Camelot Enterprise: A Contemporary Arthurian Epic

by GR Griffin

  Wearily, Arthur pushed the blade back into his belt, turning to Merlin desperately. Realisation flooded over him, the demonic rage that had possessed him faded. His eyes darted towards the reddened wrist, then to those watery eyes and guilt consumed him. Then shameless need for Merlin washed over him. He was a fool to have pushed him away. Merlin was right, as usual. He should have listened to him. After how appallingly he had treated the druid, he had still risked his life for him by entering Camelot Base to come and talk sense into him.

  Shaken, Arthur stared at Merlin blankly, unsure what exactly to feel or to say. All feelings were stripped from him. Merlin effortlessly skimmed through the emotions battling savagely inside Arthur. He could see it all, the turmoil he felt for what he had done, what he had almost done, for everything he hadn’t done. Turmoil for everything he could’ve done to protect the druids, or should’ve done because the whole concept of druid containment and magical extraction was wrong, or everything he would’ve already done if he’d known any better. Smiling gently, Merlin lowered his palm and extended it towards Arthur kindly.

  “Arthur, let’s go.”

  Let’s go. Let’s go back. Back home. Ealdor. Merlin. Yes. Needed home. Needed Ealdor…needs Merlin. Needs Merlin more than ever before. Arthur gazed back at his father, eyes wide and face grim. Not bothering to bid farewell, or part with his father on any kind of terms, the blonde met Merlin’s eyes and nodded fiercely. Morgana took a step forward, eyes glistening pleadingly. Don’t leave me here. Never in her life had she felt so distant to her closet friend, so alien and awkward. The sight of him scared her. She’d never seen him like this. Whatever Uther had done, it must have been horrific. One thing she knew for sure, she didn’t want to stay here anymore. She felt isolated, alone. Leon was becoming more distant, Gwaine and Lance spent more and more time in Ealdor each day, and she barely saw Arthur. Arthur, dazed, latched onto her sad eyes hazily and felt his words trip over themselves in exhaustion.

  “I…m b’ck fooooor yoo. ‘romise.”

  Hurrying over to support a shaky Arthur, Merlin turned to the distraught woman in an apologetic manner, drenched in a plea for her to understand. He knew she would not. How could she? She knew little of the events unfolding. If she did, he feared he would be fighting off two Pendragon’s trying to kill their father. Morgana bit her lip nervously and sighed, leaning towards Arthur in concern. A sharp pain singed her mind, the assuring voice of Merlin echoed through her tingling body.

  I have to take him back Morgana, I’m sorry. But remember you are never alone. Arthur cares a great deal for you, I care for you. When Arthur is ready he will return and repair the damage inflicted by his father’s hand. We won’t leave you here. I promise we’ll be back.

  With that, Merlin’s eyes hastily lit up a brilliant gold, the surroundings around them shifting as they were pulled into the vortex of spinning colours and disorientating patterns. The frenzy possessing Arthur melted away, leaving him queasy, and weakened. His mind was reeling, head spinning. The events surged brutally round his head, each time new details added to the picture.

  Hear her. Follow her. Let’s go Arthur, let’s go. I will always be with you Arthur. Those that practice magic are evil. A life for a life. That was the price. I am your father. No longer his son. No. Dishonoured. Abandoned. Betrayal. I quit. No more of this shit. For good. Freedom. Don’t Arthur, don’t do it. Drop it. Don’t make me use my magic- enchanted. They’ve enchanted my son. Let go Arthur, let him go. Let us go. Don’t leave me here. Morgana. Sister. Abandoned. I’ll come back for you I promise. It hurts. He knows what he did to his mother. I know what he did to my mother. I fucking know what you did to my mother. Hypocrite. Liar. Let’s go. Let’s get out of here and into the safety of Ealdor. Home. Ealdor. Merlin. Go into the safety of Merlin. Merlin. Need Merlin. He needs Merlin. I need Merlin. Hurt Merlin. Hurt himself. Hurt all over.

  Bruised.

  Battered.

  Betrayed.

  Home. Ealdor. Merlin.

  Darkness. Blinding darkness. Pain. Hurt. So much of it.

  It hurts.

  And then it all stops.

