Chapter Text
ACT VII
SCENE I
—First of March—
(The Infirmary)
Enter Arthur and Gaius and Guinevere.
When morning rose, life commenced as if it had not made an apocalyptic pause in the lives of the king and his former manservant. No sleep greeted them; no peace transpired. Arthur walked back to the castle, finding the destruction of the siege evident under the bright light of the sun. He couldn't even begin to surmise the loss it conveyed, despite the citadel withstanding. He could only breathe in the lie he uttered, and on the other side of the castle, Merlin couldn’t breathe at all.
Arthur walked to the infirmary, finding it measurably quieter than he had last seen it. It was not as crowded as it painfully was the previous night; rather, it only held a handful of people, all solemn looking or resting. In the corner of the room, he saw Gaius, sitting beside a resting Elyan and looking around him, the traces of old age evident, wearing him down. Only Gwen was by his side, and Arthur didn’t know what ached more; Merlin’s absence, or the reason behind why he must be.
He moved silently towards them, the floor stones suddenly resembling eggshells, making him tread on tiptoes he long lost. When he reached them, Gaius nodded in his direction curtly. It was what Arthur grew up knowing translated as silent disappointment in the old man’s gaze. He couldn’t even aspire for otherwise.
“How are you, Gaius, Guinevere?” he asked, looking between them and just internally glad to find them unscathed. God, he couldn’t take it if he loses anymore. He couldn’t.
“We’re well, sire.” Gaius responded, and Gwen only nodded, busy stroking her brother’s hair so softly. “We’ve finished patching up everyone. I believe they just need a few days rest and their wounds will heal.”
Arthur nodded, glad and afraid at the same time. He saw enough bodies laid at the corner of the infirmary to know that there was so much blood spilled yesterday; all of it staining the back of his hands, all of it taking permanent residence there, never leaving. “How many, Gaius?” he ended up voicing out loud, wishing it held a shred of his kingly tone, not as small as it sounded in his head.
Gaius didn’t immediately answer. It was as if he was considering whether Arthur was in a state to be told or not, and if Arthur was the man he once was before, he could have been offended. Yet now? Now Arthur knew the subtle show of kindness it was.
It was Guinevere, with a tone mirroring his own regality, that responded.
“Enough to know that it was a mistake distrusting Merlin, my Lord.”
And Arthur could have broke there and again just from that. Of course it was a mistake. Of course every step he was taking was a cruel fallacy. Of course he would keep regretting it until the moment he succumbs to well-needed rest.
Arthur nodded at her with the grace of understanding he was being reproached. Just the fact that Gwen would call him by his title was indication enough of the admonishment, and he couldn’t help but acquiesce internally. It seemed that in his damning feud shaping his life with Merlin, he was losing everyone in between. It seemed fair.
“Will Elyan be alright?” he finally asked, and Guinevere gazed at him like she was trying to figure him out for the first time in their whole lifetime. It grieved Arthur how she was falling short, how she was unable to see the memories rolling over his every waking day. How could he blame her, though? No one else was to blame.
“He will.” she affirmed, and then tilted her head in veiled concern. “Will you?”
Arthur couldn’t respond. Of course she would still see past his façades, no matter how articulately crafted they are. It was Guinevere, after all; the kindest woman he had ever met; the one who taught him the way to open the locked door of his heart, and let it for once beat freely for the man he loved.
It was Guinevere after all.
“I’ll see you in the council chamber, my Lady.”
As Arthur left the room, he thought how he would rather break that door to his heart from its hinges.
SCENE II
(Throne Room)
Enter Arthur and the council members.
When Arthur left the infirmary and headed to his chambers, it was a journey that required a lot of strength; undoubtedly more than it took him to thwart a siege. The way to the council chamber, however, was worse: dread rattled right through his chest.
As soon as Arthur opened the door to the throne room that held all his tidings as king, he found all his knights and council members; debris-free yet with eyes haunted from a night so traumatic it reverberated against the hall. They were all seated across the round table that insinuated fairness and justice, waiting for him to arrive. A few seats were empty, reminding him bitterly of those injured in his name, along with a particular seat that Arthur had decreed so many years ago to remain empty until it was time to be claimed, never telling people who it was assigned for. Looking at it now, though, was a stab through his chest.
Arthur entered alone; no Merlin, the armour of Arthur’s heart, trailing after. It was indication enough of the gruesome life his has turned out to be. Still, he carried himself with an air of coldness completely unprecedented to that of his usual warmth. It sent a shiver to the spines of those who noticed.
