Chapter Text
Although Arthur swore to himself he would only rest for some hours and wake before morning, his body clearly had other ideas. He squinted as the sun bored in through his closed lids and he rolled over, before he remembered himself and leaped from his bed. The guilt of the last three nights hit him as swiftly and fiercely as a blow to the stomach. Guilt and fear and regret and…too many emotions roiled in his stomach, nauseating and thick with unrelenting grief.
Arthur searched his empty chambers, his shoulders heaving, and scrubbed a rough hand over his jaw. He needed to dress. He needed to be presentable, at least on the outside. He still needed to be king. He spared a moment to wonder where his useless manservant had wandered off to, before he remembered Gaius said he and Merlin would spend the night affixed in their research.
Nobody had woken him, which meant as of yet they had not been successful. Arthur’s stomach dropped, and he wrestled back the pangs of hunger. Merlin had left out dinner for him, which Arthur ignored, because he couldn’t stomach the thought of eating while Guinevere…while she lay possibly dying, and he couldn’t bring himself to eat at all.
While Merlin was obviously put to better use helping Gaius with his research, he couldn’t help but wish he could drag Merlin back to his chambers for a few moments, and let Merlin prattle on about every grievance he had towards being Arthur’s servant. For a few moments of normalcy. And maybe Merlin would offer some words of assurances, as Arthur found himself now, more than ever, craving words of hope. Guinevere was usually the first person to offer them, but, well…
As he departed his chambers he crossed paths with Gaius, who was frowning. Arthur pushed down his swelling fear that there would be another day gone by without hope, and without answers. “Good morning, your majesty,” Gaius said, and ducked his head. “Have you seen Merlin this morning?”
“Merlin was with you,” Arthur said, then frowned as he considered the obvious problem that revealed itself there. From the worried look on Gaius’ face, that was not a unique conclusion.
“He told me he was going to take time scouring the library,” Gaius told him. “But when I stopped in this morning, Sir Geoffrey said there had been no one to visit in the evening, and Merlin was not there.” His gaze fell to the chamber doors down from Arthur’s — the queen’s chambers. His expression drew more guarded and a cloak of weariness seemed to drop onto his shoulders.
“Perhaps he meant to check on the queen,” Arthur offered hopefully.
Gaius nodded slowly. “He was on his way to drop off what we had prepared that evening,” he hedged cautiously. “It is possible he decided to stay and look after her highness.” Though that still did not appease the old physician in the slightest, and his knuckles went white against his aged, spotted skin.
Arthur nodded to the guards, then jostled the door. The chamber doors had been locked. Not that it was a problem for Arthur, who had every master key in the castle, but then he discovered the latch had been closed as well. “Merlin!” he bellowed. “Unlock the door!” The guards hadn’t mentioned anyone attempting to break in, and it had been quiet all night. He pressed his ear to the door and awaited the sound of chairs scraping, or a voice. Though he would not say so aloud, that worried him far more than anything. The inner chambers were quiet. Too quiet. Surely, if Merlin had heard him, he would have gotten up by now?
With some maneuvering he managed to free the latch from the bottom and pushed the door in with more force than was probably necessary, but as Gaius watched him he sensed the physician’s apprehension grow. Arthur shoved his own worries aside.
Arthur strode in ahead and that was how they found Merlin, who had fallen asleep on his watch. Typical. Arthur snorted. “Not to worry Gaius, he’s right here.” The worry on Gaius’ face, however, did not abate. He brushed past Arthur, hobbling as fast as he could on his old knees and bent before Merlin.
Arthur slid beside him to check Guinevere, who was still sleeping undisturbed. Her skin was still warm and her breathing was even and slow. He leaned back and took stock of Merlin, who was so deeply asleep he didn’t react even as Gaius pulled him off where he had fallen face-first into the queen’s bed. Gaius shook Merlin’s shoulders. “Merlin,” Gaius said, pleading. His gaze was searching, and then his face whitened as he glanced at an open book beside the bed. “You — no, you didn’t,” he said, his voice raw.
Arthur merely looked on in confusion as Gaius closed the tome with trembling hands. “What’s wrong, Gaius?”
“It’s Merlin, sire. He will not wake.” Gaius explained, still shaky and pale.
At that, Arthur rattled Merlin more roughly than the gentle shake Gaius had offered. Merlin’s head flopped back, his eyes remained stubbornly closed, and he did not stir despite the force of Arthur’s jostling. “Merlin,” Arthur snapped, in his most commanding voice. “Wake up this instant, you lazy sod.”
Merlin’s head drooped as though there was nothing supporting his neck. Arthur shook him again, gripping both shoulders, and bellowed, “Merlin!” But once more, there was no reaction at all. Merlin’s mouth was lax and loose with sleep, and his breathing remained slow and deep. Like Guinevere.
Arthur turned to Gaius. “How has this happened?” he asked. “I thought it was just —” A far more horrifying thought occurred to him then, “— can it spread to others?”
