#gwen being so filled with pride about merlin protecting arthur and the kingdom all this time

[centurieslove]

finally had the guts to watch the finale again. takes me months to work up the nerve. the result? destroyed me again

[botanicallyinclinednerd]

The Game of Camelot (Sat Upon His Throne, All Alone)

Part one of A dark AU for The Coming of Arthur Part 2 where Leon's loyalty is to the people of Camelot alone and he is willing to do anything to save Camelot from being ruled by a tyrannical monster, even if he becomes a monster himself in the process. This is also posted on my AO3 here. 

Warnings for this fic include: Major character death, Murder, Dark Leon, poisoning, nightmares, and hurt no comfort. Please be safe.

~~~

Leon prided himself on his loyalty. He considered himself a loyal knight of Camelot and so did everyone else. It's why no one ever suspected him. Why no one ever stopped to question how he got to where he was today. Why no one stopped to ask why he was king.

~~~

"Sir Leon is a traitor," was a sentence that had never been said by anyone in Camelot. And if anyone had been foolish enough to voice such a thing, they would have, at best, been laughed out of Camelot, and at worst, never left Camelot ever again. Because everyone knew that Leon would die for Camelot. He was loyal to his kingdom to the end.

The misconception was that while Leon was indeed loyal to Camelot, he did not have the same undying loyalty for his king. Uther Pendragon was a tyrant king who ruled with fear and death. He was irrational when it came to magic and his penalty against it was overzealous and extreme. His citizens had suffered under his rule for too long. Someone needed to ensure it ended, one way or another. 

Leon grew up with Morgana, had been her friend since before she became Uther’s ward. When he learned she had magic, he promised to protect her. When he learned about her plans to kill Uther, he pretended to have no idea. When he learned of her parentage and her desire to claim the throne for herself, Leon was supportive but uneasy. When he met Morgause, he faltered. When he learned of the lengths she went to try to kill Arthur by using Gwen and Elyan as bait, Leon's support became an act. Uther was a bad king and he didn't know what kind of king Arthur would be but Leon knew that Morgana would just be another Uther. He couldn't let that happen.

As far as Morgana was concerned, Leon was loyal to her. He made sure this was never in doubt. It could never be in doubt.

~~~

When Morgana told him to kill Arthur, Leon felt uneasy. Arthur was his prince and while he was Uther’s son he was not a bad man. Leon had no ill will towards him and was sincere in his loyalty to him. He didn't want to kill him.

When Morgana suggested he act defiantly when he was brought before Morgana in order to lure Gwen out to make her betray her true loyalties and help Leon escape to find Arthur so Leon could kill both of them at the same time, Leon thought he was going to be sick. She wanted him to kill both the prince and Gwen? Gwen, his childhood friend, his oldest friend? The kindest, sweetest person he has ever known, who wouldn't even hurt a fly? 

Leon wasn't sure he could do that. And yet, somehow, for the good of Camelot, he must.

~~~

There were eight of them. Eight people. Eight witnesses. Eight liabilities. Leon didn't want to kill eight people. Hell, he didn't want to kill the two people he had to kill. But Leon was a strategist. He knew the best shot he had of accomplishing his goal of liberating Camelot from tyranny and fear was to leave no one behind to reveal the treachery he was willing to commit to do it. He didn't want to kill these eight people but he would if he had to.

~~~

"'There is no one else I'd rather die for,'" Leon pledged and maybe what he was about to do would be easier if he was lying. But he wasn't. 