Arthur looked around momentarily, finding the hall untouched. It was almost ironic; how not a single arrow entered that chamber; how it was left unmarred by death or misery. But now, as he strode to his chair with destruction in the forefront of his mind, he knew he would bring it onto the place from a different direction. Now, the council chamber was to become grounds for war more than the previous day was.
He moved until he reached his place beside Guinevere, not able to truly look at her once more. The entire council followed him with their eyes, all in apprehension of his words that would conclude their losses. No one, however, expected an onslaught. No one expected a façade of the king they knew.
With burdened solemnity, Arthur began to speak.
“As we’re gathered now, Gaius is tending to tens of injured knights and townspeople. They all suffered so greatly, and we must take a moment to pause for the noble ones that didn’t survive the night.”
Heads bowed down, primarily Arthur’s, they all felt the silence of the dead weighing down on them. The pyres weren’t yet lit, but the room smelled of remnant ash.
“Today,” Arthur resumed, looking across his round table to the knights that were more family than his actual blood ever were. “We do not just mourn yesterday’s losses, but we mourn the ill-mannered actions that brought us to it. I will not hide the truth of the siege, because I as good as brought it on us.” He stopped momentarily, inhaling a breath that only a few saw how in need he was of it. Yet, Arthur’s face didn’t show any desperation. He only continued in his rigid, kingly voice, “Had I heeded a warning I received a bit earlier, Camelot wouldn’t have faced what it did yesterday. I hope, in time, you have it in yourselves to forgive me, but rest assured that I will never present myself with that same forgiveness.”
Before these words of self-reproach would sink into the council members, however, Arthur deviated from the conversation, his voice suddenly turning cold; veiled poison dripped from his tongue, and all were forced to taste it. “Yet, as a king, I learned the hard way that in times of war, we must listen to our orders to try and save everyone, including ourselves. I regret to say I did not find this yesterday.”
A chill ran along the chamber; it was not from the disastrous winter they were facing. It was one barely ever felt in this room, ill-omened and speaking of hard-truthed bane.
“Rise, sir Leon,” Arthur said in monotonous volume, and the First Knight stood without hesitation. The entire room held itself differently. Without any lingering, without even trying to preface his words, Arthur immediately said, “You disobeyed me,” and its coldness carried far and far. “I told you to station all knights of the round table in the citadel and stop them from following me, and yet you explicitly gave my direction away.”
“My Lord—” Leon began but was shortly cut off by Arthur.
“Do you not think I am fit to lead, sir Leon?” he asked, quizzical in a manner that meant he really wished for him to agree.
“Never, my Lord,” Leon defended– himself or his king? They all knew.
Leon looked straight at his king, trying to figure him out. But at that moment, when Leon looked at Arthur, he did not find his friend in those blue-rippled eyes: something cold ran in him as he gazed into a mirror of Uther’s eyes.
“Yet you disobeyed me.” Arthur said with an unsparing edge to his voice. “I told you not to divulge my plan to any knight of Camelot. I told you to stay away.”
“He did not disobey you,” a voice rang from behind, startling everyone from the intensity of the scene. Everyone looked at the door to find Merlin stepping into the light, making himself visible, coming to stand by Leon’s side, not Arthur’s. The look he gave Arthur mirrored nothing but downhill destruction. “He didn’t tell any knight where you were.”
“He told you,” Arthur replied, cold as he can muster, face blank and bleak. The rest of the council were evidently confused, unable to connect the line blaring right in front of them.
“I am not a knight of Camelot.” Merlin said tersely, crossing his arms and holding his head up. They could fight however much they want, but not when others’ fates are involved. He could take Arthur’s ire, but would always reject it when directed at others. And Leon, out of everyone, least deserved such a treatment, not when Arthur was in the abysmal danger he was in, not even after Arthur’s last words to him that shattered his heart beyond repair.
But it only worked in stealing away the coldness on Arthur’s features, replacing it with sudden wrath that was unexplainable. “And I am not a child that you manoeuvre around, I am your king!” Arthur shouted, triggered without a trigger, voice echoing. It seemed to reverberate inside Arthur’s void most of all.
This echo, however, didn’t linger with the close knights: the absurdity that they had been enduring from Arthur finally cracked, revealing a defiance well-placed, unable to stay silent as they saw Arthur's gut wrenching treatment to Merlin firsthand; unable to watch his dismissal of Leon’s actions this easily; ready with hurtling responses on the tip of their tongues.