Gaius pursed his lips. He was hugging the tome against his chest. For a moment he ignored Arthur, as if he never spoke. Arthur was close to throwing something, preferably something glass, just to watch it shatter against the stone wall. Gaius lifted his head to the ceiling and addressed the rafters. “I do not believe so,” he said cautiously. “Rather, it is far more likely that Merlin…did this to himself.”
Under his breath, he muttered something that sounded like, “I am sorry, my boy.”
Arthur stared at him. “Explain.” Gaius lowered his head and gazed back at him wearily. Then he held out the tome and offered it to Arthur, as though he feared it may suddenly explode. Arthur accepted it warily. He glanced over the color and blanched.
“This is a book of magic,” Gaius said, though Arthur could tell as much from the cover. The runes were in the script of the Old Religion, with engravings in the leather that represented the moon and the three tongued triskelion. Arthur looked back up to Gaius, searching for answers in his face.
Gaius said, “I fear Merlin has used a spell within it to attempt to free the queen from the curse upon her, but in doing so, he has succumbed as a victim of the same curse.”
For a beat, Arthur said nothing. He swallowed. “You’re accusing Merlin of sorcery.” His head spun. He felt rather faint, and deeply desired a chair for himself to sit in.
Gaius bowed his head. “Merlin believed it was the only way to help.”
“You knew,” Arthur breathed out, and that betrayal was less of a blow and more like a confirmation of one. “You knew he…you knew. He’s a sorcerer.”
“I’ve always known,” Gaius said, sounding very old, and so very tired. “But yes. I had warned him not to attempt this spell. I suppose I was foolish to hope he would listen to me this time. He never does.” Then he crossed his arms over his stomach and sagged, as though the supports in his shoulders had given out. “He never wanted you to find out like this. I regret that he could not tell you himself, and that I must betray his trust in this way, but I see no other options at this time.”
Arthur said nothing, and each breath was dragged out of him. There was a numb, disbelieving hole opening in the center of his chest. Every word Gaius added only opened the maw of it another step wider, until he was sure it would swallow him whole.
Gaius told him, “Merlin has magic, sire. And he used it to try to save Queen Guinevere.”
His paper thin patience and disbelief shattered. Arthur shoved the tome as far away from himself as he could — he threw it behind him, but he heard nothing to indicate it hit the floor, and he assumed his aim went wide and it landed on the bed. He did not care where the wretched book landed, anyway. He brushed past and stormed away, though he could not leave the chambers, not in this state, and lapsed into lapping around the room in a restless circle. Gaius watched him, his neck bent. He reached over the bed and plucked the tome from atop the comforter and stood there, holding it as one might hold a precious item, as his fingers traced over the book.
A thousand thoughts rattled around inside of Arthur’s mind as he paced. Regret. Grief. Fury. He could not settle on just one, for the moment he tried to grasp hold of it, the other nine hundred thoughts crashed down upon him and swept the thought away. In the end he could do nothing but march in that furious, unsettled circle, until at last he stopped and dropped his hands to the table.
“Tell me, Gaius,” he said quietly. “Please. Why would Merlin — why would he ever —”
As Gaius watched him struggle for his words, Arthur glared over his shoulder where Merlin’s body was still slumped in the chair at Gwen’s bedside. He was stricken with a red haze in his vision, for he wanted nothing more than to march back over there and shake Merlin again and again until he finally awoke and could attempt to explain himself.
But that would not work, and the curse was unbreakable, which was clear to him now. If it could be broken, Merlin wouldn’t have resorted to sorcery. “He’s betrayed us,” Arthur said numbly. “Betrayed Camelot. Lied to — lied to me for years…”
“Your majesty.” Gaius’ voice was pointed and crisp. Arthur lifted his head to stare, agape, as all of Gaius’ strength appeared to return to him. He breathed in heavily. “Before you cast your judgement, perhaps you should give me a chance to explain. Merlin’s always only thought of protecting you, and Camelot. His intentions have always been —”
Arthur snapped, “He’s broken the law. I do not care what his intentions were. The law is the law.”
“Arthur,” Gaius said sharply, and that was not a name Gaius had called him in many years, not since Arthur was a child and he often visited the physician’s chambers for a scraped knee, as a young prince. In that tone that Arthur had not heard in just as many years, that commanding, no-nonsense tone that would make the hair on even an elder, seasoned knight stand up straight, Gaius ordered, “Sit.”
Arthur sat. He did not feel the chair beneath him, all of his senses seemed so muted and dull. So far away. The last few days he had spent in a spiral of grief and guilt and now he felt nothing at all.
Gaius pulled out the chair from the head of the table and dragged it behind him. He pushed it beside Arthur and sat in it. He opened his mouth and hesitated, and then began. “I have much to tell you,” Gaius said. “And Guinevere and Merlin do not have enough time for me to explain it all. But believe me — as you believe my loyalty is first and foremost to Camelot — you must believe me when I tell you, Merlin has always and will always be the first to believe in what a just and fair king you will be. He has had magic all his life. It was never taught to him. But he risks his life here, he lives here and protects you —” Gaius shot him a warning look as Arthur made to open his mouth “— because he believes in the person you are. He has always been loyal to you. Magic or not, you must believe me when I say his first loyalty has always been to you.”
