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Words are powerful things. As king of Camelot, Arthur Pendragon knew very well how a few simple words had the power to heal or to destroy, to build or to tear down, to foster friendship or feed hatred. He had seen words ruin lives, give hope, change the course of entire nations. His own words had impacted his kingdom and the people around him in unprecedented ways.
The words of a king held the potential for great and terrible things, which was why Arthur always chose his words as king so carefully. The words of a grieving friend had just as much power for making or breaking a world, if not more so – and despite all his diplomacy, all of his training, the king of Camelot still struggled to choose his words wisely when he was hurting, particularly when he was speaking to those closest to him. Perhaps that is the way of humanity – we allow our naturally self-destructive nature to chip away at the relationships and people that mean the most to us, and sometimes, when life spins too far out of our control, we snap, and words that we do not mean, never would mean, come flying out like an arrow from a ranger’s bow, aimed straight for the hearts of our dearest friends.
Now, Arthur Pendragon’s words had changed no one’s life more completely than his former manservant, Merlin’s. Just a week ago, Arthur’s lips had formed the words in front of his court and Camelot that Merlin was not only to be a freeman of Camelot, but that magic was legal in the kingdom after over twenty-five years of fear and hatred for peaceful magic users, and that it was Merlin, his new Court Sorcerer, who would oversee the magical protection of Camelot, and who would ensure that magic was only used for good. Arthur would never forget the disbelieving joy shining in Merlin’s eyes in that moment as he gazed out upon the home that finally accepted him, looked at his king and saw nothing but pride and friendship in his gaze where he had once feared fear and judgment. It had been a staggering moment for Arthur, that weighty realization that Merlin had truly lived his life in fear of being killed because of how he was born, that the king was now witnessing a soul set free and the beginning of a new era. Never, he told himself as he watched his Court Sorcerer wave tentatively to the gathered crowd, would he allow Merlin to go back to feeling like he was a mistake, like he was a monster, like he wasn’t enough.
He meant that oath when he made it to himself. Unfortunately, tragedy has a way of taking our promises, even the most sacred ones, and stripping them from us like bark from a tree. Pain and loss break us down and force us to our knees and pull hurtful words from the pits of our pain and we throw them around at those who want nothing more than to help us.
The attack on the patrol had been unexpected and brutal. For the first time, king and warlock had fought openly, side by side, and Arthur saw yet again how powerful his clumsy friend truly was, and his heart swelled with pride and love for the man who had stood so loyally by his side for so long. Merlin protected his king and the knights diligently, but as so often happens in any battle, someone strayed too far from the group and fell through the cracks. Merlin tried to save Sir Arnold, a young knight who Arthur had personally scouted, recruited, and trained as part of his initiative to bring in more loyal and talented men regardless of nobility. Arnold had been a farmer’s son from a small village on the outskirts of Camelot, and he was a natural fighter, a brave, selfless young man who had wormed his way into the hearts of Arthur and his men.
He was only twenty years old when he was killed in the senseless, stupid bandit attack, and though Arthur had seen Merlin fight, watched the pain at the loss fill his eyes the moment that Arnold fell, the king’s grief and loss shrouded his vision and he lashed out after the battle at the only person who might have been powerful enough to stop it and hadn’t. He knew that Merlin had done everything he had to protect all of them, and knew that Merlin too had been close to the young knight, who had thought magic was the most amazing art in the five kingdoms and had followed Merlin around like a loyal pup, bright eyes alight for more displays of magic. And yet, despite knowing this, Arthur’s words careened out of his grasp in his shock and pain, and he said words to Merlin that took everything his closest friend held dear and smashed it to a million pieces. Never had Arthur regretted words he had spoken so desperately the second they left his tongue.
“I wish I had never given you a chance! What’s the point of your magic, Merlin, if you can’t keep the people who trust in you alive? Arnold trusted that you would keep him safe, and you let him down. You failed him. Maybe my father was right. Maybe magic’s more trouble than it’s worth!”
