by GR Griffin
“That’s funny,” Merlin could hear the usual arrogance seeping through that voice. “I thought you said I had a pure heart….Emrys.”
The atmosphere radically changed. Merlin didn’t jump to the bait as Arthur thought he would. Instead he was quiet for a moment, face flushed and fists clenched. He walked a little faster, clearly wanting to walk alone but knowing that running away would be too dramatic. Arthur matched his pace with ease, unused why the word ‘Emrys’ had caused such…unrest in Merlin.
“I didn’t want to tell you.” Merlin eventually said, slowing his erratic pace. “I was afraid you would treat me differently. Everyone else does.”
Treated differently, because of your name…Arthur Pendragon could relate to that also. People back home treated him differently because of his name too, because of who he was supposed to be. Part of him had been so fixated on ‘John Smith’ secretly because he didn’t. This was on a totally new level though. Merlin was Emrys. He was…colossal. Arthur’s mind flashed back to when they were in the Perilous lands. Arthur had definitely mocked Merlin when he’d suggested he was Emrys. Oh, how stupid he felt now. Unable to stop the bubble of laughter, Arthur nudged the druid with his shoulder.
“So when you said you could obliterate me with one spell….you weren’t lying were you?”
Smirking, Merlin nudged the man back.
“Nope. Good thing we’re friends now.”
Friends…friends? That was the first admission of any kind of relationship between them. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur spoke automatically.
“I’d say mere acquaintances.”
He failed to notice the degree of upset tainting Merlin’s face. But he did notice it, and instantly felt guilty. Of course they were….friends? But Arthur wasn’t good at dealing with this, and…and usually panicked in situations like this. Morgana had always scorned him for pushing people away for casually. If she could hear him now, she would be furious. Arthur had to quickly salvage the situation.
“Hey,” he practically cooed, leaning far too close to Merlin. “If we’re friends then you can’t call me names like dollophead, clotpole or Pratdragon. Where’s the fun in that?” he teased.
Merlin laughed at his words; Arthur knew it was a forced laugh. It hurt him more than he could say.
“Okay,” Arthur ruffled a hand through his hair nervously. “I suppose we could make an exception in this situation.”
Confused, Merlin met Arthur’s eyes. Arthur’s expression softened, sapphire eyes sparkling with something Merlin couldn’t quite grasp.
“You can still call me dollophead, clotpole or Pratdragon.”
The words themselves were irrelevant, it was the message embedded beneath them. Merlin’s eyes lit up, a smile dusted his face.
“Prat.”
Chapter 23
The moonlight was glistening over Beorhtne, reflecting off the gentle ripples of water hypnotically. It truly was astonishing, drawing a gasp from Merlin each time he came here to think or have some time to himself. But tonight was different. Tonight another figure sat by the lake, knees drawn into their chest, eyes set on the horizon vacantly. Merlin didn’t take in the beauty of the evening. He slowly walked straight towards the figure, eyes solemn. He sat silently besides the figure, also gazing out across the lake. The man made no gesture to properly acknowledge Merlin. Instead, he remained in his pensive state, studying the way the wind’s caress created mesmerising patterns across the water. Chewing his lip agitatedly, Merlin hoisted his knees towards his chest. The pair remained silent for a few more moments, until Merlin was unable to maintain it. Eyes never leaving the horizon, Merlin began to address the figure beside him.
“Look Will, when I first met Arthur,” he paused to laugh warmly. “I was exactly the same,” his eyes twinkled with fondness, a trace of a smile dancing across the tips of his lips at the memory of their first meeting. “I hated him. I thought he was pompous and arrogant.”
“Nothing’s changed there then.” Will spat back derisively, also keeping his eyes set on the lake. Merlin flinched a little at the potency behind his tone. Nonetheless, he continued his endeavor to calm his friend’s outrage.
“But,” he said, tongue dwelling on the final consonant longer than necessary. There was an undercurrent of hope in his voice. “I’ve come to respect him, and what he stands for-”
These words seized Will forcefully, dragging his attention towards Merlin. Merlin could feel those angry eyes smouldering over his face.