“He’s betrayed me,” Arthur said, in the smallest voice he had ever heard from himself. That was what it came down to, wasn’t it? Arthur was always being stabbed in the back by those he least expected. By his sister, Morgana, which cut through him the deepest. Then his uncle, Agravaine. Now Merlin. Why did they all betray him this way? If he believed in the king Arthur would become, why would he lie? Why would he resort to sorcery?
Why did they all hate Arthur so much? What had he done to wrong them, what wrongs had he committed to wound that bond of trust and loyalty?
“Merlin has and always will protect you,” Gaius corrected softly. “And the same for Guinevere. It is why he risked his life to attempt this spell, knowing the risks, and knowing the chances he wouldn’t succeed.”
“Why?” Arthur asked. “Why would he…for —?” The question choked him. For me? For Guinevere? For any of us, when we would sentence him to death — not without hesitation, for even faced with such plain evidence of betrayal, Arthur could still not imagine the thought of sending Merlin to the pyre without his stomach roiling with disgust.
“He loves Camelot,” Gaius said. “He loves you, and Guinevere. He has faith that one day, magic will be free. And he would never want to see either of you come to harm.”
Arthur sat back in his chair, scrubbing his hands over his face. “How long?” he croaked.
Gaius scrutinized him for a moment longer. “Since the day he was born, according to his mother.” Arthur dropped his head into his hands. “As I said, this was never a choice for Merlin. He was never given instructions, or taught to use magic. It has always existed within him.”
“And he would risk all of that just to keep me safe,” Arthur said into his palms. “He would risk all of that for me. For Guinevere.”
“I imagine his pride was also wounded,” Gaius murmured. “He takes your and Guinevere’s safety rather seriously. That this happened under his nose, so close to him — I’m sure he feels immense guilt that he could not stop it in time.”
Arthur sat there — he did not know how much time passed — as he let those words sink in. Gaius’ earnest answers. Though he had as well as confessed to treason, and abetting a sorcerer under the king’s nose, there was an unmistakable gleam of pride in his eyes, and in his voice. He was not confessing out of guilt. He knew what laws had been broken, and he was not ashamed, not of himself, and neither of Merlin. There were times when Arthur had to overanalyze his answers from Gaius, for his shrewd old court physician was often as gifted at masking his intentions as a devious politician, but he sensed nothing but honesty and sincerity from him now.
“Alright,” Arthur said, and pushed himself out of his chair. Gaius’ head popped up, surprised and something flickering behind his eyes. Perhaps, unlike Merlin and his unending optimism, Gaius still held some fear that Arthur would act as his father had, and order Gaius and Merlin to the pyre before he could say ‘sorcery.’ “I will accept your answers. For now.”
Gaius’ shoulders relaxed at once, sinking low with relief. “I assure you I have spoken nothing but the truth. And I will answer any other questions you have, when there is time.”
“When there is time,” Arthur echoed. “At the moment, I am far more concerned with Guinevere.” And Merlin, he did not say, but he thought it. Gaius nodded. “The curse still holds.”
“Indeed,” Gaius said. “I am afraid, sire, you will not like the solution I have to propose. But it is the only way, if we are to ”
Arthur rubbed his hands over his eyes, pushing deeply into his eyes until light spots popped in and out of his vision. He asked wearily, “It’s got to be magic, isn’t it?” He opened his eyes again and blinked as they adjusted to the brightness once more.
Gaius nodded. Arthur sighed. He gestured uselessly at the heavy tome and all the years of lies and secrecy between them, an open sore, both knowing they had no choice but to look directly at it and yet still march into it, knowing it would tear itself wider. “Well. Let’s get on with it then.”
As Gaius left to prepare whatever he needed — or perhaps a moment to clear his head, outside of the heavy oppressive air of tension that suffused the room — Arthur returned to Gwen’s bedside. He glanced down at Merlin, who was still locked in a deep sleep.
Merlin’s eyelid twitched. For a moment, Arthur thought he imagined it, but then it twitched again. Like Guinevere, he was in the throes of deep dreams.
His hand hesitated over Merlin’s head. Sorcerer, he reminded himself. He cupped Merlin’s jaw and peeled back his eyes. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the sight made him drop his hand as though burned. But as he feared it would, it confirmed what he otherwise had held back secret hope in his heart. That Gaius was mistaken. That he had lied to Arthur, and that it was all just a massive misunderstanding.
Faced with the evidence, he could no longer deny it. Part of him had held out hope that, as he had not seen any magic, that maybe his ears had been deceived. Though the truth now could not be denied to his eyes, or his mind, or his heart.
Shakily, he stepped back from Merlin’s slumped, limp form, until the back of his knees hit the bed. He couldn’t dare himself to look away, even though Merlin’s eyes had slid closed.
