Chapter Text
It had been Sir Leon to corner Gaius, bringing him to King Arthur’s chambers one afternoon. Sir Elyan had gotten his sister, as well as the Roundtable Knights, together on Arthur’s command. All of those that were close to Merlin were anxious to see how their friend could better come to terms with the events of the past months and were hopeful that Gaius had an idea or two that he could pitch.
Terrible was the thought that there were men that had taken their own lives for less than what Merlin had suffered. Even worse was knowing that Merlin was, to a certain extent, considering death as an alternative to carrying on as he was. While none of those seated at the table were optimistic, and were well aware that there was not likely to be a full recovery, all of them were determined to prevent the unthinkable.
Arthur, still guilt-ridden and now sleep deprived, was at the head of the table opposite where Gaius was seated. Leon was to his left, Elyan was at his right, and Percival was between Leon and Gwaine. Sandwiched between her brother and Sir Lancelot was Gwen. Her shaking hands held steadfastly onto Elyan’s as he offered her what comfort he could as Gaius spoke.
Since the day Merlin had sent the knights from his room, all of them had tiptoed around the wounded man, wondering how long he would withdraw. Hoping that he wouldn't decide to just give up. Gaius informed them that Merlin's continued isolation, self-inflicted or otherwise, would only atrophy his mind worse. The old man insisted that his presence could only do so much to facilitate healing when he still had to tend to his duties as the court physician.
“He’s healing in body, though his mind will take a good deal longer to recover. As tricky as illnesses of the body can be, illnesses of the mind are far more so. If a wounded mind slips too far into darkness, healing the body can end up being for naught.” Gaius sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“You fear he’s going mad?” Leon whispered, no small amount of horror in his tone. Gaius sent him a stern, warning look.
“The mind is a dark place for anyone; we all have moments where devils whisper in our ears. Subjected to the... atrocities that he was, Merlin’s devils have gotten rather loud. I wouldn’t call it madness proper, Sir Leon. He is unwell at the moment, and there’s no telling how he’ll recover but how ever he does, it will take time.”
“... How do we help?” Gaius lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully as he pondered Lancelot's question. Lancelot’s expression was hopeful and his eyes were determined.
“ Can we help?” Elyan, who held his sister’s hand tighter as she stifled her sobs, had his brows drawn in concern. Ever the realist, Leon seemed to tense in apprehension at Elyan’s question, whereas Gaius sighed deeply in response.
“There are… Good days and bad days. He doesn’t talk about what happened, and I shan’t cause the boy grief where it is unnecessary. Having seen the aftermath, I think it better that what he endured remains unspoken. … I cannot say how to help him, beyond healing his physical wounds, but I believe he appreciates the reminder that he’s not alone.”
Because of Gaius’ suggestion, Merlin was rarely found without some form of company knocking on his door. On a “good day”, as Gaius had called them, it was almost as if Merlin had never been sent away. He joked, grinned, and made idle conversation about castle gossip. The smiles he gave never quite took away the haunted look in his sunken eyes but it was easy to believe that Merlin was getting better when he put on a happy face.
On a “bad day”, however, it was little wonder why Leon assumed that Merlin was losing his sanity. Merlin hardly acknowledged anyone, Gaius included. Sometimes he would refuse meals and Gaius’ medicines, glowering at his mentor when the physician tried to reason with him. He’d take to staring out the window for long periods of time, deep in his broken mind. Elyan sat in with Merlin during one of these times and had been unnerved by how still Merlin held his frame. The knight hadn't stayed for very long that day.
Gwaine decided that today was a good day, as he barged into the tiny room. Merlin was upright, clear-faced, and sporting a haircut. He was still bandaged at his neck, wrists, torso, back, and legs, but his hands were free now. His eyes had healed enough that Merlin didn't have to be blindfolded during the day anymore.
The young man had been in the process of combing his hair through, now that the mats had been cut away and the strands evened out in length. Merlin stopped when Gwaine entered, however, and set the comb down on the stand by his bedside, offering Gwaine a tired smile. The knight knew that Merlin hadn’t slept well since his fever had broken. Gaius had told him about the ferocity of Merlin’s night terrors-some so awful that Merlin was left gasping for breath between sobs.
Gwaine pushed his gloomy thoughts aside to give his bedridden friend a wide, toothy smile.
“Hey, Merls! Like what you've done with your hair, mate. If anyone asks, remember that I’m on the training grounds.” He winked and pulled a chair next to Merlin’s bed. Gaius caught the door behind Gwaine, carrying with him the necessary supplies to change Merlin's bandages.
