Merlin Fic: And the World You Promised: Chapter One: You're Alone, You're On Your Own

[jesterladyfic]

Title: And the World You Promised
Author: Jesterlady
Pairings: Arthur/Gwen
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 66,739
Warnings: Crazy!Morgana, cryptic descriptions of torture
Summary: After the battle of Camlann Arthur and Merlin must somehow come to terms with the ramifications of Merlin's secret in time to defeat Morgana and fulfill their destiny.
Author's notes: Thanks so much to moon01234 who offered to beta this for me and really helped me think things through. Also to jennybliss for her artwork. It's so beautiful and perfect. This was written for the paperlegends Big Bang 2013.
Hopefully this fic will deliver what I felt the show didn't, an actual resolution to the problems that stopped Arthur and Merlin's destiny from being fulfilled, and usher in that Golden Era. My intent was to focus on Arthur and Merlin's friendship and as well as Arthur and Gwen's marriage. But I also missed Merlin/Gwen friendship and strived to showcase that here. This means there wasn't a lot of time for knights and so I feel bad Leon, Percival, and Gwaine get shafted a little bit here and there wasn't as much Gaius/Merlin interaction as I like in my Merlin stories.
Hopefully no one is annoyed by the many scenes where Merlin tells stories about the past, but I personally always wanted to just get other people's reactions to the history of the show, so I hope that doesn't bore you.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. Some lines are from the show. The title is from a song by Hillsong. All of the chapter titles are from the song King by Lauren Aquilina. There is an amazing Arthur fanvid on Youtube using this song by missjessieban and I highly recommend you check it out.



Chapter One: You're Alone, You're on Your Own

There was a white hot spot of pain in his chest and it slammed into him every time he tried to draw breath. He was lost in a dark world and he did not know where to turn. Surely, there was some way, some thing, that he could grasp hold of, to find his way out. He was not one to lie down and die for nothing. He did feel a sense of peace, as if it would be okay for him to die, that he would not be failing his people or in his duty. Yet…yet there was a personal sense of not being done, of having someone to live for, some thing to accomplish.

It was a hazy recollection and it floated beyond his reach in his new world of pain. But he wanted it, knew he needed it more than life itself. Slowly, he fought to find it and it revealed itself with painstaking sluggishness until he wanted to scream with his need for it.

There was a flash of dark curls threaded around his fingers, something white bound around his arm, a great fear as…she was dragged from him and he was held back. The pictures became clear, a woman, dark and breathtaking, full of grace and warmth. She…she was his wife, his Queen, someone he’d lost too many times.

She beckoned to him with her memory and he felt as if he was rising, riding the pain instead of it smothering him. He sensed her love resting with him and then more memories started to come. His first horse, the day he began to train with the knights, his father’s rare smile of approval, the only glimpse he’d ever had of his mother, his knights joking around the fire, Guinevere’s dark eyes watching him from across their marriage bed, and Merlin’s idiotic grin whenever he did something he knew Arthur wouldn’t approve of.

Merlin. Merlin. Arthur’s eyes blinked open and the pain was still there, threatening to cut off his every breath, but there was…

"Merlin."

Merlin turned and rushed to him, all insolence gone in concern, which was, frankly, worrying to Arthur.

"How are you feeling?” Arthur struggled to sit up, but a lance of pain belied his attempt and Merlin chided him, bracing him with his arm. “Lie back, lie back."

Because Arthur didn’t appreciate being told what to do and because he’d rather think about anything than what was happening inside his own body he couldn’t help but ask the question that had been on his mind for hours before his recent bout of blackness.

"Where have you been?"

"It doesn't matter now," Merlin said quietly and Arthur didn’t know what to make of his tone.

So Arthur turned practical, needing to know the worst.

"My side."

"You're bleeding."

He let an exasperated snort fall from his lips. Exactly like Merlin to state the obvious and not understand the real question.

"That's all right, I thought I was dying."

