspect that there was slightly more to Arthur than he’d first thought.
ii.
Arthur woke with difficulty, feeling heavy and slow. Something nagged at the edge of his awareness, something important, but it eluded his sluggish thoughts. It was a long time before he thought to open his eyes, and longer still before what he was seeing held any real meaning.
A loud shishing and roaring filled his consciousness, the ebb and flow of waves over stone, he finally realized. Overlaid on that, closer, was a mumbled voice, uttering words that seemed just on the edge of understanding, but that eluded Arthur’s comprehension. Something about the half whispered words caused a shiver to chase down his spine, and he shifted slightly, becoming aware that he was lying on a cold, stony beach. He had just a second to wonder at that before memory came rushing back and the world came into focus around him. He bolted upright, looking around wildly.
“Oh, thank god! Anhora said it was just a sleeping draught and you’d wake up soon, but that was hours ago.”
Arthur allowed Merlin’s anxious words to spill over him, trying to slow his suddenly pounding heart and understand how he was still alive. “But I drank the poison,” he muttered. “I died.”
Just like that, Merlin’s fear switched over to anger. “You stupid, stubborn, bloody-minded fool. What were you thinking, drinking the poison? That’s my job, what I’m here for. Erm. Sire.” Merlin trailed off, cheeks pinking up.
Arthur felt oddly lightheaded, staring at his servant. He was completely out of his depth here. “Merlin.” He waited until he was sure he had Merlin’s attention. “What happened?”
“Oh.” Merlin was silent for a moment, one of his odd pauses where he seemed to be trying to decide between which of multiple stories he’d like to tell today. “It was all a trick, you see. Anhora said you needed to prove the purity of your heart, and sacrificing yourself for me proved your worth. It was only a sleeping draught. He said you’d wake up shortly. He lied. You’ve been out for a good four hours, at least. And I couldn’t feel you breathing.” Merlin’s own breathing sped up at this, and he looked as though he might start panicking again.
“What were you thinking, Arthur?” Merlin continued sharply. “It’s my job to drink the poison, remember? I drink the poison, you live, everyone goes home happy.” Seeming to run out of steam, Merlin subsided, mumbling something about two headed coins and dragons that Arthur decided he’d pretend he hadn’t heard. It was altogether possible that his manservant was a bit cracked in the head, but he’d got used to him now and it would be far too much bother to break in a new one.
“I wouldn’t,” Arthur found himself replying, with some horror.
“You wouldn’t what?” Merlin asked, still flushed with remembered fear, but with just a hint of pleased comprehension beginning to lurk at the back of his eyes.
Arthur spared a half second to think of something plausible to say here, but the sleeping draught must have also contained some sort of truth spell or something, because he found that he didn’t want to lie about this.
“I wouldn’t have gone home happy. We’ve already done the ‘you drink the poison, I live’ thing and it did not make me happy. I don’t understand you, most of the time. You’re the worst manservant I’ve ever had, you treat me with not an ounce of the respect I deserve as Crown Prince, but you’re unfailingly honest with me and you make me…” he paused a long moment and then continued, grudgingly, “you make me think about what I’m doing and how it affects others. I’ll be a better King because of you.”
What Arthur didn’t say, even in this odd moment of introspective honesty, was that he would simply miss the best friend he’d got, if Merlin were to die. There were some things that Merlin didn’t need to know.
Gathering up the shreds of his dignity, Arthur pulled himself to his feet, putting some distance between himself and Merlin, and effectively ending the awkward and far too revealing conversation.
“Right, I’m feeling much better, now. Time to head home.” He took a look around, noticing the presence of their horses with a frown. He was pretty sure they hadn’t been here earlier. Anhora must have summoned them, he thought and then put the matter aside. He was hungry and tired, felt gritty and sore from lying on the rocky beach for hours, and wanted nothing more than a hot bath, a meal and his bed. Possibly not in that order. Swinging himself up into the saddle with a grunt, he started back to Camelot at a canter, not looking back, knowing that Merlin would follow.
iii.
“Quit pacing, Merlin,” Arthur ordered.