“Ah, this again.” Merlin sighed and lifted the corner of his mouth to Gwaine. It was somehow both a grin and a grimace. “You might want to come back some other time; even I get queasy watching this.” It was a joking type of tone but Gwaine could see how fragile the thin veil of humor was that hid his grief. The knight took Merlin’s hand into his own and squeezed it in reassurance.
“So long as I’m not in the way of your healing, I plan to stay as long as you’ll allow me, Merlin. Queasy bits and all.” Gwaine smiled and ruffled the hair on Merlin’s head and Merlin scoffed, though Gwaine took note of the small amount of tension that left his shoulders as he did so. Merlin was pointedly not looking as Gaius moved the blanket away from his lower half and got to work pulling the old bandaging away from his right foot.
“You know I’d just combed my hair to lay flat, you git.” The two chuckled but Merlin’s cut off with a sudden hiss when Gaius peeled away some scabbing with the bandaging. Gaius apologized and Gwaine cleared his throat to get Merlin to focus on him.
“If there’s one thing I know, my friend, it’s hair. And yours was never meant to lay flat.” To emphasize his point, Gwaine purposefully began ruffling it with both of his hands. Merlin rolled his eyes during this process (Gwaine was nothing if not dutiful in thoroughly tousling his hair), grunting in pain a bit here and there when Gaius cleaned away excess dried blood and remaining infection.
“There, much better. See?” Gwaine turned around and grabbed a small hand mirror, holding it up and allowing Merlin to inspect the outcome of Gwaine’s excessive fluffing. Merlin snorted and shook his head.
“Only better if we're using my head to clear cobwebs.” He jested, setting the mirror on his lap. Gaius had finished cleaning the wounds on both legs at this point and was carefully wrapping the stump that ended just below Merlin’s knee. Merlin made the mistake of looking down and blanched.
Gaius had told Gwaine beforehand that it was difficult for Merlin to see what remains of his leg, the grief of having lost one still too fresh for him to properly process. As Gwaine was about to make another distracting comment on his hair, Merlin turned to the knight with teary eyes.
“Sometimes it’s like I still have it, y’know? I go to twitch my toes because I can just… feel it , but then I… there’s nothing there.” Gwaine bit his tongue, not sure how to respond, if a response was even what was needed. Gaius, thankfully, came to his rescue.
“I’ve heard that the sensation is common, my boy,” he finished the bandaging job and placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder for comfort, “so long as it’s not painful, there is little I can do. Do you need a tonic?” Merlin shook his head but Gaius wasn’t convinced, especially taking note of the dark circles under the boy’s wet eyes. The physician replaced Merlin’s blanket and smoothed it down, being careful of his freshly-bandaged legs.
“I’ll prepare you some broth for supper but after that I would like you to take a sleeping draught. You may be feeling better for the moment but you still need to rest.” That said, Gaius hobbled out the door, taking the old, bloodstained bandaging and bowl of water out with him. Merlin sighed and looked towards the window at the setting sun.
“... Remember when you said you’d do something for me, when Gaius gave you the okay?” Gwaine nodded and leaned forward, as if to listen closely.
“You have only to ask, my friend.” Merlin smiled at Gwaine, genuinely, and the knight was proud to see some small amount of darkness flee Merlin’s blue eyes.
“I just... I want to go outside, just for a little while. I want to feel the sun on my face again. Gaius says my eyes are well enough now that I’ll be alright but I… I can’t get there on my own and Gaius is too old...” Merlin trailed off and Gwaine took Merlin’s hands into his own. The knight nodded with a big smile, carefully rubbing his thumbs in circles along the backs of the younger man’s bony knuckles.
“Tomorrow morning I’ll fetch Percy and we’ll take you to the hill out by the field to watch the sunrise.” Gwaine paused and his smile only got wider. “After stopping in at the kitchens, of course. Sweets may not be good for the teeth but they are certainly good for the soul.”
It was well into the night before Arthur was able to pull himself from his duties to the kingdom, and fall into his bed. Arthur sprawled out and stared at the canopy above him, unable to find respite enough to relax-let alone sleep.
With magic having been decriminalized, he’d been under much duress. This was because of the fact that, even though he’d made the effort to encourage his council and his people of the good that magic could do, and has done, many were distrustful of the craft thanks to the intolerance that his father had preached. So new was Arthur to his reign, the people weren’t sure what to make of him, or the dramatic changes in the law.
Of course there were plenty of those that were pro-magic, though Arthur hadn’t seen anyone make the attempt to utilize the craft-Merlin included. The young monarch was coming to the realization that the seeds of mistrust in him were sown far deeper than he knew.