He didn’t mean a word of it, of course. But Arthur had just watched a young man who had had so much potential die before his eyes, cut down by a bandit’s sword – a weapon normally so useless in the face of magic. Grief had sunk its raking claws into his flesh and spit vile lies into his ears, and he lashed out at the person who had just saved his life, and everyone else’s – Gwaine’s, Elyan’s, Lancelot’s, Percival’s, Leon’s, Arthur’s lives. One person had gotten himself into danger that even Merlin hadn’t been fast enough to stop. And yet, instead of focusing on the fact that Merlin had saved everyone else, instead of thinking about how Merlin would already feel guilty and devastated at his perceived failure, Arthur allowed his emotions to twist his words into something to harm, not to heal, and he watched with horror as Merlin’s tentative grasp on control and self-worth crumpled with his face.
Arthur could feel the glares of his knights on him the moment the words escaped, but he had eyes only for his Court Sorcerer, who was backing away with a horrible, broken look in his eyes. Arthur reached out a hand as if trying to grab the hurtful things he had said, as if trying to snatch them back. But it was too late, and he lowered his hand. “Merlin, I–”
Merlin shook his head, and Arthur could see him trembling. “I’m sorry, Sire,” the sorcerer said, then he turned and disappeared, quite literally, into thin air. Arthur knew he wouldn’t be far – he wouldn’t leave them unprotected, but decided to give Merlin time before he pursued this again. Meanwhile, he knew, his knights would not be pleased with him, and as he predicted, they made no attempt to hide their disapproval for his treatment of his closest friend. Arthur carried Sir Arnold’s body on his own horse, and the ride back to the citadel was passed in solemn silence.
Arthur dearly missed Merlin’s company during the short but hard ride home.
That evening, after Arthur had personally spoken to Arnold’s poor father, had somehow found it within him to give him the news that no parent ever wanted to hear, Arthur found himself on The Balcony – the one that his father, and now Arthur himself, used to look out upon his kingdom and address his people.
For a while, he just gazed out at the citadel, at the manifestation of all that his father before him, and then he himself, with Gwen and Merlin and his knights by his sides, had built and refined. After a while, he realized that he was no longer alone, though he could see or hear no one.
“I can tell you’re there, Merlin,” the king said heavily.
Merlin shimmered into view to Arthur’s left. The king glanced over, slightly amused, mostly proud, to see that Merlin had unconsciously adopted the same stance as his king – spine erect, hands folded and forearms resting on the railing, chin high and face set firm. In that moment, Arthur felt power and nobility radiating off of the sorcerer more acutely than he ever had before. For the first time, perhaps, he could truly feel the weight of the destiny Merlin had told him about, see the prophesied warlock Emrys stand tall with the world placed squarely on his shoulders. Arthur felt an aching desire to take some of that weight from his friend and bear it on his own back.
Instead, because it was the only way he knew how to deal with his emotions and affection for his former servant, Arthur complained. “It’s freaky that you can do that, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Turn yourself invisible. Are you sure it’s a power you can use responsibly?”
He imagined an amused smirk on Merlin’s lips, but when he glanced over at his friend, the warlock’s face had not changed; it seemed to have been carved from stone.
And so Arthur pushed back his fear and discomfort and grief and pain and said what he truly needed to say, despite how uncomfortable it was, despite how much he felt that he had no right to even speak to Merlin in that moment, let alone request his forgiveness, his friendship. “I cannot express how sorry I am for what I said to you today.”
This time, Merlin shrugged – Arthur caught the motion in the corner of his eye. “You spoke the truth, Sire.”
Arthur really hated it when Merlin called him Sire .
“No, I didn’t,” the king insisted, and when Merlin continued to stare forward, he couldn’t help himself – couldn’t stand to see Merlin shouldering a blame and a pain that Arthur had helped put there, had encouraged with thoughtless words and his own misplaced grief. He reached out, grabbed Merlin by the shoulders, and spun him around so they were facing one another. Merlin looked up at him, and Arthur saw why Merlin had refused to look at him.
He was crying.
Arthur let go of his friend’s thin frame so abruptly it was as if he had been burned. “Gods, Merlin, I’m sorry. I had no right – no right – to make you feel like Arnold’s death was your fault.”
A tear crawled down Merlin’s face, caught on the edge of his cheekbone, and hovered there for a moment that spanned eternity. Finally, it plunged, disappearing into the neckerchief that Merlin had insisted he keep wearing despite his new and improved title.