~~~

Leon wasn't comfortable with this. He had killed people before, sure, but in battle as a knight, and those he killed were his enemies. Tonight he would not be acting as a noble knight but as a traitorous assassin, slaughtering people that trusted him. People he knew. Leon didn’t know Merlin well, but he did know that there was more to Merlin that met the eye. He had long suspected that the servant had played at least some part in foiling some of the attacks on Arthur and Camelot over the years. For that alone, he liked Merlin, even before taking into account the boy’s dry wit. Leon liked Gaius as well. And Gwen and Elyan? They had grown up together. He considered them his friends. Hell, he thought of Gwen as his best friend. The whole reason Morgana lost his loyalty in the first place was her willingness to put the two of them in danger. And Arthur…Arthur wasn't his father. He was a good man, and Leon believed he could be a good king, but he also knew that Arthur was like his father in the one way that mattered: he distrusted magic. Leon would even go as far to say he hated it. There was the chance that Arthur may one day change his mind but Leon could not take the risk. There was only one way he could ensure that peace and magic would return to Camelot. In that moment, Leon made a decision he knew he would regret for the rest of his life. He just hoped he would be able to live with it.

~~~

Leon wouldn't call himself a coward. This is not cowardice, he thought, as he laced his companions' food with hemlock. This is not cowardice, he thought as they all began to show symptoms of poisoning. This is not cowardice, he reminded himself as he too pretended to fall ill. It is not cowardice, Leon repeated to himself as he faked a coughing fit while he closed Gaius’s unseeing eyes. This is not cowardice, he thought as he allowed himself to hold Gwen as she wept. This is not cowardice, he reminded himself as he listened to the last of his companions take their final rattling breath. No, he told himself when he opened his eyes and got to his feet, his act of afflicted and dying friend no longer necessary with no one else left alive to witness his deception and betrayal, this was not cowardice. Leon took in the result of his handy work and made himself look at each of them, to look at what he had done. This was kindness.

~~~

Leon knew he couldn't leave the bodies as they were. Morgana expected him to slaughter them, not poison them. He couldn't risk going against her expectations now. If she suspected anything was off, all would be lost and Leon's actions here would have been for nothing. He couldn't let their deaths be in vain. 

So Leon picked up a discarded sword with gold engravings that was not his own and, with a whispered plea for forgiveness, he hacked and slashed the bodies in a manner that mimicked an ambush. He started with the three men he didn't know very well, the three knights he had murdered before they ever had a chance to live up to their new titles. Then he moved on to Arthur, trying desperately not to think of the young boy Leon had trained to use a sword so long ago now as he cut the young man he had become into ribbons. 

When Leon looked down on Merlin, he swallowed roughly. When they all began to fall ill, Merlin had acted as a physician alongside Gaius, but as soon as Arthur had lost consciousness, Merlin threw caution to the wind. He had tried to heal him. He tried several times before he sat back on his heels and let out a broken sob. There was nothing he could do. That didn’t stop him from trying to heal Gaius. Or Lancelot. Or Gwen. With each new failure to even alleviate the symptoms, Merlin’s face crumbled more and his health flagged further. When Merlin approached Leon, the knight had jerked away before he could touch him, afraid not of Merlin, but that he might discover that Leon wasn’t actually dying like the rest of them. But of course, Merlin didn’t know that. He was a freshly outed sorcerer approaching a knight of Camelot who backed away out of fear. There was only one conclusion Merlin could draw. Like many things about that accursed day, Merlin’s expression when Leon backed away would haunt him forever.

Leon moved on to Gaius, taking a deep breath and stabbing once before quickly moving away. Which left him with only two more choices. 

Leon shut his eyes tightly. It was too late for remorse and regret. They were gone, dead. They weren't coming back. He killed them, murdered them, and nothing he did now could hurt them anymore. Of course it could still hurt him but he should have thought about that before he killed his only friends in the world.

Leon whispered a choked apology and raised the sword above his head.

~~~

Leon picked up his own sword and taking a steadying breath, slashed himself in the arm. He clenched his eyes tight against the pain and breathed through it. It wasn’t ideal, but he couldn’t return to Camelot without a mark on him, not with the version of events he planned to tell Morgana. It would also look far more convincing and believable to the knights and people of Camelot the story he planned to tell them. He just needed Morgana to agree to it. 

As he stabbed himself shallowly in the thigh, Leon went over in his head what he would tell Morgana: First he killed Arthur then Gwen and he was about to kill Gaius when Merlin woke up and raised the alarm. He killed Gaius and Merlin swiftly and one of the wanna be knights before the other three all started fighting him at once. They got a couple of lucky shots in but they were nothing against him. Hopefully, it would be enough to pass not only Morgana’s scrutiny, but Morgause’s as well.