But Merlin wasn’t going along with their usual post-battle-one-of-them-is-extremely-wounded-pretend-nothing-is-happening banter.

"I’m sorry. I thought I defied the prophecy. I thought I was in time."

Arthur knew that he was in a serious amount of pain, but Merlin was really talking some extreme nonsense this time.

"What are you talking about?"

"I defeated the Saxons, the dragon, and…yet I knew it was Mordred I must stop."

Perhaps everything had been switched around and it was Merlin with the very painful wound that made everyone sound like they were talking crazy.

"The person who defeated them was the sorcerer."

"It was me."

Arthur was getting angry now, why was Merlin doing this? Did he think it was some kind of distraction from the pain? Because it really wasn’t.

"Don't be ridiculous. That's stupid, why would you say that?"

"I'm a sorcerer…I have magic. And I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you."

Arthur stared at him, the first glimmerings of belief coming into his head, but he didn’t want to believe. Didn’t want to know his best friend had been lying to him for ten years, was potentially the very evil he had been taught to fear all his life. Yet, Merlin was shaking all over, his eyes filled with unshed tears, his voice cracking. Arthur hated it when that happened.

He tried one more time.

"Merlin, you are not a sorcerer, I would know."

He didn’t know if he was trying to convince Merlin or himself.

"Look, here,” Merlin said and shifted his weight, turning to the fire.

He stretched out his hand and whispered words that Arthur couldn’t understand though the sound of them was as familiar to him as his own language.

The embers were shooting up from the fire but then they slowed and coalesced into a shape, one Arthur recognized. It was the symbol of his house, after all, even if he’d always found that strange when they were sworn enemies. Still, he could always recognize a dragon.

The fire wings flapped gently up and down and the effect was mesmerizing, the heat making waves across the clearing toward them, yet the figure never traveled, hovering in mid-air across the flames. An impossible shape, forged by the unnatural.

It was beautiful.

His first clear thought was one of irrational terror. Arthur was not a coward, but he was not stupid either. He looked around over his shoulder to see if anyone was there, was there anyone else there? Was anyone else witness to this confession, could any of his knights save him? His fingers fumbled for a sword he wasn’t wearing and hadn’t the strength to hold anyway. Mind-numbing fear swept over him and his hazed mind raced, trying to find a way out of the situation he found himself in.

Because his second thought was one of helplessness. There was no one there. Arthur was alone, barely able to move, let alone defend himself. He would ordinarily have felt safe with Merlin, strange though the idea may have been; there was something so constant about Merlin. But now, now every single constant in Arthur’s life had been turned over and rampaged upon and he was alone with a sorcerer and he had to somehow find a way not to die.

The third thought he had was one of habit. If there was one thing Arthur was good at, it was telling Merlin what to do. Though Arthur kept thinking the same mantra of ‘sorcerer evil,’ over and over again, underneath it was an insane hope that perhaps, just perhaps, because it was Merlin, there could be some way of acting as if Arthur was still in control of the situation. Some way to keep the inevitable from happening.

"Leave me," he croaked out, ashamed at how scared he sounded, but unable to help himself.

"Arthur…"

Merlin reached for him, but Arthur recoiled, unable to tolerate being touched by this person in front of him whom he didn’t really know. He couldn’t stand to look at Merlin, couldn’t bear to hear the pain in the other man’s voice. What right did Merlin have to sound like he was in pain? He was not the one betrayed, the one in danger. It was his moment of triumph. Arthur almost forgot to be afraid as he desperately wished with all his might for this all to be a dream, to be anywhere but where he was.

"No, you heard…just-"

There was a quiet, wounded sound and then Merlin was gone. Arthur doubted he had gone far. It wasn’t like Merlin ever truly did as he was told anyway, which brought on a whole new wave of misery. But the immediate need of keeping up appearances was gone and Arthur unclenched his jaw, riding out the new stab of pain that was currently buffeting his side. He could think more clearly without Merlin there watching him, with sad, tear-filled eyes.