“What did you want them to do? Sit back idly and watch your suicide mission?” Elyan was the first to intervene from his chair, still hurt from yesterday’s wound yet present and ready to defend. Arthur wasn’t there back then to see the desperation on Leon’s face as he was stricken with worry for his king. That was no way to repay him, and with cracked fury he continued, “You could have died, Arthur.”
“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” Arthur remarked bitterly, looking at Elyan who was quick to judge without knowing, just like they all did. “Merlin would have brought me back anyway, regardless of what I wanted.”
And that was Arthur’s easiest way for the knights to turn on him, and for the rest to understand.
“That’s enough, Arthur,” Gwen said sharply, and like the queen she was, her command was heard. “You’re being cruel. We don’t ever allow this to be the premise that holds us together. How can you even say this?”
“You don’t understand anything,” Arthur resumed bitterly, not looking at her, not looking at any of them. “You think you know him more than I do, but you don’t.”
“You’re right; we don’t.” Percival intervened, and Arthur was hopeful for a minute to hear a voice of reason. Everyone turned to gaze at him, but his eyes were fixed on Arthur, wise and determined. “Because Merlin never told us, Arthur, because he was too busy giving his entire life for your castle, for you over and over again. He never burdened us with what he carried, and now you’re just dismissing him so utterly.”
And with that, Arthur stood up, abandoning Percival’s words and raising his tone to a clear and concise one that sent shivers down even his own spine. “Sir Leon, you have abandoned your post and disobeyed direct orders. For this, you are dismissed from your position as First Knight and your knighthood will be on temporary hold until I decide otherwise.”
“Arthur—” Lancelot intervened sharply from Gwen’s side, standing immediately, his face stricken with utter disbelief.
But Arthur gave him no chance. “One more word from anyone and I will permanently relieve him of his duties.”
The whole table fell into morbid silence, everyone looking at their king disbelievingly. Never had Arthur once abused his rank or claimed the stakes of hierarchy no matter how much they joked on it. Never had he made anyone feel that they were not equals. Yet now, they only heard as the king ended up saying, “There will not be a replacement for the First Knight position. I will set up a plan for the rebuilding that will take place in the next few days. Council dismissed.”
As Arthur left the room, he left it behind in tatters.
Scene III
(Throne Room)
Enter Merlin and the knights of the round table.
These tatters, it seemed, manifested in the knights trying to hold back Gwaine from following Arthur.
Because as soon as Arthur left, Gwaine bolted right after him. That in itself was a call for disaster, which is why Percival and Lancelot immediately caught him, blocking his pursuit.
“Step away,” Gwaine shouted, consumed by all the righteous anger that fueled him every time he saw Merlin. This time though, seeing Arthur’s sick treatment enacted in front of everyone, delivering them all pain on Merlin’s behalf, he lost it.
“You’ll kill him if we do.” Percival murmured as he held him from behind, barricading him with his hands on Gwaine’s chest. In another circ*mstance, Gwaine would’ve been distracted by just the mere closeness.
“You bet as hell I will.” he snarled as he co*cked his head to look at Percival, not intending it to the face of his beloved or any of the people present, but wishing his words were carried throughout the castle walls until they reached Arthur’s wailing ears.
“You’ll be giving him a way out.” Lancelot said in unfamiliar mock derision from where he stood in front of Gwaine. He, too, could not believe Arthur’s actions. Still, he was never able to show the man anything but loyalty. He glanced back at Merlin for a second, finding his gaze unfocused and immeasurably sad, and quickly resumed his argument with Gwaine just for Merlin's sake. “Let him be, Gwaine. We’ll figure something out.”
And Gwaine, flamed up as he was, clenched his jaw, letting out a breath of unrestrained wrath, and collecting himself. “Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll just go talk to him.”
“Gwaine,” Percival began, alarmed, but Gwaine looked at him genuinely and held his arm in return.
“I promise, I won’t do anything.” Gwaine said collectedly. His entire physique echoed the sincerity in his words. “I will only talk.”
Percival nodded. No one, after all, knew more than he did when Gwaine was being sincere. And with that, he let go of him, signalling to Lancelot to step aside as well.
And Gwaine left.
No sooner than he did did Merlin snap out of his daze, following Leon out of the door, cane miserably clicking around him.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin began when it was just the two of them, eyes lingering with a sadness well-etched within. “I didn’t think he would ever take it out on you.”
Leon smiled sadly. Of course Merlin would apologise even though he single-handedly saved them last night. Leon hadn’t even come to understand the true depth of Merlin’s loyalty, just figuring out his magic in Camlann like the rest did, but he still felt that he owed him the world. “You have absolutely nothing to apologise for, Merlin.”
