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When he wakes for the first time, Lancelot is hovering over him, face twisted with worry.
‘Merlin? Are you alright? What happened?’
I’ve brought you back. The real you, he wants to say but can’t make his tongue work for some reason.
He doesn’t know how he did it, but he feels in his bones that he has succeeded. The warmth in the brown eyes above him confirms that. The Shade would never look at him this way.
His limbs feel heavy, and his head is swimming, but he strives to sit up with Lancelot’s help. Almost straight away, he collapses against the knight, burying his face in that loathsome black shirt. He can feel Lancelot’s heartbeat under his cheek now, though, and that revives him a little. Still, he doesn’t move, just wraps his arms around the knight and holds him tight.
He manages to mumble, ‘Welcome home,’ and then darkness takes him once more.
When he wakes for the second time, he’s finally able to take in more of his surroundings. He’s lying on his side on an unfamiliar bed, facing a window that looks out onto a small valley with a stream running down its middle. He frowns. He doesn’t know this view either.
How did they arrive here? The last thing Merlin remembers is standing outside the Shade’s cell, readying himself for that one last desperate attempt to break Morgana’s hold on him. Has he not only freed Lancelot from the enchantment but also transported them both to a safe place?
He raises himself slowly and shakes his head as if that would help him clear the fog that’s clouding his brain. It doesn’t, so he squints around with a sigh. And what he sees drives every other thought from his mind.
Lancelot is sitting across the room, face buried in his hands. His shoulders are taut, and Merlin can almost feel the abject despair wafting off him. He yearns to run to the knight, but his body refuses to cooperate, and he ends up in a heap on the floor. His pathetic attempts to untangle himself from the blanket rouse Lancelot from his stupor, and the knight hurries towards him to help him up.
‘Are you alright?’ they ask each other simultaneously and then both crack a smile. They’re in familiar territory now, and Merlin can’t stop himself from giving the usual answer.
‘I am if you are.’
Lancelot’s smile fades. He averts his gaze but not before Merlin sees the haunted look in his eyes.
‘What’s wrong?’
The knight hesitates. He seems unsure how to explain what the matter is and waves his hands vaguely when at last he responds, ‘I remember.’
That statement doesn’t make things any clearer, and Merlin is on the point of saying so when Lancelot’s meaning hits him.
‘You remember what happened when you,’ he blurts out but corrects himself swiftly, ‘when the Shade…?’
The knight nods curtly and returns to the stool he has been sitting on. Merlin follows him groggily grabbing onto the sparse furniture for support. He drops to a crouch beside Lancelot and puts his hand on Lancelot’s knee. He has to touch—to feel connected, to make sure that this is real. The world is tilting from side to side, and he wants nothing more than to lay his head in the knight’s lap and have him gently stroke his hair (like he’s done so many times before), but it would mean putting his own comfort first, and that is out of the question.
He tries to collect his thoughts instead.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says in a rush, and Lancelot frowns at him in surprise.
‘Whatever for?’
‘I should have tried to break the enchantment earlier. If I had done it before the Shade–’
‘No, Merlin,’ Lancelot interrupts him sternly. ‘This was a complex bit of magic. Look how much it has cost you. And you could have been caught… No, you have nothing to apologise for.’
‘Well, neither have you! None of this is your fault! You were used! Morgana used you!’
‘Because she could.’ The knight’s soft reply is in jarring contrast to Merlin’s outburst. ‘Because I’m me.’
‘What?’
Lancelot lowers his eyes.
‘It will sound conceited but… only I served her purpose. Only I could have hurt them like that.’
‘That doesn’t make you responsible!’ The warlock feels his cheeks are flushed, and yet a cold shiver runs through him at the thought of Lancelot weighed down by guilt for the Shade’s actions.
The knight springs up from the stool and starts pacing around, more agitated than Merlin has ever seen him.
‘But I feel responsible. Gwen is banished because of me. She must be lonely, and heartbroken, and angry at herself because she doesn’t understand why she would do such a thing. Because she doesn’t know that it was all the work of that bracelet, which she only put on because she trusted me, because it was unimaginable to her that I might not wish her well. And Arthur… Arthur has lost his trust in the one person besides you that would have stood by him no matter what.’
The knight’s frantic movements are making Merlin’s head spin, but his sluggish brain finally catches on to a very important piece of information.
‘Bracelet? What bracelet?’
Lancelot stills and turns to him with a distraught expression.
‘Morgana enchanted it. It was meant to reawaken Gwen’s feelings for me. And I gave it to her. I put it on her hand.’
Merlin uses the stool to hoist himself up and staggers towards the knight.
‘That’s good, that’s good,’ he mutters feverishly. ‘That’s proof. We just need to find it.’
He latches onto Lancelot’s arm to keep himself upright and is momentarily distracted by the heady sensation of feeling those muscles under his fingers again. He makes a herculean effort to rein in his scattering thoughts.
‘We can clear her name. And yours too. We need to go. Come on.’
He’s sure he’s pulling Lancelot towards the door, but when he looks around, he sees that the knight hasn’t moved an inch.
‘Come on,’ he repeats, tugging weakly on Lancelot’s arm because that’s the best he can do in his current state.