Merlin the liar, Merlin the betrayer. Merlin the last in a long line of people Arthur loved who didn’t love him back.

It was always loss that made you remember the good. Arthur could well remember the first day waking up with Guinevere banished and thinking how incredibly dull and empty and pointless and unbearably sad life was. This was the same feeling and Arthur wanted to wallow in it. He wanted to sit and sulk and fume and then kill something and then somehow, forget, forget, forget. But that was not an option.

He still had to get himself out of this situation, had to distance himself from his personal feelings on the matter, had to put that aside for some very long talks with his wife and hunting trips that wouldn’t now be ruined by bumbling oafs who couldn’t be quiet to save their lives.

Arthur almost wished he had died without ever hearing the truth.

But he couldn’t give up, couldn’t rest, he had to plan. Surely his men would be looking for him; the battle had been won, he remembered that much. Someone had to have missed the King by now. They wouldn’t expect him to be with Merlin because Merlin hadn’t been at the battle at all, at least, not in a way that anyone would recognize. And that was an even more confusing train of thought so Arthur forced his mind in another direction.

Could he move? Could he possibly go and try and get help? Would it be wise to do so with a known sorcerer (he was trying not to think of the word sorcerer and Merlin in the same thought) lurking somewhere nearby along with who knew how many possible enemy soldiers?

That train of thought, however wise or foolish it might have been, was quickly derailed by the sheer lack of movement Arthur was able to get from his body. The pain was almost unbearable, matched only by the pain in his heart. It felt like there was something inside him, clawing at his body and mind, searching to destroy him forever. It was clouding his judgment, making it impossible for him to make a plan.

Arthur hated the vulnerability that put him in. He hated the way it gave him nothing to do but think about Merlin.

Arthur tried to puzzle it out, when had Merlin turned to…sorcery? Had it been a voluntary choice? Perhaps he had been bewitched? Perhaps he was under someone else’s control? Maybe if he could be weaned off of it, if it had been only a recent change, he could be saved from the corruption, become like Gaius?

Arthur still couldn’t see it. Only the blatant confession and breath-taking image of a dragon made of fire still in his head said otherwise. But Merlin, a sorcerer? It made absolutely no sense. Merlin was clumsy, foolish, disobedient, reckless, brave, loyal, stupid; prone to occasional fits of wisdom and brilliance, but most often so simple that Arthur treated him like the child he was.

Merlin couldn’t be the mastermind of fiendish magical plots, could never hope to contend with the danger of a magical attack such as those Morgana had flung at Arthur for years, could never be anything other than Merlin.

These thoughts brought Arthur no peace and he couldn’t distract himself from the pain. It was too much to bear and he found himself fighting against the blackness that threatened to overtake him once more. He wanted nothing more than to stay awake, to watch out in case Merlin tried anything, to see if there was anyone who could help him, but the dark was more powerful and he felt himself slipping back into the oblivion where at least he didn’t have to think about it anymore.

***

The next time Arthur remembered opening his eyes, there was light all around him instead of the dark. Merlin was standing with his back to him and Arthur studied him for a long moment, about to call a greeting when he remembered.

It all came rushing back to him, the bad dream that was the worse for having wakened. There was no safety or comfort in Merlin standing guard over him as there normally was. Arthur was not with a friend, he was being held prisoner, however much either of them pretended otherwise.

Merlin looked as if he was waiting for something, his right foot tapping anxiously as it always did when he was worried about something. Arthur tried to concentrate on watching him instead of the pain in his side, but then Merlin started to turn around and Arthur snapped his eyes shut, pretending to still be asleep.

There were soft footsteps and then Arthur felt someone crouching down beside him and feeling his forehead and then a muttered curse.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Merlin said quietly, his voice tight with worry.

Arthur had to fight the insane urge to laugh and keep as quiet and still as was expected of someone who was asleep. He was quite sure that anyone who might have witnessed this tableau would consider it quite touching, the servant boy concerned for his master. What Arthur wanted to know was how long Merlin would keep up the charade. If only it wasn’t one. For a brief moment Arthur thought he might give up his kingdom for that.