  Chapter 33

  The sun was setting over Ealdor when Merlin arrived back with Arthur leaning limply against him, panting and mumbling complete gibberish. Well, not complete gibberish, some of it made perfect sense, and it was heart breaking to hear over and over again. Merlin didn’t realise that he was shaking, or about to blackout for that matter, until Gwaine, Lancelot and Gwen launched themselves in front of his face, clearly speaking to him. Blinking confusedly, Merlin stared at their concerned faces. It took a few seconds for sound to seep back into his ears. When it did, it was unpleasant to say the least. Merlin’s return had caused panic and anxiety within the settlement; all eyes were focused on Arthur Pendragon. Examining the blonde man, Gwaine turned to Merlin.

  “What happened to him?” he whispered urgently, gazing over to his childhood friend nervously. He’d never seen Arthur Pendragon like this.

  “Has he been injured?” Gwen shrieked at the same time Gwaine noted that their appeared to be no physical wounds on the exterior. He assumed if there was any chance of internal bleeding, Merlin would be significantly more freaked out than he was. He was almost trying to keep calm, but not for his own sake – for Arthur’s. None of this was reassuring. It suggested something worse than a mere physical injury or cut or something that could be healed. The implications of Arthur’s behaviour were severe, shocking.

  “Merlin.” Gwaine said insistently, nudging him forcefully for an answer because he couldn’t take the tension building up inside.

  Merlin pushed his way through the crowd, Lancelot and Gwaine acting as a barrier between them and the druids. Meeting Gwaine’s eyes, Merlin swallowed-hard and sighed. The look on his face said it all; he knew it did judging by the way Gwaine’s expression faltered and left behind an echo of worry.

  “It’s a long story.” Merlin replied.

  Narrowing his eyes, Gwaine noted the reluctance, the shock in Merlin’s own voice. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. And it wasn’t something that could be discussed out in the open if Merlin’s dangerous – and incredibly weary - look was anything to go by when he tried to pry for more than ‘it’s a long story’. Hunith and Balinor parted the crowd effortlessly, rushing towards their son and Arthur. Turning to his mother with sad, poignant eyes Merlin nodded at her. She clasped a hand to her mouth in comprehension, leaning towards Arthur soothingly. Merlin was glad Arthur was incoherent and almost unconscious; the last thing he needed was a replication of maternal love unintentionally thrust upon him. Balinor remained silent, studying the pair curiously. Then abruptly he hooked Arthur’s arm over his shoulder.

  “We need to get him somewhere quiet.” Merlin explained, no longer able to keep his resolve. “He needs to rest, so he can…be okay…he…he has to be okay….” He panicked, eyes wide and feigned calmness dissolving into chaos. Immediately Gwaine noticed this and took over from Merlin, helping Balinor move him as Merlin mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else.

  “It’s Arthur he’s always okay…not this time…Uther…Arthur.”

  Gwaine shot Gwen a look of apprehension; she returned a similar sentiment silently. Balinor and Gwaine carried Arthur into Merlin’s private room within the large tree hollow; Arthur groaned subconsciously, continuing to mumble. Distraught, Merlin trailed behind with tears in his eyes, Gwen rested a hand gently against the druid’s shoulder, and Hunith and Lancelot followed behind them. Everyone was too absorbed with Arthur’s wellbeing (and Merlin’s as his condition was starting to deteriorate) to notice the knowing flicker in Hunith’s eyes, the sympathy followed by a profound remorse. She shut the door behind her, allowing them to have privacy.

  Raking a hand through his hair, Merlin knelt by Arthur’s side, not realising rather aggressively he had rudely told everybody to back off and give them space until they were all staring at him in bewilderment, fear. Arthur was breathing at least, his heart
was thumping fast. His eyes were clamped shut, his body viciously twisting and turning as he called out. Reaching out hazily, Arthur found Merlin’s shoulder and gripped to it tightly, desperately.

  “Please,” he stuttered breathily. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave.” Inhaling a large gulp of air, he squeezed the shoulder. “M-…M-…Mother.”

  Merlin bowed his head in dejection,

  “He found her, then.” Hunith eventually said pensively, gazing over to her son.