‘I’m the last person Arthur would want to see right now,’ Lancelot says, and Merlin must concede that he has a point.
‘Fine, I’ll talk to him alone. But you’re still coming back to Camelot with me. As soon as I’ve explained everything to Arthur, we’re going after Gwen.’
The knight shakes his head.
‘I can’t.’
Paradoxically, it’s comforting to see Lancelot being his usual stubborn self, but Merlin still needs to persuade him to change his mind.
‘I know it will be awkward at first,’ he admits, and Lancelot flinches.
‘They will never treat me the same,’ the knight chokes out. ‘I will always remind them of…’
Merlin digs his fingers deeper into Lancelot’s bicep. He wants to protest, but deep down, he knows it’s the truth.
‘You’re right; we need to give them more time,’ he says eventually, hoping that his voice sounds reassuring. ‘Well, you can stay here for now, and I’ll send for you as soon as–’
The knight sighs.
‘I can’t stay here.’
‘You mean,’ Merlin glances around, ‘because we don’t know who the owner is? I’m sure we can find another place.’
‘No, Merlin. I need to go.’
‘What do you mean, you need to go? Go where?’
Lancelot avoids his gaze.
‘Far away from here. For good.’
Merlin releases his arm and takes a swaying step backwards.
‘Why?’
The knight considers his answer for what feels like an eternity.
‘That night,’ he says finally, ‘I also hurt you. In more ways than one.’
The turn in the conversation is so unexpected that for a few breaths, Merlin can only stare incredulously.
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
The knight brushes his fingers lightly against Merlin’s face, and the warlock closes his eyes to savour the feeling. That’s why Lancelot’s next words take him completely by surprise.
‘I hit you.’
Merlin’s eyes shoot open. Ah. He has forgotten about that… Or rather, he’s not holding it against Lancelot.
‘It wasn’t you! You were enchanted,’ he reminds the knight, catching his hand and pressing it to his own cheek despite the sting of the bruise at the touch. Then, he remembers something else. ‘Besides, I attacked you first.’
Lancelot cocks his head and smiles sadly.
‘And I imagine having to do that was more painful than my blow.’
Merlin blinks back tears. The time he spent with the Shade has been a string of heartbreaks, all blending seamlessly into one big aching of the soul, but if he had to choose one that felt the most visceral, it would have been the moment when he used magic to throw Lancelot across the corridor. Because in the end—despite all his claims to the contrary—he couldn’t quite separate the man he loved from Morgana’s puppet.
‘I…’ he begins but has no idea what to say. Lancelot gently pulls his hand away.
‘I can’t,’ the knight pauses and corrects himself, ‘I won’t put you in that position again.’
Merlin knows where this is going, and he tries desperately to drag Lancelot away from the edge.
‘Don’t worry, you won’t.’
‘But what if Morgana or someone else tries to use me again? This time to hurt you? I can’t risk that.’
It is imperative that he keep his cool and present Lancelot with rational arguments, but the rising panic at what the knight’s words imply blots out everything else, and Merlin lashes out.
‘So you’re leaving me to fight her on my own?’
Lancelot recoils because the accusation is well aimed.
‘I’m leaving to protect you.’
‘Like you did on the Isle of the Blessed?’ Merlin doesn’t realise he has started shouting until he feels it sapping the remnants of his energy. Black spots are dancing in his vision, and he’s suddenly unable to string more than a few words together. ‘You promised… And then you left… The Veil… You promised… I can’t, please, not again…’
The strength is draining out of his body like sand from an hour-glass, and he stumbles. Before his knees hit the floor, however, strong arms are there to support him, and then he’s being carried back to the bed. Breathing in Lancelot’s familiar scent does nothing to alleviate the dizziness. Merlin’s limbs are like lead, and he struggles in vain to reach for the knight after being laid down on the mattress. In the end, he only manages to croak out, ‘Stay.’
As darkness starts to claim him again, he feels a warm body slip into bed beside him. He relaxes and stops fighting to hold on to consciousness, and so he barely registers Lancelot’s murmured apology.
When he wakes for the third time, he immediately senses that Lancelot is gone.
There’s a note lying on the pillow beside him.
Even if you can’t forgive me, never doubt that I did it out of love.
Forever yours,
L.
His heart seizes in his chest.
He wants to feel anger, resentment, anything but that deep sadness that threatens to pull him under.
He’s not sad for himself, for losing Lancelot yet again—that will come later, he’s sure of it. He aches because Lancelot once again had to pay an unfairly high price to protect those he loves. It is cruel and unjust that there seems to be no way for him to get the happy ending he deserves.
Merlin gets up and walks over to the window. He has been asleep for so long that the night has fallen, and he can’t see much apart from the moonlight glinting off the water in the stream. Everything’s very quiet and tranquil, and he tries to breathe in that calmness.
‘I hope you find the peace you seek, my love,’ he whispers, wishing it with all his might, although he knows it’s unlikely. None of the choices Lancelot has made over the years has been easy, but living with this one is going to be the toughest challenge of them all.
The stars twinkle above him as the tears roll slowly down his cheeks while the world—inexplicably—goes on.