There was a long space of waiting after that while Arthur felt worse and worse, but he couldn’t face Merlin, he just couldn’t. So he kept on pretending to be asleep and thinking and feeling stupid and hurt and wondering if somehow this could all be made right again.

There had been many times Arthur had considered the possibility all magic wasn’t evil and he had long held that thought privately himself. There just hadn’t been time to think about it or do anything about it. And there was no denying Merlin had stayed with him for years and had had ample time to kill Arthur or force him to his will. What was the purpose of it all? This sorcery thing had to be a new development.

Which just made it worse. Because Arthur could understand Merlin needing to keep such a secret early on in their friendship, he could see that Merlin wouldn’t have always been able to trust Arthur. But for years now they had been as close as brothers, no matter how little they talked about it. If Merlin had fallen into danger or done something stupid, the fact that he didn’t trust Arthur with it…that was an unbearable thought.

But, perhaps, it meant there was also a cure, which helped Arthur to decide to worry about getting better himself so he could save Merlin, who’d stumbled into something he shouldn’t have. Yes, that was a much better plan. Much better than thinking Merlin was an almighty sorcerer who had been lying to Arthur and plotting against him for years. Or another person who had betrayed him.

Then there was another sound and Merlin was speaking with someone. Gaius, Arthur realized, and he felt better immediately. At least it was not one of Morgana’s people, and he felt a pang of sorrow at the blow he was going to have to deal Gaius, but just because Arthur had postponed judgment did not mean that he and Gaius were not still in very grave danger.

And, all the while Arthur thought this, they argued about herbs and plants above him and Merlin’s voice sounded truly worried for Arthur until Gaius told Merlin to go water the horses.

Arthur slowly opened his eyes, clasped Gaius by the hand, and whispered urgently.

"He's a sorcerer.” Arthur felt like a fool because Gaius simply looked at him patiently, calmly, almost with pity. Realization slid over Arthur. All hopes of reconciliation were lost, all hopes of Merlin being enchanted gone. “You knew."

"Arthur, he is your friend," Gaius said firmly.

No friend would lie to him, no matter how many years it had been going on.

"I want him gone," Arthur said coldly, still unable to even think about being alone with Merlin again.

"There is no need to fear him."

Arthur did not fear him, not now. No, now he hated Merlin, wanted him gone, never to see him again, and Arthur did not care if Merlin thought he was doing the right thing or whatever other idiotic excuse he might have. Arthur could only think of Merlin being gone.

"Have him take word to Camelot, to Guinevere."

Arthur was desperate indeed to suggest such a thing, but he wasn’t thinking about strategy or wisdom or anything but getting the traitor as far away from him as possible.

"You cannot send Merlin, I will go."

"I need a physician right now, not a sorcerer."

Gaius looked at him and Arthur squirmed under the scrutiny. Arthur was King, why did he feel instead like a child, pitied and censored and indulged? It was unbelievably, horribly unfair.

Then Gaius spoke to him and Arthur forgot his anger in incredulity. There was something going on that he was missing.

"He can do far more than me, far more than you can ever imagine. Arthur, he doesn't just have magic. There are those who say he's the greatest sorcerer ever to walk the earth."

"Merlin?"

Arthur let his scorn of the idea drip from his words because it felt better, felt more natural, felt like the real him was speaking for the first time since he’d woken up after the battle.

"If you are to stand any chance of survival, you need Merlin to help you, not me."

And Arthur had no idea why, but he believed Gaius. So he shut his mouth and let the man examine him, wincing and clenching his jaw in turn. But even if Merlin was willing to and able to help him, could Arthur accept help from such a man? Everything he’d ever been taught suggested no.

Gaius gave his diagnosis in crisp, clear tones and Arthur blanched at the thought of the evil sword still inside him, unable to be drawn out; but he blanched even more at the idea of traveling to a place of magic, with a sorcerer, to beg for healing.