~~~

When Leon was "recaptured" by Morgana’s men, Leon told her "what happened." She was pleased. And luckily, when Leon proposed to tell the people of Camelot that it was the immortal men that killed Arthur and his companion and it was only barely that Leon survived, Morgana agreed. And he didn't even need to suggest that he continue to pretend to despise her because she suggested it first. After all, it would look awfully suspicious if Leon was suddenly supportive of Morgana. She could lose the support of the other knights if they believed Leon a traitor or enchanted. And that was something neither of them wanted. 

~~~

The execution of Uther Pendragon was quite the public spectacle. Citizens filled the square, crowded around the large pyre in the middle. To the side, the surviving knights of Camelot were made to watch, each restrained on either side by one of the immortal soldiers. 

When Uther was brought out to the square, the crowd went silent. How far the king had fallen. In the end, his hate was his undoing. It was fitting that it was magic that killed him. From her balcony, Morgana put an end to Uther Pendragon with a flash of gold and a blaze of fire.

Leon’s only regret that day was he could not let his satisfaction show when Uther began to scream as the flames consumed him. Could not scoff at the tyrant’s shouted pleas for mercy. Could not smirk when the screams stopped, knowing what that meant. Could not cheer with relief and joy when the flames died away to reveal a very charred and very dead Uther. No, Leon could not do any of these things because he still had a role to play. Instead of satisfaction, Leon struggled against the soldiers holding him back. Instead of scoffing, he grimaced. Instead of smirking, he stopped struggling and slumped his shoulders in defeat. Instead of cheering, his eyes were wide with horror. Leon played his role very well, just as he always did. 

The tyrant was dead, long live the queen.

Well. Not long. Not if Leon had anything to say about it. 

~~~

Leon was a patient man. He served for years under Uther, a few months under Morgana in order to find a way to take out her and Morgause was easy. All the while, he continued to play the loyal knight to Morgana behind closed doors while acting as the reluctant first knight to an usurper queen in front of his fellow remaining knights and the people of Camelot. It was a dangerous line Leon walked. One misstep and he was dead.

In the end, his patience paid off. Once he learned that those who gave blood to the cup in exchange for immortality were cursed with an existence neither truly alive nor dead and emptying the cup would end those lives, Leon came up with a plan. It was risky and tricky and definitely a bit crazy, but it was the best chance Leon had of killing the sisters without dying himself. 

Getting the blood without them noticing was far easier than he expected and he never wanted to think about how he managed it ever again. Getting the blood to the guarded cup without arousing suspicion or getting killed by a pissed off priestess or an immortal soldier? That was the difficult part. Somehow, he managed to get to the cup in one piece. And somehow, he got the blood into the cup. And somehow, he managed to knock the cup over right as Morgana and Morgause barged in, spilling all the blood onto the floor before they could stop him.

Unlike the last batch of deaths he facilitated, Leon could not bring himself to feel remorse as the immortal soldiers exploded into nothingness around him, and he felt no grief as Morgana and Morgause followed suit, not even when Morgana’s eyes, wide with hurt and betrayal, locked with his before she ceased to be.

~~~

Leon sat upon his throne, crown heavy on his head as he looked out over his people, now his subjects. With Morgana and Morgause dead and no surviving Pendragons to take the throne, the beloved first knight that rid Camelot of Morgana was the obvious choice. 

The witch was dead, long live the king.

~~~

There was a secluded clearing in the woods where eight grave markers sat in a row. Every year, on every birthday, every holiday, and on the anniversary of their deaths, Leon would visit the graves. Sometimes he would talk, sometimes he’d stay silent. Most times, he cried. Every time, he left flowers. It was such a beautiful place for a shrine to the dead.

For the three men he had barely known, Leon searched and tracked down their names until he knew them: Gwaine, Lancelot, and Percival. Their birthdays were far more elusive so Leon picked a day for each of them and returned on that day every year. For Merlin, whose birthday was also unknown, he returned to the graves on the day he first met him. 