“He’s punishing you on my behalf.” Merlin murmured resignedly, and Leon did not feel as much sadness from Arthur disentitling him like he felt now for this expression on Merlin’s face.
“He’s punishing me because he doesn’t trust us, Merlin.” Leon said simply, plain and clear.
Merlin startled from the response, reverting to his definitive position of trying to defend Arthur. It was the solid rock he always leaned on, and now it felt too thin from the ware. “He didn’t mistrust you, he thought—”
“He no longer trusts anyone, Merlin,” Leon told him, mournful of this fact he has been trying for weeks to deny. “And I wish I could blame you for it, but how could I when you gave him the world?”
Merlin felt like he got slapped. He should’ve felt relieved from these words of comfort, but it only made him want to tear up even more. This divided sort of loyalty was not what he wanted; never what he wanted. They all ever belonged to Arthur, and that was the only inevitable truth.
Leon looked at him in remorse, a look that closely rivalled Merlin’s own. “Look, Merlin,” he sighed, and for the first time Merlin was struck by the realisation of how old Leon was. “There is no knight who loves Arthur more than I. I have seen him in his youngest and in his eldest. I have borne witness to every part of his life, Merlin, and I’m telling you; this way he is taking will lead us to nothing but destruction. Do you not see how close we were to having our citadel, our entire lives ruined, just because Arthur didn’t trust you? And not that I love Arthur less, but I love Camelot more.”
As Leon retreated, Merlin wanted nothing more than to wail and scream, I love him more than Camelot and the world’s entirety.
SCENE IV
(Castle Hallway)
Enter Arthur and Gwaine.
“Just who do you think you are exactly?”
Gwaine’s voice rang like a force not to be tampered with behind Arthur as he was about to turn to the hallway leading to his room. Arthur was not surprised that it was Gwaine, out of everyone, who followed him in hot-headed anger. Arthur knew he deserved it, but he didn’t have the energy for it.
“I am your king,” Arthur repeated his words, cold but actually drained, not even troubling himself to look back at his trailing knight. It angered Gwaine even more.
“Not with these decisions you’re making, you’re not.” Gwaine said as he closed on Arthur, reaching an equal footing of steps but not one of position. For the first time since they returned from Camlann, Gwaine addressed Arthur. He was previously held back by Percival and the others, reasonably telling him to give Arthur time to process his grief, telling him that he didn’t need to hear the bashing he rightfully deserved for the way he treated Merlin, that Arthur would inevitably come to his senses because it was Merlin, the love of his life. And unwillingly, Gwaine did, always remembering how much he believed in Arthur and trusted him. How he saw him different from all nobles he had ever met. How he saw him royal not just in title but in heart.
But now? He was neither.
“A dozen dead, tens injured, and who is that on? It’s on you.” Gwaine said, fury blazing his features, pointing all fingers of blame on Arthur along with a literal one jabbing itself on Arthur’s chest. “If it weren’t for Merlin—”
“Then go bow to him and leave me be, Gwaine.” Arthur said, desensitised from the whole ordeal.
“How can you be this blind?” Gwaine asked him incredulously, eyes widening measurably. “He doesn’t do any of this for glory’s sake. He does it for yours, Arthur!”
“I never asked him to.” Arthur replied, cold and collected in a way that didn’t even seem genuine to being cold or collected.
“You are past reasoning,” Gwaine shook his head in real disdain. “The citadel was attacked, and you can’t even man up because of your petty grudge against Merlin? Who, mind you, nearly died yesterday.” he shouted, and it had the desired effect of Arthur stilling. It made Gwaine scoff even more. “Did you even bother to see how he looked, or were you too occupied by your little stroll away from the castle?”
“Go away, Gwaine.” Arthur said dismissively, his throat hiding the gulp it desperately needed to take by turning away and opening the door to his chamber. “Go away and for once leave me be.”
But Gwaine didn’t. He couldn’t, really, not when everything Arthur ever stood for was crumbling right in front of his eyes. He couldn’t understand Arthur. For the first time in years, he couldn’t decipher anything the king did or said. It confused him so, because it didn’t sound like Arthur — it didn’t feel like him.
“Talk to me, Arthur.” Gwaine said at last, easing the edge of anger to make it border on compassion, desperate to understand the man he gave his service for. He held onto Arthur’s arm gently, wretchedly: the last chance he could possibly give. “What is going on with you? How can you stand and watch him fade away?” he whispered, disbelief splitting his face, sculpting him right then and there.