  “His mother’s dead,” Gwaine exclaimed in surprise, eyes darting suspiciously between Hunith, Merlin and the feverish Arthur Pendragon. “She died in childbirth-”

  “-NO.” Arthur growled shakily, the fury in his voice terrifying. His body started to spasm, breathing erratic. Leaning towards the blonde man comfortingly, Merlin gently patted the sweaty brow, stroking the damp blonde fringe. He ignored the way everyone recoiled at the sudden shift in tension.

  “Shhh,” he cooed, voice laced in tears. “Rest now Arthur.” His eyes smouldered gold, and a few seconds later the blonde man seemed to relax, his body becoming motionless.

  “No…that’s not true.” Arthur muttered before completely fading into the world of sleep unwillingly.

  Nobody spoke. Gwaine and Lancelot shot Arthur confused and stunned stares; Gwen smiled weakly at Merlin, who clearly was just as tormented as Arthur but doing a far better job of controlling it right now. Turning to Balinor, ensuring to wipe his eyes, Merlin didn’t leave Arthur’s side.

  “Leave us.” He hissed, flinching at the way his tone sounded bitter, sinister.

  Of course Gwaine had to disobey his command, meddling for answers.

  “Merlin, what the hell happened-”

  “-Please.” Merlin’s quiet voice broke, revealing strain. “I will explain. But I….not right now.”

  Obediently, Gwen left the room in understanding; Lancelot swiftly copied her movements, sending one final fleeting look to Arthur. Hunith followed, gesturing for her husband to do the same. Gwaine inched closer to Merlin cautiously, showing no signs of leaving. Stubborn git. But then again, to his right-hand side Merlin established another person also remained; Balinor. When certain Arthur was asleep, and as sound as possible could be at this moment in time, Merlin turned to his father jadedly, acknowledging Gwaine quickly with a frown.

  “Uther Pendragon,” Merlin said slowly, spitting the name out with acrimony. “Called upon Nimueh (Balinor’s attention grew, his posture straightened at the name) to help Igraine conceive a child.” Pause. “She was infertile. Thus, Arthur was born of magic.”

  “The laws of the Old religion state that for a life to be given, one must be taken.” Balinor finished, supplying Gwaine with the information that made the whole story suddenly darker and more horrific than ever imagined. There was no doubt as to who had been sacrificed; Gwaine narrowed his eyes.

  “And Morgana,” unsure how to approach this subject, Merlin caressed the blonde locks tenderly. “Is the result of Uther’s infidelity.”

  Standing up, Gwaine rushed towards the door.

  “Bastard. I’ll run him through.” Merlin quickly held a palm up the door; it bolted itself shut frantically, an elaborate lock mechanism appearing over the handle. Glaring, Gwaine banged at the door.

  “You have no idea how shit Uther’s made his life. Ever since I met Arthur he was burdened with responsibilities, spoon-fed lies and destructive tales about magic.” Merlin hardly found this surprising; Balinor raised his eyebrows, studying Arthur with different, understanding eyes.

  “Perhaps we need to postpone Arthur’s Eftboren,” He admitted, watching the light deteriorate in Merlin’s eyes. “He is shaken with grief, turmoil.”

  “I disagree.” Merlin replied, words surprisingly even. His eyes darkened, realising the implications of postponing the ceremony. He and Arthur had worked damn hard for this. There was no way he was going to let his father use this against Arthur, he’d proven himself time and time again. “That is for Arthur alone to decide, it is his Eftboren.”

  Balinor nodded, making his way towards the door. He cast his son one final look before departing. Gwaine didn’t move, studying Merlin with troubled eyes.

  “Go clear your head Merl,” he suggested, perching beside the sleeping Arthur. “You don’t look so good.”

  Merlin’s skin was waxen, his eyes wide and slightly unfocused. It was evident he was also suffering. Merlin gazed at Gwaine hesitantly, torn and worried. He couldn’t leave Arthur. How could he after everything that had happened to him? What if he woke and Merlin wasn’t here and he freaked out? Arthur needed him, he needed Arthur. Expertly, Gwaine sieved through the emotions in those blue eyes and picked out the anxiety.

  “He won’t wake for some time.” He added comfortingly with a soft smile.

  The words were comforting, and allowed Merlin to let go of his guilt for a few seconds. He cast Gwaine one final look before stepping outside. Nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. As he lifted his eyes from the ground, inhaling a ragged breath, he saw something, someone. Someone who had left a hole in his heart that simply couldn’t be filled, someone who had declared they wouldn’t be coming back at all. Holding a hand to his throbbing head, Merlin studied the face carefully until he was sure he was real, he was here.