The knowledge was humbling, to say the least. It had occurred to him, in the long hours he spent awake in his bed at night, that he hadn’t done anything that would make it seem as though he should be trusted with the welfare of his people. Least of all by those who had magic. One needn’t look further than the physician’s chambers to see evidence that he couldn’t be trusted when faced with a decision regarding magic.
Even now, there were councilmen whispering that they could “undo the damage” done to Camelot by making it all out to be a ruse. Once counsilman had suggested executing those who voiced their approval as sympathizers. Such talk made Arthur sick to his stomach, though there seemed to be little he could do about it. It was all talk, anyway.
Nonetheless, it was clear what this inherent hatred of magic had done to the minds of his people. They were frightened. They were frightened of him , of the Pendragon name and legacy. Arthur didn’t want to be a ruler by feared subjects, this much he knew. A king should be seen as just and fair, only feared by those who would go against the kingdom. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure what he could to soothe the fears of his kingdom’s people, both those with magic and those without. The only person that he might have turned to for advice on the matter barely spoke to him anymore. Not that Arthur could hold that against the man.
In fact, Arthur wouldn’t blame Merlin if he never wanted a thing to do with him or Camelot anymore, once he was healed well enough to travel. Even so, Arthur was having a hard time reconciling that fact with the unbearable tightness in his chest whenever the thought of Merlin leaving came across his mind. Arthur admitted that it was selfish of him to expect Merlin's continued friendship. Hell, Arthur had a feeling that it was too much to ask that Merlin not hate him.
Gwaine had certainly made his opinion of Arthur very clear. The long-haired knight had told Arthur outright that if Merlin left, he would follow without hesitation. Arthur didn't begrudge him that, nor for the venomous looks that Gwaine often sent his way these days. It wasn't as though they weren't warranted, after all, and Sir Gwaine wasn’t the only one who had changed his behavior radically as of late.
A quiet man usually, Percival was positively stoic these days with anyone that wasn't Gwaine, Merlin, or Gaius. Responses were one word, if that, and the gentle giant seemed to desire coming off as unapproachable most of the time. Lancelot was often in Gwen’s company, offering her-and others-measures of comfort that Arthur found he could not. Gwen, herself, was less bubbly. She frequently made attempts to lighten the mood but said attempts generally fell short.
Arthur had a feeling that if Merlin left, he’d be taking a full party of others with him. During training, there were plenty of stolen glances to the side of the castle holding the physician's chambers, and Arthur knew that Merlin had one or more visitors daily. That made it easier, and simultaneously harder, for Arthur to continue to be the only one not to have visited Merlin since the man’s outburst.
It was overwhelming guilt that Arthur felt whenever the thought of visiting his former manservant came to him. It ate away at his confidence, preventing him from facing the source of his guilt. Prevented him from visiting Merlin as he healed. Arthur silently hated himself for it, for his cowardice.
Groaning in discomfort at the unbidden thoughts rattling in his skull, Arthur tossed and turned in his bed. The sheets tangled his legs and Arthur, frustrated, threw all his bedding onto the floor. Then, he gave up on sleeping altogether and started pacing, instead.
With the entire city holding its breath with regards to magic, the heavy neurosis and hatred having poisoned the hearts of too many too far off, Arthur believed he had an idea just how fractured the kingdom of Camelot had become. The price paid for being an epicenter of fear. The problem was that he had no idea how to fix it.
He wondered if he even could.
Gwaine was nothing if not true to his word, creeping into Merlin’s bedroom before dawn with a few loaves of sweetbread and a wineskin of hot cider. Percival, sporting a grin, swept Merlin-blankets and all-into his arms. Merlin chuckled weakly, rubbing an eye as he started waking up properly. The smell of sweetbread and cider certainly helped.
Merlin was silently thankful that the courtyard and adjacent streets were still quiet as the three of them made for the hills just outside the city walls. The cobalt sky was just starting to lighten with the hint of sun, though no colors were dancing across the horizon quite yet. Spring was arriving, though there was still a wintery bite remaining in the crisp, morning air. Merlin tightened the hold on his blanket to fend off the chilly breeze, though he sighed happily as it ruffled his hair.
In short order, the three men found themselves seated underneath a large oak tree. They were atop one of the hills further away from the citadel, Merlin sandwiched between the two knights to keep warm
The first of the sweetbread loaves was devoured rather quickly, though that was mostly thanks to Gwaine. Merlin had been genuinely amused when Gwaine had filled his cheeks like a chipmunk, giving the knight cause to do it again. The second attempt left the knight with crumbs in his stubble and all down the front of his tunic.
“Saving some for later?” Merlin asked cheekily, flashing the long-haired man a grin. Mouth still full of bread, Gwaine made a delighted moaning noise.