And if Arthur was honest, if he had let just a shred of actual honesty to even linger an infinitesimal moment on his face, Gwaine would have heard and seen Arthur’s ache, loud and clear.
I can’t.
But instead, Arthur replied with the most numbing nonchalance he ever exuded; the words that his father once advised him about Merlin coming to him, lest he only listened.
“I don’t look.”
Exit Arthur, air echoing hurt.
-
SCENE V
(The Physician’s Chambers)
Enter Merlin and Gwaine.
It didn’t take Merlin long to leave the throne room behind; no time at all to leave one misery and go to the other. Merlin walked outside to the courtyard leading to his tower, letting Leon’s words echo on the trails following him, despair filling him from how it all crumbled like clockwork, like a fallen destiny.
Would you rather a cruel destiny than a merciful one?
It split Merlin right then and there. He knew now what his father had alluded to, what he tried to save Merlin from, what he must have known would happen if Merlin messed with the scales of the world.
And yet, he will be damned, but he would still go back and do the same thing if needed.
And at that moment, Merlin knew he would love Arthur in eternal repetition.
Just a few minutes after he had entered, finding the tower empty since Gaius was still in the infirmary tending to the people, the door burst opened with a force that seemed miserable more than it was tempered.
“That’s it,” Merlin heard Gwaine say as he entered and strode past him to his own chambers. Confusion lit Merlin’s eyes as he followed him. When he entered, he saw Gwaine opening his wardrobe, picking up his shirts and throwing them on his bed mindlessly. As if he was… packing?
“Gwaine, what are you..”
“We cannot wait one more goddamn minute here if I have to avoid regicide.”
“Gwaine—”
“How dare he do this to you after everything you’ve done?” Gwaine muttered to himself, enraged and unfocused on anything but his task. “Ignorant, I can get it, but this cruel and merciless? ”
“Gwaine,” Merlin repeated this time forcefully, resignedly. Gwaine looked at him, and the light that he had always associated with Merlin’s eyes was not there anymore. “I'm not going anywhere.”
“No Merlin, you are.” Gwaine responded vigorously, dead serious to the world that he would abandon everything just to save Merlin from this misery. “I am getting you out of this hellhole.”
“I can’t, Gwaine.” Merlin said, shaking his head resignedly. The tears that were holding themselves back still from what Arthur hurled on him yesterday were trying so adamantly to break free. He felt like it was all gone anyway; his truth, his destiny, his love. Why even bother fighting for anything otherwise, when the air he always breathed in Arthur’s name had no room left for him? It felt like standing on an altar he was long rejected from. “It’s his hellhole. Everything that is me belongs to him, whether he wants it or not. Whether I want it or not.”
“He doesn’t deserve it, Merlin.” Gwaine nearly gnarled in agony, sick of seeing the ruinous effect of what Arthur was doing on his closest friend. And Merlin could only remember his father once more, the same words uttered in painful repetition. “I would kill him for what he’s doing to you, Merlin. I would set this land ablaze if he doesn’t stop burning your heart for what you do not deserve.”
Merlin leaned back on his cane, closing his eyes in tormented misery. Just like with Leon, Merlin hated to see the knots between their family falling apart. It wasn’t even just about Arthur anymore, but about keeping them together, solid like they always were. Yet, with every word he said, with every step forward trying to overcome this, he felt rolling back with a boulder on his shoulder, driving him insane with trial. Maybe he did deserve being burnt for not keeping them together. Maybe the pyre was always his destiny, not Arthur.
“Are you joking right now?” Gwaine asked incredulously, and Merlin startled as he realised he said the words out loud. The fury his eyes held for Merlin’s sake burned Merlin right through. “You of all people know the extent of your sacrifices for him to just stay alive. You made him king. You made him the person he is now. The fact that he’s too much of a miser to look past your means solidifies how he wasn’t worth it in the first place.”
But Merlin could only smile sadly. It didn’t reach even one side of his lip. “You know he is, Gwaine. You know he will always be.”
“What I do know is that he is hurting you, and there is no king worthy of that.”
And at that moment, all Merlin could remember was Will’s words instead; not his father, not Gwaine, but just a saying uttered once in the void, the wind carrying it back now.
Why dwell on kings who never dwell on you?
It felt like a mockery from the dead.
And with distant eyes looking far away to the direction that carried Will’s words to Merlin, Gwaine ended the conversation for them, finalising it, gathering all facts in one line, coalescing all stars in one orbit.
“I will not watch you fade away.”
Exit Gwaine, plan set in motion.