“You made yourself very clear,” the warlock said in the most measured voice he could muster. Anyone other than Arthur might have been fooled by the stoicism, but the king, who had known Merlin for so long and been through so much with him, heard the tiniest of tremors and could not recall a time that he hated himself more than this. “And anyway,” Merlin continued. “You were right.” He spread his hands out wide, and magic, cerulean sparks of light that Arthur had come to associate with everything good that Merlin was, sprang to life between them. As the king watched, the color changed from blue to purple to a dark, blood red. “What is the point of my power if it can’t protect everyone ?”
Arthur, having been reminded so fully the power of words, chose his next ones very carefully. “No one,” he said slowly, “not even the great Emrys , not even my oldest, dearest friend, can take care of everyone all the time.”
Another tear rambled down Merlin’s cheek, curled around his trembling chin before dropping off to join the first. “But you were right, Arthur. Arnold – he trusted me.”
“And he was right to.” Arthur put every ounce of conviction he possessed into his assurance. “I saw what happened, Merlin. The moment he was hit, you were protecting Gwaine from a surprise attack from behind. Your back was turned at just the wrong moment. Arnold had wandered out of your line of sight, as well. And you did everything to save him when he went down.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“Sometimes our best isn’t enough,” Arthur reminded Merlin. “But we have to make it enough. We have to understand that even if we can’t protect everyone all the time, that we ourselves are still enough. As long as we try , it has to be enough.”
“Well, it’s not.”
“I know.”
They stood in silence, and they grieved their fallen friend. Somewhere along the way, Arthur’s hand found its way onto the back of Merlin’s neck, and without either of them realizing it was happening, the king pulled his dear friend into an embrace, and together they wept for the good man that had been lost.
When Merlin finally drew away, his eyes red and puffy – Arthur knew his own must look the same – he managed a shaky smile that didn’t reach his eyes, but Arthur knew that for now, it would have to be enough. “I know you didn’t mean what you said,” the warlock acknowledged.
“But it still hurt you,” Arthur observed. Merlin dropped his eyes.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does . Merlin, I would be dead a million times over if it weren’t for you. So would the knights. But – but , that does not mean that if something happens to one of us that you failed. You may be magic itself, but you’re still only one person.”
“Technically, I’m two,” Merlin argued miserably. “And Emrys is supposed to keep everyone safe.”
Arthur studied his friend in the moonlight, then patted him kindly on the back. “When I look at you, whether you’re doing powerful magic or tripping over a blade of grass, I don’t see Emrys or Merlin – I just see you . And you keep me safe, you always have. You do your job, and you do it well, Merlin. Sometimes, people are lost, and it hurts . But the only person you have control over is yourself. Something I have had to learn the hard way as king is that you can’t always keep everyone safe. You just have to do your best.”
Merlin sniffled, and he now looked like a lost child rather than a powerful sorcerer. When he spoke, his voice was thin, weak. “Do you still wish you’d never given me a chance?”
The question, asked sincerely, struck Arthur in the heart like an assassin’s blade. “I never should have said that,” he said earnestly. “And I know that I hurt you, and that you will spend years fighting those words said in a moment of pain, but I promise you that I will not rest until I have convinced you of the truth – that I have never been happier, or more proud, to have you by my side, old friend. I’m delighted to have given you – and your magic, and our destiny – a chance.”
“Maybe you have the makings of a great king, after all,” Merlin joked, and this time, the tiniest of smiles glinted in his eyes. He added mischievously, “Tell anyone I said that, and I’ll turn you into a toad.”
Arthur smirked. “I don’t know, Merlin – maybe being a toad would be easier than all of this.”
They sobered at the collective thought of the friend they had lost. Merlin scrubbed his face with the back of his hand. After a moment of subdued silence, he took up the olive branch his king had offered him and joked, “But just think about how many things would want to kill you if you were a toad.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “And that’s different than now because…?”
Merlin gave a curt nod as the two, in some unspoken agreement, turned and began to make their way back into the castle. “Fair point.”
“Either way, though,” Arthur pressed, jabbing his elbow playfully into Merlin’s side, “I’d have you to protect me, right?”
Merlin took far too long to think about his answer.
“ Merlin!”
“It’s just I’m not too fond of toads,” Merlin admitted.
“Merlin!”
And side by side, king and warlock made their way through the grief and uncertainty and guilt and hurt the way they always did –
Together.