  “Hello Merlin.” The man said, almost distantly.

  “…Will?”

  ♦☼♦

  Merlin didn’t hesitate. He plunged into his arms; relief washing over him and tears spilling gently down his face. And for a moment, the troubles of the world and Arthur Pendragon’s tortured soul faded from his mind. For a moment everything consisted of this one embrace, this one reunion he had dreamt of for the past months but not foolish enough to believe would actually happen. Will. The man – William - studied Merlin anxiously, gesturing towards the closed door.

  “Merlin,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “People are talking. I came here as soon as I could.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Merlin studied the man’s expression curiously. Surely he couldn’t be talking about the same thing. It had unfolded less than an hour ago, and it wasn’t like the druids to gossip so extensively. But then again, a grimace dusted his face, this was about the Pendragon’s, Camelot. Any updates on Camelot would aid their situation.

  “Arthur will recover, don’t worry.” Merlin muttered soothingly, realising his words lacked depth or meaning. Instead they floated in the air, too bland and heavy with turmoil for the liking of his larynx. A bitter laugh escaped his lips, why would Will worry? He had made it clear how he felt about Arthur Pendragon many months ago.

  Will’s expression darkened, a flicker of confusion misted over his eyes. It was then Merlin established they were talking about different things. Leaning towards the druid urgently, Merlin raised his eyebrows.

  “Wait, w-ait what are the druids saying Will?” he whispered, unsure how much more he could handle.

  Everything had been so…sickeningly normal six months ago, before Camelot arrived, before the Naiimen Barrier was destroyed…before Gaius was captured. A wave of dizziness flushed through his body. Gaius. He hadn’t so much as thought about the man for a long time now. The man who had cared for him during his childhood, taught him about the forests and magic. Gaius had once said Merlin was the son he’d never had. The memory of these words evoked great sadness within the druid. Guilt smothered him. Gaius…was he still even alive? If so, where was he? The words flying out of Will’s mouth didn’t process in his mind for a few seconds. When they defined themselves, syllables stretching apart to accent the word, he gazed up at his friend in bewilderment.

  “Uther Pendragon knows about Emrys. He knows that you are Emrys.”

  Pause.

  “I don’t know how he knows,” Will continued, a little alarmed by Merlin’s lack of panic or anxiety – the enemy knowing the identity was not a good thing. Yet Merlin didn’t seem to give a flying fuck. All that lingered in those familiar blue eyes was curiosity of all
things, and even dark amusement. “But if that stupid blonde twat ran back to his daddy and spilled the beans I will personally-”

  Merlin’s uncharacteristic laughter faded into a fierce growl. He stared menacingly towards Will, instantly silencing him.

  “-You will do nothing to him.” His words were remarkably forceful. “Arthur Pendragon has proved his worth time and time again to both Camelot and Ealdor.” The anger faded, replaced with melancholy and sympathy. “Yes, whilst following his father’s orders blindly wasn’t the best thing to do, it was the only thing he had…” the words dwindled away; he was unable to finish.

  Something had happened. Judging by Merlin’s expression, something big. His almost predatory attack when Arthur was mentioned, the abnormal facial expressions and inexplicable sorrow protracting just behind the iris. It all made sense now. Except it didn’t. Will’s voice emerged out of the silence growing between them.

  “Merlin, care to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  Tears in his eyes, Merlin gazed dejectedly up at his old friend. Wordlessly he examined the concerned look on Will’s face. Concern, a lot had changed. Merlin never thought he’d see the day William conveyed genuine concern for something associated with Arthur Pendragon, concern for Arthur Pendragon. He averted his gaze, unsure what to say. It felt unfair, discussing such a personal, private matter with others when Arthur himself was not even able to do so himself. Abruptly, the door behind them opened, revealing a slightly relieved Gwaine. His eyes shot past Merlin, widening as he saw Will.

  “Hey sunshine, welcome back.” He said, not bothering to inspect the facial expression he received afterwards. Gwaine turned to Merlin, gesturing towards the room. “He’s starting to wake. He’ll be up in a few minutes.”

  Nodding, Merlin smiled appreciatively. He looked over his shoulder to Will.