“You can’t be serious,” he told Gaius.

Gaius looked at him sternly and Arthur was reminded of when he would get into fights with Morgana as a child and be sent to Gaius to be healed and the man would look at him the exact same way.

“Is it your pride, Sire, that speaks these words?” he asked. “This is your only chance. I suggest you take it.”

Arthur’s mind flashed back to his own mouth saying those words, to a man both hated and loathed and feared for years, extending his hand and expecting it to be knocked aside, longing for peace instead of more war. Dimly he was aware of Merlin having been the voice of reason in that situation, keeping Arthur from running rampant with his own emotions.

Arthur was humbled and gave a curt nod, unwilling to give more than that in his situation and resenting Gaius for seeming to expect it of him.

Gaius got up from his side and went to speak to Merlin. Arthur lay quiet, feeling slightly better with the poultice Gaius had applied. He could breathe more easily now.

"Arthur?” Merlin’s voice sounded from his right. It sounded tentative. “We need to leave at first light."

And there Merlin was again, sounding like the wounded party. Arthur hated that. Almost as much as he still hated when Merlin sounded wounded.

"I'll decide."

"I can't let you die,” Merlin said, his voice absolutely crystal with conviction and Arthur was surprised to feel an answering warmth inside, a feeling of gratitude.

But it didn’t change anything so he said so.

***

They spent another fitful night on the ground and Arthur was well enough by the morning to allow Merlin to carry him to the horse and get him astride. It was humiliating and galling, but Arthur had spent the night remonstrating himself for acting like a child and remembering just who and what he was. He slipped his necklace over his neck, handing it to Gaius.

"Gaius, give this to Guinevere.”

"It's the royal seal, Sire."

"If I am to die I can think of no one I would rather succeed me."

Arthur was not a private person; he could not spend his time feeling sorry for himself over the betrayal of a servant when the state of his kingdom was in question. He must look to the future because he could not guarantee this magical venture would work. He hoped the sending of the ring would convey everything to her that he was not able to say in person. He was not comfortable with sending intimate messages of love and farewell through another person, but he did not doubt that she would know how much he valued her, how important their marriage was to him. Their last night together had been spent proving that to her as well as he knew how. This was the only gesture he had left.

So he stayed on his horse, clutching his own ring, the one she had kissed before he’d gone into battle, and trying not to listen to Gaius and Merlin saying farewell, wondering at the obvious devotion between them.

The journey was painful, every step a jar to his side, and he grit his teeth, focused solely on staying on his horse. He didn’t have time to worry about Merlin, to wonder about Merlin, and he certainly didn’t talk to him.

Merlin was clearly worried; he kept glancing over at Arthur like he wanted to say something and then changing his mind. His head shot up at every noise around them, he was so jittery, Arthur almost wanted to make a joke about his cowardice, but that couldn’t be true, now could it? Merlin had magic to protect him.

There was a sound behind them of galloping hooves and Merlin pulled his horse up, scanning around them.

"Saxons," he said, jumping down.

"I'll deal with them," Arthur said, trying to make the effort and knowing it was pointless.

Merlin would do something magical.

Still, in a way it would be so much easier if he could know that they were doomed because he was mortally injured and Merlin was useless. It was a selfish and foolish thought, but it was easier.

"Keep your head down and don't speak,” Merlin said, jerking Arthur’s cloak over his head, and then waved the Saxons down. "Help us! Please you have to help us. We were ambushed."

Arthur marveled at the innocent, helpless servant act. It was effortless, like it was Merlin. It just didn’t make sense.

"By who?" asked one of the Saxons.

"Two men," Merlin answered.

"What did they look like?"

"Uh, one was a knight. They stormed our camp."

"You're sure it was a Camelot knight?"

"Yeah."

Unfortunately for them, Merlin’s lies and subterfuge weren’t good enough and Arthur was exposed to the Saxons, his body slumped and useless and he cursed it.