Below his sleeping lids, Merlin’s eyes burned with the magic of unrelenting, pure gold.
Shaded from the direct blaze of the sun, Gwen was grateful for the observation box canopy. Though she wiped at her brow as the excitement had her heart racing in her chest. She did not envy the heat the knights were faced with, in their heavy armor and hauberks, cooking inside their protective gear under the mid-summer sun. All around her, the crowds cheered and clapped, as one knight was tossed from his horse. Gwen winced as he took a heavy blow to the chest. Arthur clapped beside her, and nodded approvingly as the knight rose unsteadily but raised his fist. Gwen could not see his face from beneath the helmet but she imagined it was twisted in a grimace.
She turned to ask Arthur and her breath caught. The sounds of the cheering and joyous audience faded. Arthur’s image flickered and faded, as though he were thinner than parchment. She stood and reached for him. “Arthur?”
Her hands passed through him. An unmoving phantom, nothing more than a shimmering haze like the waves of rippling air on a hot day. A chill ran down her spine as she called his name again, uselessly. Arthur’s face did not move, as though he had gone deaf, and he did not blink.
She looked helplessly out at the field and the stands of people who had fallen silent. Their mouths were open, but no sound came from them. Like Arthur, they had a glass-like quality to them, as though their skin and clothes had become thinner than a lead of silk.
Not even the wind moved. The two knights challenging one another on the field remained frozen in mid-combat. Their hair did not fall from where it had blown behind their ears from the speed of their joust. They were fading in and out, the vibrant colors of their crests had been reduced to dull after images.
Gwen shakily returned to her seat. She glanced to her side, then startled as the chair had filled itself between one blink and the next. She blinked a few more times. Merlin had claimed the seat at her side, but unlike everything else on the tournament grounds, his chest moved and fell with breath. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed, in deep sleep. “Merlin?” she asked aloud.
He did not stir at his name, but the longer she looked, the more she was sure he was real. A perpetual cloud of weight felled her heart, and with each blink, she found her thoughts growing slower and heavier. She forced herself upright and pinched the crook of her arm. It did not sting, and she did not feel the pain of the pinch. That bolt of alarm managed to rouse her, even without the pain.
She rose shakily to her feet and stumbled. She gripped the arm of Merlin’s chair and bent herself over him. Her hand rose to his cheek, and she cupped his jaw. He felt warm. He felt real. Light did not pass through him like a thin veil, not like Arthur, and not like the others.
Gwen steadied herself and dropped her other hand to his shoulder. Even touching him helped clear her vision, it brushed away the fog of sleep that buried her slow moving thoughts.
Merlin shot upright with a gasp. Gwen startled but held tight to his jacket, and helped him settle back into his chair. Gwen let out a small noise of surprise. It didn’t appear that Merlin saw her, for his gaze was unsteady and unfocused as he looked over her shoulder. But Gwen was not so much concerned at that, for her attention was solely on his eyes. They glowed — as bright as the sun beating down on the canopy. They were alight with gold, and they burned with magic.
Still, she held tight to him. Merlin breathed heavily and blinked a few times, as the gold faded from his eyes, and the sheen of confusion around him dropped. He looked curiously up to Gwen. He croaked out her name.
Gwen could only gape at him. Though the gold had mostly faded, she still saw it flickering flecks of gold in the blue ring in his eyes. “Gwen?” Merlin repeated. His brow furrowed.
“Your eyes,” Gwen whispered, then she shook her head. “I’m dreaming. I must be dreaming.”
Merlin hummed in agreement. He nodded sleepily. “Yeah.” He closed his eyes and smiled. “S’nice. Good dream. You’re here.”
Gwen shook him. “Hey. Don’t go back to sleep.” Merlin slumped into his chair as though his bones had turned to liquid. Gwen slapped his cheeks lightly, then with more force until he pried his eyes open again. “Something’s wrong. None of the others — they don’t look right.”
Merlin moaned weakly. “I’m tired. I’m so…tired. Don’t feel...” He blinked a few more times. “…I feel — it’s wrong.” Gwen frowned as she tried to parse his scattered mumbles. Merlin sat upright. “What doesn’t look right?”
Gwen gestured beside them, where Arthur was frozen. Merlin’s mouth dropped open. After a moment, the strange glass-like apparition of Arthur faded entirely. A shadow passed over the sun. Gwen looked back at the tournament grounds, which had grown dark, and the sky swirled with rain clouds, as though a heavy storm approached. “This feels like a dream,” she murmured. “But I also feel…real. And you feel real. Oh, Merlin, what’s happening to us?”
The gold in Merlin’s eyes flared again. “It’s coming,” he whispered. “I can’t hold it back.” With that ominous warning, the air swelled around them. The townspeople and knights were gone, they had vanished as Arthur had. The wind picked up around them, sending Gwen’s curls into disarray, and she swept them away from her eyes.
“What’s coming?” Gwen begged. “What is happening?”