“I’m not pacing. Not exactly,” he added, at Arthur’s skeptical look. “I’m just…walking…back and forth…in a repetitive pattern. Look, I’m just a little nervous, all right?” Nervous was one way to put it. Honestly, Arthur thought Merlin looked about ready to puke. He needed a distraction.
“What have you got to be nervous about?” He asked, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Iorlith is a fine girl, she’ll make you a wonderful wife. I’m the one that should be nervous.” He pouted, knowing Merlin hated it when he did that.
“What on earth have you to be nervous about?” Merlin asked. “It’s nothing to do with you at all, you’ll just sit back and watch me pledge my life away.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Arthur agreed pleasantly. “But the delights of marriage will likely addle you so badly that you’ll become an even more incompetent manservant than you already are. You’ll be late in the mornings, you’ll be distracted. Before you know it, I’ll be washing my own socks. My people will lose all respect for me, and the kingdom will fall to ruin. No, on second thought, you’d better not marry her, after all.”
“Shall I just tell her the wedding’s off, then?” Merlin asked, “explain how you’re too much of a prat to share me with anyone else?”
“Poor girl would be better off if you spared her from marrying such an idiot as yourself,” Arthur rejoined. “Still, if you must marry her, I’ll just have to make the best of it, I suppose.”
There was a knock on the door just then, pausing the conversation while Arthur waited in vain for Merlin to answer the door. When his manservant only continued to pace distractedly, Arthur sighed and called for whoever was out there to come in.
A liveried servant poked his head hesitantly around the door. “It’s ready, Sire.”
“Ah, excellent. Thank you.” Dismissing the servant, Arthur turned back to Merlin. “Now, where was I?” he mused aloud, then snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes. As I was saying, you’re likely to be all addle-pated and distracted, running late all the time, and that just won’t do. So I’ve taken steps to prevent the problem.”
Merlin froze at that. “When you say steps, what exactly do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing like that,” Arthur replied, seeing the panic on Merlin’s face. “It’s just that your room in Gaius’ quarters is much too far away to be of real use to me. It takes forever to summon you as it is, and once you’re married and have someone to distract you from your duties, it will be impossible. No, it won’t do, that’s all. I’ve found a closer room for you, so you’ll have no excuse not to respond promptly when I need you.”
“A new room?” Merlin asked, turning around to look fully at Arthur.
“Come on, I’ll show you where it is. The servants have already finished moving your things, what little you have, that is.” Arthur beckoned Merlin to follow, and went out into the hall.
They only walked a short distance, down one flight of stairs and along a short corridor, before Arthur stopped in front of a door indistinguishable from every other. “Well, go on. Take a look, see what you think.”
Merlin opened the door hesitantly, as if afraid that an afanc or cockatrice might jump out at him, and then froze once more, halfway through the doorway.
Arthur jostled him the rest of the way in and surveyed the room with satisfaction. It was a large chamber, with soft furs on a bed that had to be three times as large as the hard little cot Merlin had been sleeping on, a wardrobe, shelves for his books and scrolls, a large table all set up with the arcane equipment Gaius had been teaching Merlin to use. What they did with all those bottles and bubbling pots and things, Arthur couldn’t begin to guess, but they seemed to be necessary so he’d made sure Merlin had a set. There was also a small bower off to one side, with all the frilly, fluttery things that Iorlith might need.
“Sire,” Merlin’s voice was choked with some emotion that Arthur pretended not to hear, “it’s too much, far more than I deserve.”
“Well, yes, I completely agree with that,” Arthur answered with a fond smile that was hidden behind Merlin’s back. “But it was the only room available and so it will have to do. I’ll be sure to find some extra duties for you, to make up for it. The armory, for instance, is in a terrible state. Everything in it needs to be cleaned, fixed, and sorted out properly. And my stables are a mess. You’ve really been slacking there, Merlin.” Arthur continued to list more and more ridiculous duties, knowing that Merlin didn’t hear a word he said.
iv.
When Uther Pendragon died, it happened quietly, unexpectedly. If he’d ever allowed himself to give any thought to it previously, Arthur would have said he’d expected his father to die in battle, or perhaps at the hand of a vengeful sorcerer. Certainly not slipping away in his sleep, no warning and no last words.