But then there was Merlin, his back toward Arthur, his hands held out, and the men went flying backward effortlessly, their necks broken.

Arthur idly reflected that Merlin was a warrior in his own chosen craft, his skills in battle as sharpened as Arthur’s own. Which just brought back the feeling of betrayal, the knowledge that Merlin had always lived this double life.

"You've lied to me all this time,” Arthur said numbly.

Merlin didn’t answer. Was he feeling guilty or did he just not care?

***

By the time they made camp for the night, all of Arthur’s strength had been depleted, the slight improvement from the poultice dissipated.

He lay against a tree, feeling very sorry for himself, all the thoughts and queries swirling around his head, but he had neither the strength nor the time to deal with them. Still, he watched Merlin trying to light the fire, the scene familiar, he’d watched it a million times before, and he couldn’t stop the question.

"Why don't you use magic?"

Merlin looked at him, his movements slow and unsure.

"Habit, I suppose.” The flames suddenly rose from the wood and Arthur felt warmer. “Feels strange."

"Yeah.” Arthur paused a moment, trying to voice something, but not knowing what. “Thought I knew you."

"I'm still the same person," Merlin said softly and that was a warning sign, because Merlin was only gentle when something was wrong.

Something was wrong. It was different than it had been. Everything was different; everything Arthur had ever thought was so altered. Before he’d been reeling under the change, but slowly the little things, yet somehow the biggest, were creeping into his mind, taking over his more obvious fears.

"I trusted you," he said dully, not even caring what he sounded like.

"I'm sorry."

Merlin ducked his head and looked away.

"I'm sorry too.” Arthur was very sorry. The old life had been a good one. Sometimes it was better not to know. Still, Merlin didn’t answer, just starting taking Arthur’s boots off and confusing him even more. “What are you doing?"

"They need drying."

Just like that. His master’s boots needed drying so Merlin was pulling them off the same way he always did. Hadn’t everything been completely changed? Yet there Merlin was, acting like everything was the same. He was, without a doubt, the most infuriating person Arthur had ever met. The thought was familiar and somewhat comforting and the last thing Arthur knew before he drifted to sleep.

***

Arthur slept better than he thought he would have. He was still finding it hard to move without pain, but pain he could control to some extent. He’d had more injuries during his life than he could count. This was the worst one he could remember, but it was still just physical pain.

But that left him too much time to contemplate the mystery of Merlin.

Merlin who had made him soup.

"This will be good for you. You need to eat."

Arthur couldn’t keep up the distant act any longer. Between him and Merlin had always flowed an open converse of words, many of them derogatory and spoken in frustration, but he had never hesitated to say anything to Merlin or not wanted to hear the response. Arthur would blame it on being wounded later, but he needed to talk to Merlin. That, apart from being with Guinevere again, was the thing he wanted most in this new world of his.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you still behaving like a servant?"

"It's my destiny,” Merlin said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “As it has been since the day we met."

The day Arthur’s life had changed forever and there was a small smile of remembrance to be had from that.

"I tried to take your head off with a mace."

All right, that had been the second time they met, but it sounded better this way.

"And I stopped you, using magic,” Merlin said, his smile creeping up on his face.

His stupid smile.

"You cheated?"

"Yeah, you were going to kill me."

"Should've," Arthur said, only half meaning it.

Merlin moved away, shutting down a little.

"I'm glad you didn't,” he said, and then spoke with renewed animation, like he was saying a prayer. “I do this because of who you are. Without you Camelot is nothing. I did not always believe that. Certainly not that first day we met. Pretty sure I wanted to take your head off with a mace. But you’ve proved it over and over again. There'll never be another like you, Arthur.” Merlin’s words rose and fell with authority and Arthur raised his eyebrow, impressed with their sincerity and the ease with which Merlin spoke them. Then Merlin urged more soup into his mouth, effectively ending any response Arthur may have made. “Now I also do this because you're my friend and I don't want to lose you."