“It’s the curse,” Merlin told her. He swallowed heavily. “The curse. It’s keeping you here.” Gwen blinked at him in confusion, but Merlin’s desperation seemed so real, and so earnest. His worry was laid out so clear and plain to see. He shuddered, as though chilled by the bracing wind. “I — I thought I could help. I thought I could — but I can’t. Something is wrong, I can’t — I’m trapped, with you, it’s so much stronger than I…I can’t help you.”
Curse. What curse? Merlin made it sound as though he were trying to — protect her from it. To shield her. “With your magic?” Gwen demanded.
Merlin’s eyes widened, and his throat clicked as he swallowed uneasily. Before he could answer, thunder streaked through the sky. Merlin grabbed her hand. “We need to get inside the castle!” he yelled. The wind picked up around them. Gwen’s skirts buffeted in the wind, as did her hair, and she nearly lost her footing. Merlin pulled her ahead.
When he looked back at her, his eyes were glowing bright gold again. Gwen squeezed his hand, whether to comfort him or herself, she wasn’t sure. The features of Merlin’s face softened, before straightening out again with resolve. They trekked across the worn dirt paths until they reached the citadel walls. Merlin helped drag her behind the wall of stone, then at her back, continued pushing her until they had reached the outer corridors. Merlin’s footing stumbled, and then it was he who relied on Gwen to drag him forward. Once behind the door, Merlin slumped against the wall and remained there, unmoving, and it left Gwen to push the heavy outer door closed. The wind howled and pushed with the mighty force of the storm battering down on the city walls, but Gwen pushed and pushed until it finally slammed shut. She locked the bolt in for good measure.
Now safely behind the walls and out of the wind, she knelt beside Merlin. She leaned heavily on his side and sank against the wall, their shoulders knocking together. Her breathing was erratic and wild. For a dream, she thought, only slightly hysterical, it all seemed very real.
“We can’t stay in here forever,” Merlin said between breaths. His breathing was heavy and laboured, as though the short run had taxed him far more than just the act of running. “The curse is still holding.”
Gwen bit her lip. That pain didn’t reach her either — not even the slightest suggestion of pressure. She asked, “What is the storm then?”
Merlin winced. “Assuming this dream only represents…what you’ve created in your mind. I would assume that is the very real shadow of death looming over our heads.” He said it lightly, but his hand found hers against his leg. He squeezed it. “But I can — I will hold it back. For as long as I need to. I’m not letting you die.”
Gwen squeezed it in return. “Thank you, Merlin.” He offered her a thin smile. “And don’t think I’m letting you off easy,” she said lightly. “I have so many questions for you.” She mused, “Or if this has all been just a dream all along…”
“Yes and no,” Merlin said carefully, as he panted. “This is your dream. Not mine. I sort of — er. Used magic to break in here. Like a prison break. That was my plan, at least…” His eyes fluttered shut.
Gwen shook him. “Merlin?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, between shuddering breaths. “You need to — keep going. Deeper into the castle. Away from the storm. Keep going. Just go. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’m not leaving you here!” Gwen told him sternly. “Get up, come on. We can do this together.”
He repeated, in a raw, hoarse whisper, “I’m sorry.” Merlin’s eyes rolled back into his head. The castle trembled beneath her feet. Gwen held tight to his shoulders and managed to push herself to her feet. She pulled Merlin up by his arms and crossed them over her shoulders, and then, one step after another, forced herself further down the corridor. Deeper into the castle, where the storm could not find them, even if it tore the castle apart stone by stone.
She knew in her heart that the storm would find them eventually, no matter how deep she ran. She felt it as certainly in her chest as she knew that Merlin was true to his word; that he was still her friend, magic or not, and that he would not let her go without a fight.
The same went for him. What kind of fool was Merlin to think she would leave him there?
An entire candle mark passed before Gaius returned. Arthur heard him arguing quietly with Sir Leon and Sir Elyan outside, insisting the queen was still resting, and that he and Merlin were close to discovering a cure. He slipped in and closed the door behind him.
Arthur didn’t say anything. At first. But he couldn’t help himself and poked the flimsy barrier of trust they had erected. To see if it would waver. “Why did you lie to them?”
“I don’t believe it is wise at this point in time to reveal much more,” Gaius answered. “But feel free to call your guards, if you wish. It will not help Merlin or the queen.” Arthur scowled. Gaius had him there, and he knew it.
Gaius appeared no different than he had when he entered the chambers that morning with Arthur. It unsettled Arthur to look at Gaius and think; he’s been a traitor all along. He and Merlin had lied to him for all that time. But Gaius didn’t look any different, he still looked like the stern old man that wrapped Arthur’s scraped knees.
Arthur wondered how he would look in his own reflection. If he had changed somehow on the outside. It seemed wrong that so much had changed in the span of a few moments, and he grappled for normalcy, knowing that he might not have any opportunity to hold onto it again for some time.
Gaius sidestepped whatever Arthur was about to ask and directed his attention back to the two sleeping patients. “Has there been any change?”
Momentarily relieved of all his other worries, Arthur at least could focus on the more important task at hand. “His eyes are glowing,” Arthur told Gaius quietly.