After wearing the crown of Camelot for three months, Arthur was beginning to understand some of his father’s more infuriating behaviors. He was tired down to his bones, and wondered if he’d ever sleep a night through again. He was walking a razor’s edge trying to keep all the neighboring kingdoms and petty warlords at bay without actually going to war with any of them. He was beginning to suspect, however, that a war with someone was inevitable. It seemed more and more likely that he would lose his father’s allies if he didn’t prove his strength of arms and force of men.
If that wasn’t enough, his advisors were all clamoring for him to marry and produce heirs. The choices being put before him ranged from King Bayard’s twelve-year-old daughter to the Lady Morgana. He’d barely restrained his hysterical laughter at that point in the conversation. “You want me to marry Morgana?” he’d asked, instead, with a dumbfounded stare. “Morgana?” The very thought made his skin crawl. He’d told himself it was because she was so very hateful, but the truth of the matter was, she was too much like a sister to him. They may not share blood, but they had been raised for many years by the same man and the relationship they had forged was not one that would support marriage.
Even Merlin was starting to harp on the subject.
“I know it isn’t what you want to hear, Sire,” Merlin started at the end of one long and especially trying afternoon, “but really, marriage isn’t so bad. You should give it a try.” He’d been married to Iorlith for nearly two years now and was still almost as giddy as a newlywed some days. And ever since she’d started to show and Merlin had admitted she was with child, he’d been nearly unbearable in his happiness. Arthur supposed he should want that for himself, and he did, to some extent, but only in a very vague, abstract way. He couldn’t quite picture any woman in the role of his wife, bulging with child and glowingly happy. It was an…unsettling idea.
“Enough, Merlin!” he growled when he could stand it no more. “If you continue to harp on this same tired old idea, I’ll have you out of my court.” He regretted the words the minute they were out of his mouth, even more so when he saw the look on Merlin’s face. But he was king now, and he couldn’t very well be lectured at in that insufferably presumptuous way by his manservant.
Merlin bowed his head, muttered an apology and retired, leaving Arthur to brood. And when he returned to his chambers late that evening, it was a stiff and silent Merlin that assisted him in getting ready for bed.
“Oh for… you pout like a little girl, Merlin. Out with it. Have your say and leave me in peace.”
If he thought that would thaw his friend out, he was mistaken. Merlin looked at him soberly for a long moment before nodding.
“You may not like it, and you may not want to hear it, but the truth of the matter is, my lord, that you must marry. This is not some whim that your advisors have come up with, a way to occupy feeble minds and pass the time of day. It is a pressing concern throughout Camelot, that the King has no heir. If you should die, the kingdom will fall and your people will be left unprotected. No one expects you to marry tomorrow or next week. But they do expect you to be thinking seriously about it.” He was quiet for a moment, moving about the room to pick up the scattered debris of the day. “If you don’t want to find yourself married to a child, or, or to Morgana,” and his face twisted just enough that Arthur knew Merlin understood the exact reasons for why that was wildly inappropriate, “then you need to take the reins in your own hands. Find a girl who is pleasing to you as well as your lords. And do it soon.” With that, he bid Arthur good night and left the room.
Arthur spent the next few weeks brooding and turning the idea over in his mind, and barely noticed that Merlin was keeping an unusual degree of distance between them.
v.
Merlin paced anxiously, listening to the cries of pain coming from behind the door. The baby had started coming late in the night and the midwife had kicked him out of the room as soon as she arrived, claiming that the presence of an anxious father only made things more difficult. In spite of her words, it took everything he had to wait outside in the corridor while his wife screamed in pain just yards away.
Gaius had provided a bit of comfort earlier, but some time ago he’d been summoned away on an urgent errand. There were others waiting with him now, but he was unable to give much of his attention to their words of reassurance. Iorlith’s cries had grown quieter. He could barely hear her, now, through the thick wooden door separating him from his life. He hoped that meant her ordeal was nearly over.
A touch on his arm drew his attention and he turned to see who it was. “Gwen.” He blinked, wondering when she had arrived and why she looked so strained.
“Come and sit down, Merlin,” she said with a soft tug on his arm. “It might be a while yet.”
“Oh, well, I just…” he gestured, helpless to articulate his need to be on his feet, to be ready to spring into action should action be needed.
