Chapter Text
As Merlin crosses the borders of his home forest and enters the confines of Camiloth, he immediately feels some of the magic flowing through his fingers, leaving him, reluctantly, but still dissolving around him, blossoming into flowers. Emptiness. The young wizard feels only emptiness, pain and disappointment. I want to cry, quit this stupid prank and return home, under the crowns of hundred-year-old trees, to the place where magic flows in all living things like blood, to the place where his power is a blessing and a gift from God, not a curse, to the place where laughter awaits him and joy, not screams and hellfire. He wants to escape and still remains sitting in place, feeling how life is divided into "before" and "after", and the last chance to change the decision dissolves in the air. He knows that he never had a choice, only a duty to his family and people. He is another hostage of the situation, an innocent victim of someone else's laws and decisions. He is another victim of a bloody and terrible war that began even before he was born.
"It hurts." remarks Mordred, looking into his brother's dull eyes.
"No, it doesn't hurt." Freya argued, clutching Merlin's hand in her small, calloused palms.It's unpleasant, but soon, in a couple of weeks, the magic will return, it will be able to adjust to the situation and everything will be as before. You just have to wait and you will become a powerful wizard again.
"Still, I don't understand why we have to endure all this." Mordred hisses with hatred, looking at the knights who surrounded them from all sides. "A few spells, and they're all corpses."
Merlin sees the people around him writhing in fear, sees the fear in other people's eyes, sees hands reaching for swords, and still can't bring himself to hate them. He is not Mordred. He did not destroy himself on the field in battle, standing knee-deep in other people's blood, watching how everyone who was once dear to him lost their lives for a common, good goal. He is not Freya. Kind, naive Freya, who always believes in the best and believes in the promises of her elders. He is somewhere in the middle. Somewhere between them, it is still unknown whose side to take. The Knights of Camelot took so much from him, deprived him of his family, took away his right to an ordinary life, drove him into the forests like an animal, hunted him as if playing, but looking into their eyes, Merlin sees weakness, horror in front of unruly, incomprehensible power and knows, who can't blame them. They are weak, confused, unhappy. They build walls and castles, gather armies, kill dissenters only because they are afraid. They are this monster in human form. They are death. They are the enemies of the world and at the same time its salvation. They are hope. They are the light in the darkness. Merlin really doesn't know how he feels. Hate, resentment, pity, pain, acceptance. He cannot change the past, but he can do everything to make the future better. He will do anything so that his brothers and sisters, the druids who sheltered him as an orphan many years ago, no longer have to pay for being born of their own blood. They deserve better. Mordred and Freya, who replaced his family, deserve better. He deserves better.
"Mordred!" exclaims the girl condemningly. "Excuse me please. He was just joking."
"Not funny." one of the knights grumbles audibly, keeping his eyes on the road.
"He is not very good at it." admits the little girl, shrugging her shoulders. "Of course, he considers himself to be a natural joker, but in reality it is not so. You can even say the opposite. He's just terrible at it."
"And yet…"
"This will not happen again." promises Freya, trying to smile kindly, despite the tension of the situation.
The knight freezes for a moment, looks at the girl with eyes wide open from surprise, as if seeing it for the first time, and tries to reflect her smile. It looks crooked, but even that helps everyone around relax and stop clenching their fingers around the weapon.
"I hope you are right."
"Believe me. Otherwise, I'll tape his mouth shut for a few hours. Let's see how he will scare everyone around him if he can't even open his mouth."
"He didn't scare anyone." a person feels the need to justify both himself and his people. "It's just that we are trained to fight mages, not accompany them. We are a little unusual."
"It is unusual for you not to drag us into the fire." And Mordred's voice again
"Enough!" Merlin shouts this time.
There is irritation in his blue eyes and not a drop of magic, but everyone around them takes a couple of steps back, unaware of it. His brother and sister purse their lips in displeasure. One from reluctance to obey, the other from awareness of one's helplessness. Merlin himself feels as if he has become smaller, weaker. One wrong word, one threat from them, and one deception from King Arthur's men, and they won't be able to defend themselves, save themselves. Here, halfway to fate, they were left without strength and with a saber over their heads. One action, a wave of someone else's hand, and they face the death they have managed to hide from for years. He involuntarily thinks of the children, the old, and the rest of the people left at home, and his heart is filled with new determination. If they die, so will the others. They answer not only to themselves. He answers not only to himself.
"My name is Leon." the head of the knights enters in the silence that hangs.
"I'm Freya." the girl tilts her head with interest, trying to look into the opposite's eyes. "As you already guessed, this is Mordred, and that blue-eyed silent Merlin."
"We were told that he is Emrys. someone from the guard shouts."
"Emrys is the name given to me by the druids and my birth name is Merlin." a minute of general silence. "I prefer to use it in memory of parents."
