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archaeologist_dChapter 6
Wanting to cry or rage or deny everything he'd been told, instead he just stood there and watched the water lapping at the rocks. He felt numb, confused, furious. Told to make a new life but how could he do that when his life had been Arthur's from the day they met?
Were they even telling the truth? Was Arthur alive or was this some kind of sick game that they were playing in revenge for what he'd done to the Sidhe over the years? They were tricksters after all. But still, could he even defy them? If Arthur's life was in the balance, could he take the risk? Would he?
He must have stood there for a lifetime. When he finally blinked and looked down at his pained wrists, he realised that he'd been trying to rub off the marks all that time. His skin was roughened, almost raw, bleeding in spots where his nails had dug into his flesh but the symbols remained, untouched.
In that moment, he knew he was trapped. As surely as if they'd really taken his life. Trapped by promises, trapped by fear, trapped by destiny.
Shaking off the increasing frustration, he knew he needed to find out just how much of what they said was true. And if — when he found out that Arthur was alive, then he'd figure out what to do. Until then, all this worry was just making him confused.
Arthur had to be his first priority.
With that, he started off again towards the place where the trail of light he'd conjured had indicated Arthur might be. Walking along the lake shore, picking his way carefully through the woods, the mist rising out of the water glowed faintly in the moonlight and it gave him enough light to see.
For a while, the Sidhe had distracted him with their threats and portends but now he would not be diverted again.
But as he walked toward whatever fate had handed him, his thoughts returned to Gwynn's dire warnings. A new life. It didn't make sense at all. They must have known that he would be in a much better position to get Arthur to change the magic laws as Merlin — unless they really didn't trust him to do it.
To his shame, they had a point. Arthur had always come first, and even now his focus was on making sure Arthur was alright, not that magic would be brought back, or that others would be safe, but that his friend, his king lived.
Was this really about punishing Merlin for his transgressions or was it about making sure he couldn't slip back into old habits?
He couldn't get the thought out of his head. He was still mulling it over when he turned the corner to find Arthur about to light a pyre.
For one brief moment, his joy was incandescent.
Arthur was alive. The Sidhe hadn't lied.
Arthur looked drawn and unhappy, his eyes, even at this distance, reddened with misery. But alive, and for that, Merlin was almost ecstatic with relief.
Merlin's first thought was to run to him, to give him the hug that Arthur always denied wanting but always clung to when given half a chance, to babble his elation with nonsense words and laughter and tears.
Then he remembered the Sidhe's warning. One slip and it would all be for nothing. He couldn't risk it, not after all they've been through. Arthur's life was worth more than Merlin's happiness. A momentary weakness, no matter how much he might want it, could destroy everything.
Besides he wasn't sure just how Arthur would greet him, would react to him wearing a stranger's face, or if he'd even let him get close. Would he know Merlin anyway, no matter what the transformation, or would he pull out Excalibur and threaten him, looking at him only as someone of magic and therefore not to be trusted? On an island full of sorcery, surrounded by the very thing that he'd been brought up to fear, hurting and alone, Arthur might react first and ask questions later.
He couldn't risk it, not now, perhaps not ever.
Drawing back behind the trees, his heart heavy as lead, Merlin watched his king mourning from afar.
The pyre was already growing higher, the flames licking at a body placed on top. The dead man was black-haired, covered in a worn brown jacket all too familiar and wearing boots with too many buckles. He looked like… Merlin hadn't thought it possible but the body looked like Merlin.
How the Sidhe had managed to find a corpse similar enough to fool Arthur into thinking it was him was unbelievable - or perhaps not. They were capable of many things, even transforming one thing into another. It might not be a body at all, merely a spell to trick the eye.
They were clever, too, understanding more than they would seem. They must have known that if Merlin's body disappeared once he had died, Arthur would have thought it a trick and would never have stopped looking for him.
But giving his body to the flames would placate Arthur, would make him think that Merlin was truly gone. And he would be highly suspicious of anyone who looked or claimed to be Merlin if he suddenly showed up in Camelot, alive, smiling, eager for a joyous reunion.
Yes, the Sidhe had planned it well.
But none of it seemed to matter to Arthur. Standing there, he looked shattered, as if watching Merlin burn was killing him, too.
Hurting just to see it, Merlin wanted so much to comfort Arthur that it was almost a physical ache. But all he could do was stand there and watch as Arthur stared into the fire, clutching Merlin's ragged neckerchief to his chest, tears streaking his face.
For a while it was quiet enough, just the crackle of flames destroying what was left of Merlin's image and the sputter-hiss of logs giving in to the heat. Arthur was silent, except for the occasional hitched breath.
But then he gave a little shudder. Wiping at his eyes, sounding both furious and devastated, Arthur said, "You are an idiot, you know. I told you that often enough and this just confirms it. You had no right to give up your life for mine, not without asking my permission first. I'm your king and you are supposed to do what I say, not just any damn thing your thick, confused cabbage-head comes up with."