That earned him a curious eyebrow. “I imagine his magic is still resisting the curse,” Gaius replied without hesitation. “I am not surprised.”
Gaius readied himself with whatever ingredients he had brought from his stores. Arthur sidled up beside him, and then lifted his chin to the ceiling. “So this magic,” Arthur started as casually as he could. Which was not very. “Is he as useless at it as he is at everything else? He already tried, and he couldn’t break the curse.”
The other eyebrow rose to join the first. He swore the flicker in Gaius’ eyes was amusement, of all things. Even though they were discussing highly dangerous and very treasonous things. His father was probably rolling over in his tomb. “On the contrary, there are many who believe Merlin is the strongest warlock to walk the lands. That he is the strongest of any who lived before him, and any who come after.”
Arthur let that sink in for a moment. “Then why couldn’t he break Guinevere’s curse?”
Gaius smiled then, wryly. “Well, your majesty. He ignored the instructions.” Despite the tension hovering in the air, it broke, if only for a moment. Arthur snorted. “As for Merlin’s magic, his abilities — I am counting on him being as strong as they say. He should be able to break the curse on his own.”
“And you need me to —” Arthur winced. “You’re going to perform…magic on me. And put me under the curse as well.” He couldn’t hide his palpable unease at the idea. Magic. He was willingly allowing Gaius to perform magic. There were no other options, Arthur reflected, so he had forced himself to listen to Gaius’ plan and not run out of the rooms with his hands over his ears.
Guinevere would die. Merlin would die. Gaius had impressed upon him how limited their options were, and how unlikely anything else would succeed. If Arthur refused, he would be resigning Guinevere to her inevitable death.
Gaius tilted his head. Arthur spared a moment to think how similar that look was to Merlin, who would do the same, right before delivering an answer that Arthur was not going to like. “In a sense. But unlike Merlin, I have read the spell very carefully, and there are certain rules that must be followed. Merlin’s mistake was ignoring them.”
Arthur couldn’t deny his reservations inside for a moment longer. “But if it goes wrong…”
“Then you will be trapped under the queen’s curse as well. All three of you, together.” Gaius’ lips thinned. “If there were any other way, sire, I would tell you. But it will work.” He flipped through the ancient tome and frowned. “There is certain emphasis on this spell on when and where it can be cast, but Merlin has a way of stepping outside the bounds of normal magic.”
“But you’re not like Merlin,” Arthur surmised.
“Indeed not,” Gaius said, with a voice drier than a rain-barren desert. “But thankfully, I believe I will be able to tap into Merlin’s magic to…assist me.”
Gaius placed his hand over Guinevere’s brow. Then he held out his hand for Arthur with his palm open. “Now Merlin,” Gaius said softly. “Give me his hand.” Arthur carefully disentangled Merlin’s floppy limbs and placed Merlin’s limp hand into Gaius’. Gaius squeezed Merlin’s hand and held it out. Arthur pursed his lips, but he took hold of the two hands offered to him. Gaius’ hand was chilled, and Merlin’s were slightly warmer, but dry. Gaius cleared his throat and began to murmur words of magic, and although every instinct inside of him begged to tell him to stop, to stand up and run, Arthur didn’t flinch away. Gaius chanted quietly, and then louder, and Arthur blinked out the sudden drowsiness clouding his vision. How long was this spell going to take? Maybe he should just…lie down and…take a short…nap…
He opened his eyes and awoke inside the citadel court chambers. The chamber doors were blown open, and the glass windows were shattered. A mighty storm roared all around him, sucking in the air from the broken windows, swirling the shards of fine glass in spirals across the room.
Beyond, the sky was as dark as night, and the wind screeched and howled its displeasure upon the castle. The floors and walls trembled at the might of it.
Even without instincts, Arthur knew he needed to stay out of the way from the fearsome wind and the volleys of rain that pelted the stone walls.
He needed to find Guinevere. And Merlin. But in a storm this size, what if they were beyond the castle? He would never make it beyond the city walls. The storm would tear him apart.
Something inside of him flickered gently, like recognition. No, Arthur thought. They had to be in the castle. And if they were fleeing the storm, he knew where he would go, if this castle were anything like the real one in Camelot.
The castle shuddered around them as Gwen pushed forward, one step after another. She nearly slipped down the stairs as Merlin’s weight shifted without warning in her arms, and he awoke with a gasp. Gwen caught herself on the wall and managed to help lower Merlin into a sitting position. In the dim light offered in the catacombs, his eyes glowed an eerie, owlish yellow.
“Gwen,” Merlin murmured, blinking up at her as though coming to from a daze. Gwen shushed him and pulled him back to his feet, and forced him down the rest of the long stairs with his arm around her waist for balance.
“Just keep moving,” Gwen told him. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to explain anything. I know. Don’t waste your strength.”