“How can you say that?” Merlin averted his eyes to the ground for a second. “Everything he stands for is oppression and injustice.”
Frowning, Merlin toyed with a rock by his feet contemplatively. Once upon a time, Merlin thought the very same thing. Arthur Pendragon was a Pendragon, so naturally he had inherited every single trait of his father’s. Naturally he was just as heartless and cruel. Or so he’d thought. The past few months had given Merlin an insight into the real Arthur. Arthur was nothing like his father. Placing the rock down, he turned to Will.
“You cannot judge one man by the actions of his father.”
Narrowing his eyes, Will scoffed.
“Why are you defending him so much?” he asked, curiosity overpowering the anger coursing through his veins.
“Things have…” casting his eyes out towards the hauntingly beautiful lake, Merlin grimaced. Why was he defending Arthur so much? Just months ago he had been his biggest critic, wanting nothing more than to send the dollophead back where he’d come from. They had argued and argued. They had shared menacing glares and looks of disdain. They could barely stay in each other’s presence without radiating loathing and apathy towards each other. But now…now they were…friends. Two people from two separate worlds that were beginning to slowly understand the other’s perspective.
“…changed between us.” He concluded, deciding that was an appropriate description. Will however deemed it was not.
“Don’t Merlin.” He snapped viciously. “Just fucking don’t.”
Merlin morphed from his calm, collective state into a desperate one. Leaning towards Will imploringly, he clasped his friend’s arm.
“Give them a chance, give him a chance-“
Brushing Merlin’s arm away, Will lowered his knees, body tilting away from his friend.
“-I can’t do that Merlin.”
Swallowing-hard, Merlin sighed. He knew this was hard for Will, especially with all that had happened in the past. Surely enough was enough? Everybody else, even the Elders seemed to accept Arthur into the clan. Why couldn’t Will just be happy that something good had come from Camelot for once? Dejectedly, Merlin studied Will’s stern profile. The words that came next stopped his heart.
“That’s why I’m leaving.”
Stunned into silence, Merlin looked at his friend. He hadn’t properly processed the words. When he had, a series of emotions shifted through him. His first initial response was an incredulous smile because this was Will his best friend and he wouldn’t just leave. Then the smile faded into a dark abyss as realisation hit Merlin. But he would, because Will was a stubborn ass, Will never did what he was told. His eyes widened, heart racing. Shock.
“What?” he gasped, reaching out for his friend protectively. Fear. Fear of losing the best friend he’d ever had. Will remained cryptically silent, eyes distant and not meeting Merlin’s. “No!” desperation, denial. He clutched Will tighter.
“You can’t…” Then the sadness washed over him, trudging across his skin, slowly sinking into the skin beneath his eyes. Acceptance. “Wh-…where?”
“Serepolis.” Will finally said, not daring to look over to Merlin. “I’m going to stay with Freya.”
The depth of affection and fierce determination in his voice hid nothing. Surprise was the next emotion to swathe over Merlin. He hadn’t seen Freya for a long time…not since they decided it was best to part ways as just friends. It seemed like Will had kept in contact with her, more than Merlin was aware of. They had clear
ly blossomed into something more, if his voice was anything to go by. Raising his eyebrows, Merlin stared at his friend, unsure what to think. Freya was….well…a lot of things, a lot of unresolved things. He wasn’t really sure what to think about Freya, or the thought of his best friend and her being together.
“You and her?” was the only thing he found he could say, not exactly a subtle approach to a rather delicate subject.
Merlin had already stamped all over Will’s attempt at delicacy. Therefore, he saw no point in trying to be elusive and returned the gesture.
“For a while now.” He admitted sheepishly.
Merlin effortlessly steered the conversation back into the forest of elusiveness, where words spoken didn’t mean what they should mean, and silence didn’t mean what it should mean.
“You…kept that quiet.” Merlin mused impalpably, gazing back out across the lake.
Incapable of continuing this strange game of uncertainty, Will laughed bitterly. Of course he’d kept it fucking quiet!
“Forgive me for not exactly being sure how you’d take the news.”