Still clutching the scarf against his chest, looking as if he didn't dare let it go for fear of losing it, nevertheless something changed. He began pacing back and forth, his other hand clenched into a fist, punching at the air, and once in a while, he'd kick out at whatever still-burning log dared to cross his path.
"I'm furious with you, leaving me like this. I can't even shout at you for lying to me for all those years." Another log, another swift kick and it tumbled off into the grass, smouldering. Arthur looked at it for a moment, scowling, shaking his head in infuriated disbelief. "Yes, I understand it but I don't, not really. How you could look at me and lie to me so easily. And I was the damn fool who believed every stupid thing you ever told me. How you must have laughed every time I fell for it. What an idiot I was. To believe you."
Arthur stopped pacing, stared into the fire, watching whatever was left of the body fall into the coals and disappear. Even from Merlin's vantage point, he could see Arthur's jaw working and the scowl on his face was bitter-sharp.
"I want you back so that I can yell at you and scream and punch you in your stupid face for the lying and then throw you in the dungeons for a year. Not for the magic — although what were you thinking? You’ve seen how magic destroys everything it touches. But the lying. Yeah, lying to me like that hurts like hell.”
Pausing, he closed his eyes a moment, then staring back into the flames, endless regret in his eyes. “As for everything else, I want you back so that I can give you that hug that you always wanted and I could never allow myself to give before."
Shaking his head, wiping absentmindedly at his face, Arthur said, "Because you were an idiot and so was I and between us, we made a pair of them." He huddled inward then, shoulders slumping in defeat, and as he looked down at Merlin's scarf clutched in his fist, he whispered, "We made a pair."
Merlin couldn't stand it. To see Arthur in so much pain was almost too much. He had to do something before his heart broke all over again.
But before he could step forward out of the shadows, a tiny voice echoed in his head, sounding like remarkably like Gwynn's. "Must you fail your people in the first hour, Emrys?"
Merlin hissed out, "He's in pain."
"And we have been in pain for decades." Even as a disembodied voice, the Sidhe were not above threats. "Choose wisely, Emrys. His life hangs by a thread."
He didn't know what to do. He wanted to go to Arthur; everything in him was pushing forward, urging him to take that first step, to be whatever Arthur needed him to be. But he couldn't. He couldn't do that.
With tears strangling his throat, he stumbled away, then turned and fled.
He didn't look back.
Chapter 7
Wanting to cry or rage or deny everything he'd been told, instead he just stood there and watched the water lapping at the rocks. He felt numb, confused, furious. Told to make a new life but how could he do that when his life had been Arthur's from the day they met?
Were they even telling the truth? Was Arthur alive or was this some kind of sick game that they were playing in revenge for what he'd done to the Sidhe over the years? They were tricksters after all. But still, could he even defy them? If Arthur's life was in the balance, could he take the risk? Would he?
He must have stood there for a lifetime. When he finally blinked and looked down at his pained wrists, he realised that he'd been trying to rub off the marks all that time. His skin was roughened, almost raw, bleeding in spots where his nails had dug into his flesh but the symbols remained, untouched.
In that moment, he knew he was trapped. As surely as if they'd really taken his life. Trapped by promises, trapped by fear, trapped by destiny.
Shaking off the increasing frustration, he knew he needed to find out just how much of what they said was true. And if — when he found out that Arthur was alive, then he'd figure out what to do. Until then, all this worry was just making him confused.
Arthur had to be his first priority.
With that, he started off again towards the place where the trail of light he'd conjured had indicated Arthur might be. Walking along the lake shore, picking his way carefully through the woods, the mist rising out of the water glowed faintly in the moonlight and it gave him enough light to see.
For a while, the Sidhe had distracted him with their threats and portends but now he would not be diverted again.
But as he walked toward whatever fate had handed him, his thoughts returned to Gwynn's dire warnings. A new life. It didn't make sense at all. They must have known that he would be in a much better position to get Arthur to change the magic laws as Merlin — unless they really didn't trust him to do it.
To his shame, they had a point. Arthur had always come first, and even now his focus was on making sure Arthur was alright, not that magic would be brought back, or that others would be safe, but that his friend, his king lived.
Was this really about punishing Merlin for his transgressions or was it about making sure he couldn't slip back into old habits?
He couldn't get the thought out of his head. He was still mulling it over when he turned the corner to find Arthur about to light a pyre.
For one brief moment, his joy was incandescent.
Arthur was alive. The Sidhe hadn't lied.
Arthur looked drawn and unhappy, his eyes, even at this distance, reddened with misery. But alive, and for that, Merlin was almost ecstatic with relief.
Merlin's first thought was to run to him, to give him the hug that Arthur always denied wanting but always clung to when given half a chance, to babble his elation with nonsense words and laughter and tears.