Gwen smiled her understanding, patted his arm once more, and receded from his awareness as swiftly as she moved from his side.
Time passed in a blur as he listened to the rising and falling voices in the bedchamber, so that it came as a surprise when the door actually opened. But instead of the midwife, a servant slipped out, closing the door behind her. She looked around the corridor, moved swiftly to Gwen’s side, whispered in her ear for a moment, and then slipped back into the room. Merlin, watching this with some confusion, saw Gwen bite her lip, dart one quick look in his direction, and then hurry off.
It was fine, he told himself to counter the uneasiness growing in his belly. They probably just ran out of towels or something. Gwen would be back shortly and she’d reassure him that everything was fine. And in truth, it was not very long before Gwen returned, but instead of bearing a pile of fresh towels, she was trailing a step behind Arthur. Arthur, who bore a troubled expression as he strode up to Merlin.
“Sire?” Merlin asked, confused. “I’m sorry, my lord. Gwen should not have bothered you.” Arthur was still finding his way as King and Merlin seriously doubted he’d appreciate being summoned to the side of a mere servant. And despite the fact that Merlin had once thought they were more than master and servant, that they were perhaps something resembling friends, Arthur’s lack of patience with him these past few months had convinced Merlin he’d been wrong. Pulling the king out of some council session or training exercise, no, council session based on the dirt-free state of his armor, wasn’t going to improve things.
“Don’t be daft, Merlin.” Arthur leaned against a wall, arms and legs crossed. “Of course she should have. You should have sent someone hours ago.”
Merlin let it go and nodded distractedly, eyes following Gwen as she gave a soft knock on the door to his room before slipping inside. Listening intently, Merlin realized it had gone absolutely quiet. He could no longer hear Iorlith, or the voices of the midwife and her assistant. If they were done, shouldn’t the baby be crying? He was pretty sure the baby should be crying.
It seemed like a very long time before the door opened again and Gwen came back out, followed by the midwife. Gwen’s eyes were red, and the midwife looked grim. Merlin shook his head, refusing to believe what his gut was telling him.
“I’m so sorry, Merlin,” Gwen whispered, pressing into him for a tight hug.
“What? No. I don’t understand.” Merlin floundered through a haze of fear and denial, trying desperately to grab onto something solid.
“The babe was turned around,” the midwife said, voice laden with sorrow. “We did everything we could, but we simply couldn’t free him in time.”
“No. You’re mistaken.” Merlin, always good at denial, simply refused to hear this. “Lithy’s just resting. That’s all. She’ll be ready to go again soon, and then the baby will be born just fine.”
“It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid,” the midwife answered. “Your wife was very brave and refused to give up, but in the end it was too much for her.” The woman may have intended to say more, but Merlin was no longer listening. He pushed past her into the room that had been his and Iorlith’s together.
There was a stench of blood and death in the air, so strong that Merlin almost gagged at the thought that it had come from his Lithy. She was lying on their bed, covered to the neck with a blanket. The blanket did nothing to hide the truth, however.
“No, no, no,” he whispered as he searched for her hand under the blanket. It was cold and limp, not yet stiff, but providing no signs of life. He clutched it to him as he called to her. “Wake up, Lithy. Come on, wake up. Please, Lithy, please wake up.” He choked over the words and could say no more.
“Come away, Merlin,” Arthur’s voice was an unwelcome distraction. “Let the midwife finish cleaning her up.”
Merlin allowed Arthur to pull him away, but balked at the door. “No!” he shouted “I can fix this. Just leave me alone and I can fix this. A life for a life, right?” Tearing himself away from Arthur’s grip, he rushed to a small cabinet and pulled out his book of spells, flipping frantically through it.
“I don’t think one of Gaius’ potions will do any good now,” Arthur protested, following Merlin and attempting to come between him and his book.
Wordlessly, Merlin thrust out his hand and threw Arthur across the room, pinning him to the wall. He held Arthur there absently with one part of his mind while he searched the book for the right spell. He tried one after another, summoning the magic with desperation, but nothing worked. Iorlith continued to lie pale and still on the bloodstained bed.