Merlin smiled lightly, narrowly missing eye contact with Will. The pair dwelled in silence, a silence slightly less tense than it had been beforehand. Both seemed to be processing the other’s reaction to their recent conversation. Drawing his eyebrows together, Merlin frowned.
“I’m guessing there’s no way I can talk you out of leaving.” He sighed, turning back to Will miserably.
Finally meeting Merlin’s eyes, Will smiled sadly back at his lifelong friend. Their gaze was lingering and soft, entwined with memories of their childhood, their evergreen friendship. Yet something foreign had weaved its way between their gaze. At first it was hard to identify, hiding away behind the affection. It was nostalgia, implying that things were going to change, and may never be the same again for the pair of them. Yes, their friendship was evergreen. But these were difficult, testing times. It was no surprise the tree was beginning to shed its leaves.
“I’m going Merlin.”
“…You’re coming back.” Merlin stated, in a manner that made it sound more like a fact and less like a question.
Will said nothing in return to this, breaking their long period eye contact where every emotion was transferred amid them. The silence was a dark confirmation of everything Merlin feared. Panic swathed over Merlin. Will was leaving. He…he might not come back. Will might leave Ealdor forever. Gritting his teeth, Merlin bowed his head, attempting to compose himself. They had grown up together, spent their entire lives together.
“Will-” he whispered subconsciously.
“-Don’t you dare make this harder for me than it already is Merlin.” Will hissed forebodingly, clearly troubled by delivering the news to his friend. The menacing wave crashed by their feet, crumbling into desperation. “Please. I have to do this.”
And Merlin, because he wanted to be the best friend he could be, pretended that he understood. He feigned bravery, lifting his head from his knees slowly. Will was leaving. There was no changing that. There was no point parting like this, unhappy and miserable. It wouldn’t bode well for either of them. Merlin knew Will didn’t want to upset him, wanted anything but to hurt Merlin. Smiling lightly, Merlin tried to dispel the melancholy building up inside of him.
“When are you going?” he asked, not expecting the reply he received.
“Tomorrow.”
“I’m…” swallowing down the lump in his throat, Merlin breathed a morose laugh, full of disbelief this was really happening. “I’m sorry that it’s come to this.”
“Yeah.” Will said rather monotonously. “Me too.”
♦☼♦
It took a few hazy moments to regain her breathing. With two more ragged gasps, she sat up gradually, confusion swathed over her face. Confusion then mutated into panic the moment she cast her mind back to what she had seen. This was not supposed to happen.
Never again…
The peculiar and ominous nightmares had beleaguered her nights from the age of seven. Alone and scared she would nestle in the warmth of her navy duvet, body shaking with raw fear and eyes wide open to avoid submerging into the depths of horrific scenes barely unravelling before abruptly moulding into another. The third night, when the thunder had roared through the skies vehemently and lit the room in a blinding flash, she awoke from them hastily and made her way down the unnecessarily long corridor to Arthur’s room. Here she had crept inside and found the boy enveloped in an effortless slumber, a pang of jealousy had enshrouded her thoughts as she watched him sleep for a moment. Then violently, she shook him awake, rewarded with a petulant scowl.
“What do you want Morg?” he had hissed in unabashed annoyance, rubbing his eyes lightly to fully plunge himself back into consciousness.
Hauling herself onto the endless realm of his bed, she quickly climbed under the covers.
“I’m scared.” She had whispered, tears threatening to roll down her pearly cheeks and unveil the torment she had endured the past few nights.
Without hesitation, Arthur crawled across the bed towards her, quick to recognise the level of genuine fear in permeating from her sparkly eyes. Resting a hand on her shoulder, he had feigned courage and told her he would make whoever had caused her to cry, cry a thousand guilty tears of their own. She had smiled, if she recalled correctly, but it had faded almost instantly. This was the first night she had revealed her nightmares to anybody, and Arthur had patiently listened to her, a hint of curiosity burnishing behind his sapphire eyes. Her brother – despite not being linked by blood, the relationship had been forged to resemble this familial bond- had let her stay in his room for the night, pledging that the nightmares couldn’t reach his bed because that Basilisk from Harry Potter lurked in the dark expanse beneath.