Merlin’s head sagged into her neck. “I don’t have the strength to argue with you at the moment either,” he said, and Gwen let out a huff of choked laughter. Their steps faltered together as the castle floors trembled ominously beneath them, and then there was no time to say anything else, except a few murmurs of encouragement as Gwen led them deeper and deeper below the castle. Past the lower cells, past the treasury, past all of the lower stores.
Merlin’s strength flagged dramatically the further they went. Gwen suspected the moment she let go of him, he would crumple without her support. The ceiling groaned and stones shifted uneasily above their heads. Dust and small stones pelted them like rain as they went, until Gwen allowed herself a moment to catch her breath.
Merlin was conscious, barely. His skin had grown sallow and grey, but his eyes were still burning with bright magic. “I want you to go back,” Gwen pleaded. “However you came in here, go back. I don’t want you to die because of me.”
“I can’t,” Merlin said softly. “I can’t leave. I won’t leave you.” Gwen opened her mouth to argue, but Merlin shook his head. “But I can’t leave even if I wanted to, Gwen. I can’t go…I can’t go anywhere. Gaius was right. I did it — I did the spell wrong. We’re stuck here together. I — I messed up. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Gwen shushed him, but even as she forced him upright, her own strength faltered and she slumped back onto her knees. “We need to keep going,” she said.
“No matter how far,” Merlin said in a low voice. “It still won’t be deep enough.” His hand trembled as he held it out and cupped her cheek. Her skin tingled under the touch of his palm. The golden light dimmed and flickered unsteadily. “I am sorry, Gwen.”
“We can keep going,” Gwen said, her words choked in the back of her throat. She gripped the wrist of the hand on her cheek. His fingers brushed against the skin under her eyes, and she realized they were tears. “We can’t give up, not yet. We can still…”
Merlin offered her a thin, achingly sad smile. “I won’t make it any further,” he said. “I have enough magic to…push it back. For a little while. But you will have to keep going on your own.”
“No,” Gwen said. “No.”
“It’s my fault,” Merlin told her. “I should’ve been paying attention. This never should have happened to you.”
Gwen brushed back his hair. “It’s not your fault. You risked everything to come here, to save me. Thank you. If nobody else will say it, because it was magic — but I will. Thank you, Merlin.”
Merlin’s gold eyes flickered again, gold, then blue. Gwen held him tight and squeezed her eyes shut as the catacombs of the castle trembled around them. In the distance she heard the howling of wind.
“Guinevere!”
The voice was faint, yet clear enough and so distinct it rose above the sound of the wind. Her heart stuttered. She lifted her head. Several flights above, Arthur stood at the top of the stairs. He was dressed in his armor and cloak, a sword in his hand, prepared for battle.
Gwen called out to him. “Arthur!” Merlin stirred in her arms, but his eyes did not re-open. Arthur raced down the stairs, hopping from one step to the next as fast as his legs could carry him.
“Gwen? What’s happenin’?” Merlin murmured, his voice weary and slurred.
Arthur was upon them before she had to answer. “Guinevere,” Arthur repeated, and he embraced her. Gwen bowed into his weight, though she didn’t loosen her hold on Merlin. Arthur rocked back on his heels and glanced down at their prone servant in her lap. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s holding back the storm,” Gwen answered in a hush. “He’s been trying to keep me safe.” She eyed Arthur for a moment. “With magic.”
Arthur swallowed. “I know,” he said. “I know he has.” Their gazes met, unspoken understanding passing between them. “And I know he’s going to get us out of here. Isn’t that right, Merlin?”
Merlin blinked up at them. The gold from his eyes was reduced to flecks, leaving only blue behind. “Arthur?” he slurred. He squinted at Gwen in confusion. “What’s he doing here?”
“Saving your foolish magical arse,” Arthur retorted. “Now, come on Merlin. You have a lot of explaining to do when we get out of here, and don’t think I’m letting you skip out of that because of some measly curse.”
“I can’t break it,” Merlin said, and let out a weak moan. The castle rumbled threateningly, as though responding to his cry of pain. “I tried, it’s — it’s too strong. I can’t.”
“Gaius tells me you’re the bloody strongest sorcerer to ever exist,” snapped Arthur. “You can. So get up. Break the curse. Get us the hell out of here.” As harsh and demanding as his voice was, his eyes betrayed his worry. He lowered himself and bent his head. With his free hand he held Merlin’s jaw and turned his head towards him. In a softer voice he said, “Come on, Merlin. We’re counting on you. I know you can do it.”
Gwen squeezed his hand between her own. “You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” she said. “I know you can. You’ve always managed to do the impossible. I believe that.”
Arthur shot her a look of mock betrayal. “I am feeling a bit put out here, Guinevere,” he said, and even as the castle groaned and shook around them she couldn’t help but laugh. Though her laughter was short lived as the ground quaked, and more sand and rocks fell free from the stones above their heads.
When the dust cleared, Merlin was on his feet. His eyes were gold — pure gold, though flickering, and he was still pale and weak looking. His face was set with grim resolve. “You’re right,” Merlin said, smiling. “I mean, who else is going to put that prat in his place?”