Sometimes the visits would be brief and other times they would last for hours. No matter how long Leon stayed it was never enough. No amount of time would ever be enough to atone for what he did. No amount of time could ever undo the damage he’d cause because it was time they never got to have.

~~~

Leon was called a fair and just king. His people loved him, and he loved them. And more importantly, they loved his queen. It wasn't long after he was crowned king of Camelot that Leon opened negotiations with King Rodor of Nemeth. The lands of Gedref had been disputed for generations. Leon agreed to give a majority of them to Nemeth in exchange for Princess Mithian's hand in marriage. Leon knew it would give him a powerful ally and would give him legitimacy in the eyes of the other kings. Rodor agreed. After they were wed, Leon waited. He had already stopped enforcing the ban against magic and stopped arresting and executing sorcerers, and now he welcomed the druids back to Camelot. When enough time had passed to get the people of Camelot used to magic again without fearing it, he made public a fact that he had known since before he asked Rodor for Mithian’s hand in marriage, a fact that few outside of Nemeth knew: Queen Mithian had magic. 

"People of Camelot, for over two decades magic has been persecuted and outlawed from our kingdom. And for over two decades the citizens of this kingdom have lived in fear. That fear ends today. Magic is not evil, it does not corrupt. I know this because I have yet to meet a kinder soul than that of my wife's. Queen Mithian is the sweetest person I know and she loves this kingdom as I do," Leon announced from the balcony overlooking the square where the people of Camelot were looking up at him. Whispers broke out among the crowd as they caught his meaning. Leon reached out a hand to Mithian, who took it with a warm smile. She was nervous about the announcement but he promised her he would let no harm come to her and she trusted him. "Your queen has magic. She has magic and she has only ever used it for good, to help people. Magic is not evil, it is a tool. Just as a sword is a tool for justice and protection in the hands of a knight but a tool for menace and terror in the hands of a bandit, the nature of magic depends on how it is used. For too long all those who dared use magic as a tool for any reason were punished. No more. From now on, magic is free in Camelot. Having and using magic is no longer a crime. But just as bandits are not welcome in Camelot, neither are those that use magic for harm. Crimes committed with magic will be treated the same as every other crime of that nature, and dark magic with the intent to harm others may be punishable by death. But those who use magic peacefully have nothing to fear. I hereby repeal the ban against magic in Camelot." 

~~~

Leon sat upon his throne, his wife by his side. He had done it. He freed his people from the rule of tyranny and fear. Magic was free. Camelot was free.

But Leon was not free and he knew he never would be. There was innocent blood on his hands, blood of people who trusted him, people he called his friends. 

Leon may have Mithian but she didn't know the truth about his rise to power. If she did, she would rip herself away from him in disgust and horror and look at him as if he were a monster. Then he would be truly and utterly alone. 

Leon sat on his throne with his Queen at his side. He may be lonely but he was not alone, not as long as he had her. And as long as he had her beside him and he had the people of Camelot to take care of, Leon would not become the monster he saw in his reflection. As long as he had them and he held onto his reason for becoming king in the first place, he would not succumb to his guilt. 