Morgana dreamt of meadows, and flowers, and everything seven year old girls were supposed to dream about.
The nightmares did not return to her that night, or the next.
It remained like that for two weeks.
When the scratchy fingers had plucked her away once more from the peaceful dreaming state, it was unexpected and violent. Morgana had seen things that could not be unseen, wreaking havoc upon her both physically and mentally. Darkness had barricaded her in her room for hours, where the only option was to shut her eyes and surrender to the mysteries of the night. She had been too shaken to run to Arthur’s room, or to call out for help. It was only after a whole week of this, when her eyes had turned red and thick lines etched into her skin, that the signs of something sinister became evident to Uther. After seeing a specialist, Morgana had been prescribed strong tablets that would ensure she slept. They only aggravated the situation further. And for many nights, Morgana screamed and thrashed in her bed ruthlessly, unable to escape into reality until the sun rose the next morning not matter how hard Uther and a panicked Arthur tried to wake her. Gaius had then been called upon by an anxious Uther, and administered her a special potion to chase away the nightmares.
Arthur had tucked her into bed every night for the next seven months, ensuring to kiss her temple gently once she had drunk the sleeping draught. After six months of gradual improvement, the nightmares shifted from intense visions of ferocity into small bursts, and then eventually into nothing.
It took a year for the nightmares to stop completely.
Now fifteen years later, sitting in her unstable bed in the Camelot Base in the heart of Albion, Morgana realised she had been foolish to believe they would never return. Pulling the duvet over her tightly, she hugged her knees, eyes wandering around the sparse room she would inhabit until Uther’s madness ceased. Part of her contemplated seeking out somebody to talk. Talking helped her, she found. It soothed her mind, put her fears at rest. Even in the years where there were no nightmares, sleep had always been difficult. However, the only people who knew all about this was Uther and Arthur – Arthur was in Ealdor, Uther was…he a far from sympathetic person, particularly on matters of this kind. A shudder
ran up her spine at the thought of him discovering the nightmares had returned. A spark of hope that perhaps Gaius may be released irrationally flashed through her mind was quickly dismissed with a heavy reality. Gaius was detained in the laboratory.
Tracing a finger absently across the duvet, Morgana pressed a hand to her burning temple with a laboured sigh. Her heart was racing obstinately, unable to retain normalcy. She sat up silently and waited until slits of sunlight seeped through the silver blinds by the window, eyes glassed over pensively. Relentlessly, the images continued to breach the peaceful settings she had tried to implant inside her head. Everything was fine- but was it? Was it really? What she had encountered in the depths of the dark nightmare was beyond anything she had ever seen in her childhood. It was worse- terrifying.
The reason why it was so terrifying sent her body into impulsive quivers.
It was so terrifying was because it was terrifyingly real.
♦☼♦
Will had left at the crack of dawn as promised, bidding goodbye only to the four people who truly mattered in his life: Hunith, Balinor, Gwenevere and of course Merlin. Balinor and Hunith were the closest things he had to real parents, acting as his guardian for almost his entire life. Gwenevere had rescued him when he was in peril, and Merlin…Merlin had always been there, for as long as he could remember it was him and Merlin. As the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon eagerly, he left the four figures. Gwenevere wiped her eyes, wrapping her arms around Merlin’s waist comfortingly. Balinor and Hunith remained cryptically silent, studying their son with poignant eyes. Merlin was motionless; his eyes were vacant, fists clenched by his sides tightly. It was evident Will’s sudden and unexpected departure was wrecking havoc inside of him. His eyes didn’t leave the horizon, watching as Will became nothing but a hazy mirage in the distance, fading into the forest. Swallowing-hard, he cast a dismal glance over to his parents, then down to Gwen in his arms.
Releasing him, Gwenevere tried to offer her friend a smile, but she failed miserably. Will had been a close friend of Gwen’s, her first druid friend. She’d saved his life; she’d experienced many hardships with him. Now he was gone, now he might not be coming back. Merlin noticed her despair and decided to lock away his turmoil. Reaching for her hands, he caressed the palms soothingly.