Finally, he tossed the book aside, clenched both fists and raised them above his head. “A life for a life,” he shouted raggedly, barely noticing the tears streaming down his face. Gathering his power about him like a visible miasma of anguish, he called out to the old gods, offering himself up in exchange. The air turned dark and oppressive, a sharp peal of thunder burst overhead, and crackling balls and spears of lightning flew about the room, shattering furniture and scorching the stone of the walls and floor. In the center of it all, Merlin held his arms out and waited. It was to no avail, though. He continued to live and Iorlith did not. After a long moment, the energy dissipated, the air cleared and the sun shone in through the window again. Merlin dropped his arms and fell to his knees, weeping in despair.
“All this time,” he heard Arthur whisper hoarsely, some time later, “all this time, you’ve been a sorcerer, haven’t you?” He looked up, dully, to see Arthur standing several feet away, face bone white, eyes furious. “You said it yourself, years ago, and I was too blinded to see it for the truth it was.” He looked breathless with anger and some other emotion Merlin was too exhausted to understand or care about. “You’ve lied to me for years, betrayed all the trust I’ve put in you.”
Merlin stared back, too distraught to care that his secret had been revealed. “Well, then, you’d best arrest me and call for the executioner, hadn’t you?” Even right then, in that moment, he knew the anger that was rising up to overwhelm him was ill-placed, but there was nothing left in him but the anger and the grief, and they needed a release somewhere. “But know this, my lord. My sorcery, evil and filthy as you may see it, has saved your life more times than I can count. You can kill me now, but you can never undo that. You owe your life to sorcery.”
Arthur met his stare with an angry glare of his own. Merlin had no interest in games, however, and turned his head away, retreating back into himself. He knelt in the middle of the floor and grieved, oblivious to the movement around him as the midwife and her assistant finished making Iorlith presentable and clearing away the evidence of death. A long time later he looked up, vaguely aware that Arthur hadn’t arrested him yet, only to find himself alone with Iorlith. No longer constrained by the presence of others, he climbed into the bed, wrapped his arms around his wife and just held on, waiting.
vi.
Arthur stalked through the corridors of Camelot with a fearsome expression. To say that the meeting with his councilors had not gone well was akin to saying that dragons had warm breath. True as far as it went, but vastly understating the case.
Paying little attention to where he was going, he strode through the halls until he found himself in front of a familiar, thoroughly charred door. The sight brought him up short. The rooms Merlin had shared with Iorlith for such a brief period of time were empty. What Merlin hadn’t destroyed in his grief, he’d had burned along with his wife and child. Merlin had then removed himself to the farthest corner of the castle, taking up scant abode in the dusty, drafty topmost level of the northeast tower. He had allowed no visitors, not even Gaius, and rarely left his rooms. Privately, Arthur wondered if he’d taken up the eating of rats again, since it seemed to be either that or slowly starving himself to death. And that wasn’t a comfortable thought.
Growling, Arthur turned on his heel and made his way to another section of the castle, attempting to put his former manservant out of his mind. Distraction was not easy to find these days, however. Morgana, usually great fun to bait, was marking the anniversary of her father’s death. He had learned long ago to respect her desire for privacy on this day. His men were no longer comfortable in his presence and would not relax enough to divert him. And Merlin, well, Merlin was a large part of what he wanted to be distracted from.
Soon he found himself standing in front of another door, this one intact. Raising a hand, he hesitated just a moment before hammering several times against the wood. As soon as the door opened, he pushed inside.
“Please, Sire, do come in,” Gwen welcomed him with just a hint of wryness in her voice. Over the years she had gradually relaxed in his presence and now was more wont to roll her eyes than stammer disconcertedly when speaking with him. And somewhere along the line, he’d realized that he found her matter of fact presence remarkably welcoming and pleasant. She was like a balm for a sore soul. And wasn’t that ridiculously poetic, he thought with an internal shake of his head.
Arthur looked around the room while he collected his thoughts. Gwen had started spending more time at the castle since her father died, and she’d been given a room here to make things a little easier for her. Arthur knew he bore no responsibility for her loss, but he still felt that he hadn’t done enough to prevent Tom’s death. And so he continued to make sure she had what she needed to keep going. This room was small but warm and dry, close to Morgana’s chambers and more and more showing the personality of its inhabitant.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” Gwen finally asked, when Arthur’s brooding silence had gone on slightly too long for politeness.