Gwen gasped as the golden light eclipsed his eyes whole — and then cracks appeared down his cheeks, and spilled from his mouth. “Take my hand,” he said, but his voice was no longer one, and had taken on an echoing, numberless quality. “It seems we can go home after all.”
He extended his arms to them. Gwen held Arthur’s, and she accepted Merlin’s. Arthur hesitated slightly, but he grasped Merlin’s and held him tight by the wrist. The wind had reached them, and the storm shrieked in defiance, as the golden light spilled from every inch of Merlin’s body. Gwen shut her eyes, for she feared she would be blinded.
When she re-opened them she was staring up at the canopy of her own bed chambers. There was an aged hand pressed against her own, with long draping sleeves. Gaius.
Arthur was beside her, and he lifted his head from where he had landed face-first into her mattress. Merlin was slumped in the chair beside them. In Gaius’ other hand, he held Merlin and Arthur’s together, though once Arthur was awake he shook himself free and clambered further up the bed to bend over her.
“Guinevere?” he asked.
Gwen nodded and smiled mutely. She pushed herself upright, though the room spun a flurry of colors as she righted herself. Gaius stepped out behind them as he inspected Merlin.
“How long —?” Arthur asked.
“Only a few moments,” Gaius answered distantly, for his focus was on his ward. He tilted Merlin’s head.
“Is he alright?” Gwen asked. With Arthur’s help she helped free herself from her covers and managed to stand on trembling legs. Her shoulders and knees felt so sore, as though she had been laying in the same position for days on end. She probably had.
“The curse is broken,” Gaius assured them. “But it appears that it has overtaxed Merlin’s strength.” When he lifted his head, his expression faltered at the horrified look on Gwen’s face, which she was sure was mirrored in Arthur’s. “He will be fine, with plenty of rest. I’m sure he will awaken in a day or two.”
Arthur’s shoulders sagged with relief. Gwen went weak-kneed at the words, though that was probably her own muscles spasming as they accustomed themselves to use once more.
“That is good to hear,” Arthur said. He was still holding Gwen’s hand, which he squeezed gently. His gaze met hers. “I will — call someone. To ensure he is brought to his rooms, where he can rest.” Gaius inclined his head.
“And we will speak with him when he wakes,” Arthur added. Gaius’ lips thinned, though Arthur smiled, as though to reassure him. “We have much to discuss.”
Gaius nodded. “Indeed.”
For two entire days and nights, Merlin slept. When he awoke he squinted up at the bright sunlight streaming in and the two monarchs sitting poised at the end of his bed.
“I don’t suppose you plan to remove my head?” Merlin asked after a beat. His tone was light. His eyes…were guarded. Gwen’s chest ached. She rose from her stool, where she and Arthur had only sat down moments before, as Gaius had fetched them to inform them that Merlin would be stirring soon. She perched herself upon the side of his bed and lowered her hand, hovering above his head as though asking for permission. Merlin regarded it warily, but he didn’t react with anything except visible confusion as she cupped his cheek.
Arthur’s jaw worked, but at a stern look from Gwen, his expression softened. “That doesn’t sound like a very good way to thank my Court Warlock,” he grumbled.
Merlin’s expression spiralled through confusion, then disbelief, and then wide-eyed surprise. “You —”
“It will take time,” Arthur allowed. “And you have a lot of explaining to do.” He lowered himself to his knees on the side opposite Gwen and reached for Merlin’s hand. “But… I have spoken much to Gaius already, while you were being lazy and sleeping the day away.”
Merlin bristled at the tease, but his haunches softened and flattened as Arthur clutched his hand. “I never expected you to find out this way,” Merlin said honestly. “I was expecting a lot more…sword waving. And yelling.”
“Oh, that will come,” Arthur said darkly. Merlin blanched. Gwen swatted Arthur’s hand. “But Gaius had threatened me with extreme bodily harm should I interfere with your recovery.”
“He’s only teasing,” Gwen promised Merlin. “And everything will take time. But we are grateful. Thank you.”
Arthur nodded. “You saved Guinevere,” he said at last. “And everything else…if nothing else, that act means more to me than I can put into words.”
Merlin nodded, then broke into a yawn. He appeared surprised at the yawn, and his eyelids slowly drooped close again. “This feels like a dream, honestly,” Merlin said through another yawn.
Gwen bent a warm kiss to his brow. Merlin made a small noise of surprise, but his body’s exhaustion dragged him under before he could comment on it. She lifted her head and smiled at the small pout on Arthur’s face and pulled him gently across the edge, and kissed his cheek.
“Come,” she said. “Let him rest. You can put together what you want to say when he wakes. I know you have a lot of thoughts. I have many of my own.”
“I’m making a list of questions,” Arthur said promptly. “Starting with ‘are you insane? Why ever did you come to Camelot?’” But he was smiling as he said it, so Gwen knew, eventually, that his bitterness would heal. The lies would be cleared away, and Arthur’s smile promised her that and more. Merlin snuffled quietly in his sleep behind them. Gwen closed the door with a soft click.