Then he remembered the Sidhe's warning. One slip and it would all be for nothing. He couldn't risk it, not after all they've been through. Arthur's life was worth more than Merlin's happiness. A momentary weakness, no matter how much he might want it, could destroy everything.
Besides he wasn't sure just how Arthur would greet him, would react to him wearing a stranger's face, or if he'd even let him get close. Would he know Merlin anyway, no matter what the transformation, or would he pull out Excalibur and threaten him, looking at him only as someone of magic and therefore not to be trusted? On an island full of sorcery, surrounded by the very thing that he'd been brought up to fear, hurting and alone, Arthur might react first and ask questions later.
He couldn't risk it, not now, perhaps not ever.
Drawing back behind the trees, his heart heavy as lead, Merlin watched his king mourning from afar.
The pyre was already growing higher, the flames licking at a body placed on top. The dead man was black-haired, covered in a worn brown jacket all too familiar and wearing boots with too many buckles. He looked like… Merlin hadn't thought it possible but the body looked like Merlin.
How the Sidhe had managed to find a corpse similar enough to fool Arthur into thinking it was him was unbelievable - or perhaps not. They were capable of many things, even transforming one thing into another. It might not be a body at all, merely a spell to trick the eye.
They were clever, too, understanding more than they would seem. They must have known that if Merlin's body disappeared once he had died, Arthur would have thought it a trick and would never have stopped looking for him.
But giving his body to the flames would placate Arthur, would make him think that Merlin was truly gone. And he would be highly suspicious of anyone who looked or claimed to be Merlin if he suddenly showed up in Camelot, alive, smiling, eager for a joyous reunion.
Yes, the Sidhe had planned it well.
But none of it seemed to matter to Arthur. Standing there, he looked shattered, as if watching Merlin burn was killing him, too.
Hurting just to see it, Merlin wanted so much to comfort Arthur that it was almost a physical ache. But all he could do was stand there and watch as Arthur stared into the fire, clutching Merlin's ragged neckerchief to his chest, tears streaking his face.
For a while it was quiet enough, just the crackle of flames destroying what was left of Merlin's image and the sputter-hiss of logs giving in to the heat. Arthur was silent, except for the occasional hitched breath.
But then he gave a little shudder. Wiping at his eyes, sounding both furious and devastated, Arthur said, "You are an idiot, you know. I told you that often enough and this just confirms it. You had no right to give up your life for mine, not without asking my permission first. I'm your king and you are supposed to do what I say, not just any damn thing your thick, confused cabbage-head comes up with."
Still clutching the scarf against his chest, looking as if he didn't dare let it go for fear of losing it, nevertheless something changed. He began pacing back and forth, his other hand clenched into a fist, punching at the air, and once in a while, he'd kick out at whatever still-burning log dared to cross his path.
"I'm furious with you, leaving me like this. I can't even shout at you for lying to me for all those years." Another log, another swift kick and it tumbled off into the grass, smouldering. Arthur looked at it for a moment, scowling, shaking his head in infuriated disbelief. "Yes, I understand it but I don't, not really. How you could look at me and lie to me so easily. And I was the damn fool who believed every stupid thing you ever told me. How you must have laughed every time I fell for it. What an idiot I was. To believe you."
Arthur stopped pacing, stared into the fire, watching whatever was left of the body fall into the coals and disappear. Even from Merlin's vantage point, he could see Arthur's jaw working and the scowl on his face was bitter-sharp.
"I want you back so that I can yell at you and scream and punch you in your stupid face for the lying and then throw you in the dungeons for a year. Not for the magic — although what were you thinking? You’ve seen how magic destroys everything it touches. But the lying. Yeah, lying to me like that hurts like hell.”
Pausing, he closed his eyes a moment, then staring back into the flames, endless regret in his eyes. “As for everything else, I want you back so that I can give you that hug that you always wanted and I could never allow myself to give before."
Shaking his head, wiping absentmindedly at his face, Arthur said, "Because you were an idiot and so was I and between us, we made a pair of them." He huddled inward then, shoulders slumping in defeat, and as he looked down at Merlin's scarf clutched in his fist, he whispered, "We made a pair."
Merlin couldn't stand it. To see Arthur in so much pain was almost too much. He had to do something before his heart broke all over again.
But before he could step forward out of the shadows, a tiny voice echoed in his head, sounding like remarkably like Gwynn's. "Must you fail your people in the first hour, Emrys?"
Merlin hissed out, "He's in pain."
"And we have been in pain for decades." Even as a disembodied voice, the Sidhe were not above threats. "Choose wisely, Emrys. His life hangs by a thread."
He didn't know what to do. He wanted to go to Arthur; everything in him was pushing forward, urging him to take that first step, to be whatever Arthur needed him to be. But he couldn't. He couldn't do that.
With tears strangling his throat, he stumbled away, then turned and fled.
He didn't look back.
Chapter 7
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