For half an hour, they walk in complete silence, not knowing what to say to each other. It seems that even the birds have stopped singing their spring songs. The druids were sure that at least half of them had flown back to camp to give the elders the latest news. The idea that elderly people are not all the same warm to the bones and it becomes easier to breathe when you know what you are suffering for and make concessions with your own conscience. Merlin dropped everything. By the will of fate, he lost his life, the right to choose and his first love. For the good of Albion and its people. He had been brought up to believe that this was the right thing to do, and yet somewhere in the depths of his soul he hoped to the last that someone else would give himself up as a voluntary sacrifice.
"We go." Leon warns either the guests or the knights.
The ring of guards around the mages grew tighter, and swords now flared not for protection, but for defense. Merlin feels a shudder run through his entire body and fear creeps deep inside, hiding in the dark corners of his soul. He does not have the right to doubt and pain, he does not have the right to close his eyes or lower his head, hiding from the gaze of cold hatred and the threat of pity. Give the people a chance, let them come a little closer, distract the knights for a moment, and the three of them will be torn apart with their bare hands, torn apart, their hearts ripped out just for daring to set foot. on a land that had once been theirs, long before Uther came.
"Bastards!"
Mordred clenches his almost white fists, bites his lower lip. to blood, but the look of complete anger does not turn away from the agitated crowd. He is strong, if necessary, he will manage, gather the remaining forces, but the last fight will give.
"Freaks." - hisses someone nearby.
Freya smiles diligently, holds the mask, as taught since childhood, and yet involuntarily flinches at every word, exclamation, look. Hot stinging tears gather at the corners of her eyes as the magic mixed with the madness of the crowd gives way to the urge to kill in her chest.
"A monster!' a child throws from the age of ten.
Merlin just shakes his head sadly, unable to find the strength for emotion. He does not feel hatred or forgiveness. nothing Emptiness. He sneezes on everyone except his brother and sister. Everyone around him could die right now, and he wouldn't even notice.
"I'm sorry." whispers Leon barely audible, as if justifying all his people.
They were brought up to be kind, indulgent and selfless. They were taught that everyone in this world deserves to live and that everyone should be given another chance. One. Two. ten. They believe that evil can always change if you really want to. They know that magic is not only death, but also the light of the sun that rises in the morning, the first spring flowers and new life. Magic is strength and weakness, it is threat and virtue. Magic is the person who uses it, and only he decides how it will be seen. Bringing death or rebirth.
"It will be better in the castle."
"I doubt it." Mordred growls as he dodges a tomato flying at him. "Most likely we'll be poisoned by the servants, killed by the knights, or forced to defend ourselves and then be blamed for the attack. In any case, we will not get out of here alive. The wizard's word here, as well as his life, are worthless."
"King Arthur is a good king. He has already done so much to finally bring peace between our peoples, and I am sure that he will do much more for this. Your safety comes first for him. You have nothing to fear."
"In addition to the angry crowd, ready to storm the castle with pitchforks and torches if necessary."
"They need time. To tell the truth, we all need it. It is difficult to see yesterday's enemy as today's ally and friend."
The carriage enters the castle yard. A gate is lowered behind them, blocking any exit. They are trapped. A trap from which you will not be able to get out, no matter how afraid you are and no matter how hard you try. Only now it becomes clear that there is no way back. Not more.
"Let me help." adds one of the servants.
Freya accepts help with a barely perceptible nod of the head, a smile and a laugh in response to someone's words. Mordred jumps down himself, kneels, tucks his hiking pants into his boots, and checks the knife attached to his ankle. Merlin wants to follow his brother and still freezes in place waiting for the servants. He can no longer afford such liberties. Two days. Two days and he will be King Arthur's omega, the queen. He can't act like a guy who came from the forest, even if it's true. Even if impatience, desire, interest, fear rages in the blood. He does not know what to expect from his new life.
"Where is his majesty? Frey asks Leon."
"You will meet him for dinner, and in the meantime Guinevere will accommodate you and take care of your every need."
A dark-haired girl in a soft yellow dress bows politely, shyly lowering her gaze to the floor. She is uncomfortable and it is visible in every movement, flutter of eyelashes and look. Merlin feels the same way. Only he cannot run away, find a job somewhere away from prying eyes and hide from the masters. They had been invited to look at a prize cow that had flown in from the furthest reaches of the kingdom, and he, Merlin, could not let everyone down by obeying his own wish.
"He could not meet his future husband? It looks disrespectful." Mordred looks disapprovingly at the impregnable walls and towers.
"He is currently busy with the final preparations for the banquet, but if you want, we can . . ."
" No," the magician interrupts them. "There is no need. I think the king has a lot of work. I don't think he should be distracted." a look at the maid. " I think Guinevere will take great care of us." he turns to the girl. "Indeed?"
"So. So. Of course. If you are ready, follow me.'
Merlin is glad that he was able to postpone the meeting with the inevitable at least for a while and give himself a couple more hours of free life.