“I…” Arthur paused, realizing he had no actual reason for being here, but not willing to admit any such thing. “I require your services this afternoon,” he finished, coming up with a plan. “Thanks to Merlin’s outrageous display of magic,” and he would never admit, not even under pain of torture, how truly frightened he’d been when Merlin had flung him against a wall as easily as he’d have swatted a fly, “I’ve had to rewrite half the laws of the kingdom to prevent his execution as a sorcerer. Although,” he scowled, “I don’t know why I bothered, since he won’t come out of hiding long enough to hear the news.”
“It’s not really hiding, though, is it, if everyone knows where he is,” Gwen replied, far too reasonable for his taste.
“Please, Gwen,” Arthur growled, “Do not believe me stupid enough to think he’s hiding from me or anyone else in Camelot. It’s his own life he’s too cowardly to face.” And that was maybe a trifle harsh, but Arthur was still stinging from Merlin’s betrayal, and he’d yet to sort out the mess of anger and worry and compassion he felt when thinking about his former manservant.
Gwen’s face softened and she reached out as though to touch him, but drew back, smoothing down her kirtle instead. “I do not think you stupid,” was all she said.
Arthur sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. “I know how you feel about magic and its users, but I was hoping you would talk to Merlin.”
Now it was Gwen’s turn to look disconcerted. She took a step back and looked away, toward the small window overlooking an inner courtyard. “What do you wish me to say to him?”
“That he has responsibilities to fulfill. I’m naming him Court Sorcerer and making him one of my advisors. This will be a much more useful post if he ever stops sulking and leaves his rooms.”
“He has suffered a great loss, my lord,” Gwen chided, revealing that she had perhaps forgiven him more than Arthur had. “It has only been a few months since Iorlith and the babe died. He needs time to heal.”
“That’s all very well and good,” Arthur countered, “but he’s not healing, he’s hiding, and it’s doing no one any good.”
“Why do you not speak with him yourself, then?” Gwen’s tone was even, but the slight furrow in her brow revealed her exasperation.
“Because I am the King,” Arthur snapped. “I do not run my own errands.” At Gwen’s startled, “of, course. I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry,” he sighed and raised a hand to stay her before she could retreat into stammering discomfort. “Besides,” he continued in a softer tone, “he needs someone to cajole and soothe him. In all honesty, I’m still far too angry with him. If I go up there, I’ll just end up shouting. Then he’ll throw a lightening bolt at me or something and I’ll have to throw him in the dungeon, which doesn’t seem like much of an improvement to me.”
Arthur never used to have to explain himself like this. He ordered people to do things and they did them. He missed those days. Although, to be fair, it was really only a select handful who ever argued with him, and that handful was a finger short without Merlin. Ye gods, Arthur was tired of everything coming back to Merlin. He wished he’d never let a mere servant become so close. At the same time, he wished he knew how to stop being angry with Merlin, how to find a way back to that oh so unlikely friendship they’d had, once upon a time. But that was gone, likely forever. And it would be a long time before he was able to fully trust Merlin again, if he ever did. In the meantime, he’d learn from his father’s mistakes and do what he had to do to keep Merlin working for and not against Camelot. If that meant welcoming magic back into his kingdom, then so be it, magic would be welcomed. And when Gwen agreed to speak with Merlin, he simply nodded and made his excuses. There would be nothing of Camelot left to protect if he didn’t get back to his councilors and hammer some sense into them.
vii.
Merlin had long had a talent for seeing the shape of things. Today, for instance, as he looked around at his cluttered and dusty rooms, he had a strong sense of an impending visitor. Or perhaps it was just the vibrations of someone stamping their way up the stairs that led to that impression. Either way, someone was on their way to see him, and his rooms were a mess.
