Chapter Text
It was quite possible that Merlin was in shock.
Yes, that was probably it. It would explain his racing heartbeat, the numbness of his thoughts and heaviness of his limbs. He was moving mechanically, no destination in mind. Arthur had survived- he had brought him to Avalon in time, but his friend, his King, had not wanted Merlin near him. He wasn’t sure he could blame him. Merlin had lied to him, for ten long years. He wasn’t sure at what point their relationship had changed from grudging allies to friends , exactly, but it had. It wasn’t unreasonable for Arthur to feel betrayed. Merlin just wished he hadn’t banished him.
His life was in Camelot- his friends, his family, his destiny. He had done everything for that destiny- the tiny hope that, one day, he would be free. That his people would be free. He had ruined himself, stained his hands and his soul with blood. And none of that seemed to matter to Arthur, because Merlin had failed.
Arthur thought magic was evil, and he believed it enough to exile Merlin, whose life the young king had saved so many times over.
So walking away from Camelot didn’t feel like just banishment. It felt like death- like scrubbing out the boy with the kind eyes and charming grin, erasing the cheerful man beloved by Camelot knights and servants both. Arthur had held them in his hands and torn them to shreds, leaving only this. The shell. The empty vessel containing only nightmares.
It was those nightmares he woke to, screaming, every morning. Those nightmares that haunted his every step away from home.
He received a reprieve from the terrors when he arrived in Ealdor. His mother saw him coming, running to him with a cry on her tongue and a tremble in her hands. He knew what she saw. Blood stained and mud smattered, little cuts and bruises everywhere. Dead eyes, vacant smile, empty soul. And yet, when she touched him, when she placed her hands on his shoulders and pulled him into her, she seemed to chase it all away. His limbs, which had carried him so far, gave out and he fell. He fell into warmth and safety and love and he broke. The world was kind, and granted him this moment. This moment to be that boy again, one last time. Fragmented memories rolled down his cheeks as he wept, and for a moment he wished it all away. But the world was not that kind. Not to him.
Arthur had made it back to Camelot when the full extent of what he’d done really hit him. He was greeted by friends, though far fewer than he expected. Gwen was here as always, with Leon and Percival by her side. Gaius stood at a respectful distance, and Arthur, in his delirious state, looked instinctively just behind him, expecting to see blue eyes and dark hair, waiting for that roguish grin and a cutting remark, but he realised with a start that they would not be waiting. Because Merlin had taken them with him when he left- when Arthur
made
him leave. Because Merlin was a sorcerer. Merlin had magic and magic made people evil.
Part of him didn’t believe that Merlin was capable of such darkness, but the rest told him it would only have been a matter of time. He had seen what magic did to people. It was not pretty. And he had given Merlin a chance. Do not use it again, he had said, swear you will never use it again and you may return to Camelot. And Merlin had said no. Already, the temptation of power had hooked its claws into Arthur’s dearest friend, and he knew from experience they could not be removed. “I made the right choice.” He murmured. “I made the right choice.” He just hoped that, one day, he would believe it.