Leon had blood on his hands that he could never wash clean, skeletons in his closet he could never get rid of or share with anyone, and a monster in his reflection.

~~~

Leon jolted awake with a gasp, his body drenched in cold sweat. He let out a long sigh as his surroundings filtered in and he recognized Mithian sound asleep beside him. Quietly, so to not wake her, Leon eased out of bed. He had gotten a lot of practice over the years of shaking off the nightmares without bothering her. He walked over to a basin of water and without looking, he cupped some in his palms and splashed it over his face. Leon didn't need to think very hard to remember what his dream was about. It was the same thing it was always about. Tonight it was Elyan and Gwen that had taken the central role in his nightmare. 

Gwen was struggling to breathe, her eyes wide and panicked as she held her baby brother in her arms, his head cradled in her lap with his eyes half closed and his breathing growing steadily weaker and weaker. Elyan was dying. They were both dying, but there was no question who would go first. A jolt of guilt ran through Leon and as he stood looking down at his childhood friends whom he had condemned to death, a tear rolled down his face. Gwen’s head snapped towards him, her eyes hardening with hatred and betrayal. "You. You did this. Why, Leon? Why did you do this? How could you do this?" 

Leon shook his head sadly, another tear sliding down his face. "I had to, Gwen. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's for Camelot, I had to for Camelot. I had no other choice."

Gwen scoffed and narrowly avoided a coughing fit as a result. "'In life, you always have a choice. Sometimes it's easier to think that you don't,'" Gwen rasped angrily. "You chose this, Leon. You didn't have to kill us, but you did anyway. You chose this." She looked away from Leon and instead turned her gaze on Elyan, who had gone still in her arms. "Elyan? Elyan!" She shouted, shaking him to wake him. He didn't wake up. He couldn't. "No!" Gwen screamed in pure anguish.

Leon let out a shudder and splashed more water over his face to banish the lingering tendrils of the nightmare. It was only temporary. It was always just temporary. Leon was haunted by his actions in the castle of the ancient kings and the things he did that day would haunt him til the day he died. He would never be free of his guilt and he didn't deserve to be free of it. Gwen never knew it was him. If she had, she would have pushed him away when he sat down next to her with tears streaming down his face and held her as she sobbed over Elyan while dying herself. She wouldn't have clung onto his arm as if it would protect her and keep her afloat. Just as Elyan had died in her arms, Gwen had died in Leon’s. With his oldest friend dead, Leon had let himself collapse onto the floor and close his eyes, feigning severe illness himself. He had laid there listening to his victims die knowing he was responsible as Gwen grew cold beside him. Leon shook his head sharply and took a breath to steady himself. He let it out slowly, opening his eyes as he did so. His eyes found his reflections' in the still water of the basin. For just a split second, his reflection changed and the person he was seeing was not himself, but Uther Pendragon. Leon blinked tiredly and when he looked again his reflection was his own again. Leon’s hands curled into fists as he looked at his reflection. Uther Pendragon was a monster and a tyrant king. He deserved to die. Leon still believed this and never once had his conviction wavered on this stance. Uther had so much innocent blood on his hands he was drenched in it. The world was a better place without that monster in it. It troubled Leon but didn't surprise him when he caught a glimpse of the long dead king in his own reflection. After all, Leon was a monster too, with hands crimson with innocent blood, blood belonging to his friends. In many ways, Leon considered himself more of a monster than Uther ever was. For Uther Pendragon was driven by hate and anger. The murders he committed came from hatred and self righteousness. He thought his actions were justified and right. Leon was driven by love and determination. Leon murdered eight people who never did him any harm, five of whom he considered friends, when he knew doing so was wrong. They did not deserve to die, there was nothing just or right about it and Leon regretted his actions every day of his life. He hated himself for it because he knew he would do it again. He knew what he did was wrong but it was necessary to save Camelot and it's people and he would do it again if he had to. That's what made him the bigger monster.

~~~

King Leon sat on his throne, lonely, but not alone. He was a monster and that fact was unknown.

King Leon sat on his throne, lonely, but not alone. He now had children and was slowly growing old.

King Leon lay in bed, dying, frail, and old, but never alone. Leon’s eyes drifted closed and all his sins remained unknown.

[emachinescat]

And That Would Be Enough

A Merlin Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 27 - “I wish I had never given you a chance”

Summary: In a moment of grief, Arthur says something to his newly appointed Court Sorcerer that he instantly regrets. 

Characters: Merlin, Arthur

Words: 2,752

TW: None

Note: Emotional whump is still whump, right? :) This was written while sick, and I didn't have time to edit, so please bear with me if there are any mistakes. I will go back and edit after posting; I'm on a bit of a time crunch. This takes place in an AU Camelot where Arthur lives, the knights are all alive, and Merlin is made Arthur's court sorcerer.

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

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 and 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.