He knew who it was, of course. There were only a few people willing to brave the Court Sorcerer in his quarters, and only one with such a purposeful stride. “Well,” he stated to the small grey tabby that shared his quarters, “if he insists on coming to see me unannounced, he’ll have to take me as I am. It’s not like he’ll be expecting anything different, anyway”
The cat, kitten really, not yet full grown, gave him a reproachful meep and then, as the footsteps drew nearer, ran to hide under the bed. “Some help you are,” Merlin muttered, and set about clearing off a table, at any rate, and putting out some food. A few small, winter-shriveled apples, a wedge of cheese, a loaf of bread; it wasn’t much but it would have to do. Unannounced visitors and all that.
Merlin knew, or at least suspected, what this visit was about and rather wished he had some strong ale to offer his guest. The best he could do at the moment, however, was to set some aged cider to warm over the fire. It was the last of the season’s yield and he’d been saving it.
There was a loud rap at the door, which was flung open immediately thereafter, and Merlin looked up to see the king upon his doorstep.
“Sire,” he murmured, “what an unexpected pleasure. Do come in.”
Arthur scowled, but strode into the room, looking around intently.
“You’ve moved things around,” he muttered, as if that were a treasonous act. And perhaps, Merlin mused, maybe in Arthur’s mind, right at this moment in time, any change not initiated by himself was indeed perceived in that way.
“I moved the table, yes,” Merlin allowed. “It was too dark against the far wall and my eyes are not what they once were.”
Arthur snorted and looked at Merlin for the first time since entering the room. “There’s nothing wrong with your eyes,” he stated.
“Well, true. But it’s much more pleasant to sit in the warmth of the sun, however feeble it may be at the moment.” Merlin gestured to the table and chairs, sitting near the west-facing window in a pool of weak sunlight. “Sit and tell me what brings you all the way up here to my humble abode.”
Arthur did sit, but for a long while he said nothing, just picking at bits of bread and cheese until they were nothing but crumbs. Merlin, sitting across from him, thought Arthur looked tired and unexpectedly old, the dim sunlight catching the glint of grey in the king’s hair and casting shadows under his eyes. It was a disturbing thought, but one Merlin could not afford to dismiss. It was not a happy chance that had brought Arthur here.
“We’ve known each other a long while, Sire.” Merlin finally broke the silence. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“As if you don’t already know.” Arthur’s tone was surly, just this side of unfriendly, but Merlin knew him well enough by now to see past that. He nodded slightly, but waited, letting Arthur take his time.
“We were … friends, once.” Arthur finally burst out, as if he could hold back no longer.
“I suppose we were,” Merlin agreed, surprised. “Strange friendship though it was.”
“You have been a good advisor to me,” Arthur continued, looking around the room again as if it held some secret he desperately needed to find. “I owe my life and my kingdom to you, many times over. But,” Arthur paused, his lips twisting as though the words were fighting him. “I need your advice now, but I need your friendship more.”
Merlin wondered how much that admission had cost Arthur, and suspected it was quite a lot. “You have always had it, my lord,” was all he replied, however.
Arthur finally looked at Merlin directly. “Good.” He nodded, once, and then set about destroying another piece of bread. “It’s about my lady Gwen and,” his lip twisted again, “Sir Lancelot.”
Ah, there it was, Merlin thought sadly, the rot that lurked in the heart of Camelot. He had seen the push/pull of attraction between Gwen and Lancelot, and the growing distance between Gwen and Arthur. It was his fate to see the shape of things and these were events that changed the shape of his world. There was little he could do to stop that, he knew well. But what little he could do, he would. And so he sat with his friend in a dim and dusty tower and listened, and talked, and tried to change what he knew could not be changed.
end
A/N, part two: The title comes from a quote by Sir Walter Scott. “When two friends meet in adverse hour, / ‘tis like a sunbeam through a shower. / A watery way an instant seen, / the darkly closing clouds between.”
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Date: 2009-05-09 06:09 pm (UTC)I like how you built up the more traditional Authorian legend relationship -- somewhat distant but respectful, with that underlying current of wondering how much the other could be trusted, that came through really well in the opening dialogue of the last scene-- and the sad price of foreknowledge, too. The characters really came across as multi-dimensional, which really made the human story and the legendary story work well together.
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Date: 2009-05-09 07:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-09 09:21 pm (UTC)(btw, heads up... looks like tonight's Penguins game is still on Versus and not NBC even though it's a saturday... you might have to trek out to Silky's to see it :( )
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