“It’s so fresh , I can’t help it.” Merlin broke into a laugh at Gwaine’s antics and it sounded truly unfeigned, which had both of the knights joining in with their own chuckling.
It was comfortably quiet for a while afterwards, as the sun began its ascent. Merlin was transfixed at the orange, pink, and red glow unfurling across the scenery with the sunrise. The only sound that broke the silence was the occasional sipping off the cider. When the bright colors began to give way to cloudy white and gray, Merlin sighed and looked to his companions.
“Thank you.” His tone wobbled, which had Percival and Gwaine looking to the young man in concern. Contrary to the waver in his voice, Merlin was wearing a bright, crinkly-eyed smile. Tears were shimmering in his eyes and Merlin was sniffling to keep them at bay. Merlin struggled for only a moment longer before he broke into soft sobs.
“I-I’m sorry, I’m not sad-honest.” Merlin explained, palms rubbing circles into his eyes as he wept.
“Thank you both so much.” Relieved that the emotions Merlin was choking on were of joy, Gwaine wrapped an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and scooted closer to his left side; Percoval copied his movements on the right. Gwaine smiled, squeezing Merlin’s blanketed shoulder.
“Don’t thank us, Merls. We can do this anytime you need. Every morning, if you want.” Sir Gwaine promised, Percival nodding his agreement. Merlin sniffled, sobs ebbing into wet chuckles. The three men stayed like that for a while, calmly observing the horizon stretching beyond them as the sun crept higher in the sky. Even when it was time for the men to head back, Merlin’s smile didn’t leave. Gwaine concluded that if bringing Merlin out in the fresh air would help heal the parts of him that had been broken, it was the very least that he could do.
With spring coming, a time of revival and renewal was upon them all and Gwaine was eager, if a bit anxious, to find out what that meant for Merlin’s future. And Camelot's, as well.
It was late at night and Merlin found himself staring at the moon, as he often did when the castle was asleep. A soft breeze tickled the back of his neck and Merlin felt magic in the room that wasn’t his own. While his back straightened, aware of a presence behind him, Merlin resisted the pull to turn his gaze from the window.
“Emrys.” Merlin’s attention reluctantly moved to Mordred standing in the center of his room, the door closed behind him. Merlin inclined his head in Mordred’s direction, curtly.
“Mordred.” The druid shifted his weight, almost nervously. Merlin snorted and turned his sight back to the night sky.
“Why are you here?” Merlin asked softly, his tone lacking the usual, mistrustful bite it had always seemed to hold whenever he’d previously spoken to the young man. Instead his question sounded resigned, almost bored. Mordred let out a small noise, not quite a sigh.
“I… You might not believe me, Emrys, but there was a time that I very much admired you. I-”
“If you’re going to say that you still admire me then you can save your breath because I know that’s not true. I don’t want your pity, Mordred. If you’re only here to leave flowery words then just get out. Otherwise, get on with it.” Merlin heard Mordred swallow and he got a measure of satisfaction out of it. Then the warlock briefly wondered when exactly it was that he became so bitter. Had it been before or after the torture?
“Magic may be legal within Camelot’s walls but Lady Morgana and I will never return to Camelot under the rule of Uther Pendragon’s son. I’ve come here to take you with us, should you want to leave this place.” Merlin’s head turned back to Mordred; he was blinking in surprise.
“What? So Morgana can finish the job, here?” Merlin gestured to himself. “Is that why she sent you?” Mordred actually paled and Merlin narrowed his eyes.
“No, Emrys. I swear to you that the offer is in good faith. Lady Morgana knows the pain of torture under Odin’s hands. When we heard of the towers... My Lady believes that your suffering has been enough penance paid to the cause of justice. She empathizes and seeks t-”
“To take Camelot’s throne, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m not sure how much you believe to be changed, Mordred, but I will never betray Arthur.” Merlin swallowed thickly, shaking his head. “Nor will I leave this kingdom behind. Not for you, Lady Morgana, or anyone else. Camelot… Camelot is my home.” Mordred bowed his head solemnly, pursing his lips in obvious disappointment. Noticing the hesitation in Merlin’s tone, however, the druid hoped that Emrys’ mind could yet be swayed. Picking at the topic, however, he knew would do him little good.
“I see.” The druid boy met the warlock’s eyes. “Then I suppose there’s nothing more to say.”
“I suppose not... Goodbye, Mordred.” Mordred dipped his head once more.
“Farewell, Emrys. Until the next.” And he disappeared by magic, leaving Merlin alone in his moonlit room. Merlin resumed staring out the window, a small part of him questioning if he'd made the right choice.