Merlin Fic: And the World You Promised: Chapter Eight: Put All Your Faults to Bed

[jesterladyfic]

Chapter Eight: Put All Your Faults to Bed

Arthur had desperately needed time to think after his talk with Merlin. It had cleared a lot of things up for him, most specifically Merlin’s intentions, but Arthur still had no idea what the future held. It was pretty apparent Merlin had always struggled with this secret and had not had any ill will toward Arthur or Camelot, but he just couldn’t get over the fact that Merlin hadn’t trusted him.

And, like he’d told Merlin, Arthur needed to reevaluate his life, the way he ran his kingdom. He’d spent so long trying to live up to his father’s expectations, then trying to follow his heart, that he hadn’t realized how much influence Merlin really had on him. It had just been natural; a pattern the two of them had fallen into. But had Merlin really just fallen into it or had he planned it? However good his intentions, had Merlin planned to be so influential to the King and what did Arthur think about that if it were so?

Arthur had wandered around the room, pacing, staring out the window, and absentmindedly going through fight patterns, just thinking. Why did he really care so much about the fact that Merlin had never told him? Was this all in his head? Was he making too big a deal of it? After all, Merlin was a good man, a wise man, apparently. And that was a big shock to take, in and of itself. Merlin had saved his life over and over again and those were just the times that Arthur actually knew what had happened. How many more times had Merlin saved the day from the shadows, unthanked, risking his life in more ways than one, serving because it was in his nature?

Words kept ringing through Arthur’s mind as he paced. Words Gaius had said to him years before.

“One day you will learn, Arthur, one day you will understand just how much they’ve done for you.”

How much had Merlin done? The question made Arthur want to call for Merlin, sit him down, and make him recite his version of history for the last ten years. Then Arthur could make up a list and compare it to his own version. See the pros and cons of keeping Merlin around, of trusting him. See if what Arthur remembered matched Merlin’s good intentions enough that he didn’t have to feel so betrayed and worthless.

Because if Merlin was a powerful sorcerer and had always been and Arthur had spent the last ten years belittling him and being helped by him without knowing it, what good was Arthur? What kind of King was he when he didn’t even know what was going on in the hearts of those closest to him? What else was he missing, in his Queen, in his knights, in his people? How many times would Camelot have fallen, would Arthur have died, but for the secret of one seemingly incompetent servant? Did Arthur deserve to be King?

He’d felt so frustrated he’d wanted to tear his hair out. And there were still questions. He should have stayed talking to Merlin, digging every last secret out so Arthur could know. Know what things Merlin held back. If Merlin was on such good terms with a dragon, why had that dragon attacked Camelot? If Merlin was magic, why had he stopped Arthur from killing his father when Morgause told Arthur about his birth? How had Merlin known the truth about Morgana, about Agravaine, and why hadn’t he done something to stop them? Why had he been so resistant to Mordred being in Camelot? If he’d known Guinevere was under Morgana’s spell, why hadn’t he done something about it sooner?

But Arthur had slowly come to realize that these were things that could be answered over time. He didn’t need to interrogate Merlin for hours and make him account for every single second of the last ten years. Arthur did not always find it easy, but he knew how to forgive. He knew how to build up trust when it had been lost. He also knew there were people in this world he didn’t want to live without so long as their hearts were in the right place. Guinevere had always held that place in his heart, but he knew Merlin belonged to that category as well, however much Arthur pretended otherwise.

Arthur had questions and some would have to be answered before he could even begin to think about magic in general and not just Merlin in particular, but he did know what the end result would be. He would forgive Merlin; he just had to get there first. It wouldn’t be easy and he still needed to think, but he couldn’t see any other way out of this particular situation that wasn’t foolish, selfish, and/or cruel.

He’d still been thinking about it when Gwaine had stumbled in, half-dead, with Percival helping him along. The idiocy of the man never ceased to amaze Arthur, but his confession and his need to make it now of all times, staggered Arthur yet again. He wasn’t sure how many more revelations he could handle. In fact, he probably was handling it a lot better because, really, it paled in significance to Merlin’s secret.

Their actions disappointed him, yet he could understand the reasons why they’d done them, especially with what Guinevere had told him about the traitor earlier. He knew the pain Gwaine must have felt, he’d felt it before too many times. Arthur already knew all about Percival’s reasons to hate Morgana. He just wished…well, he didn’t suppose it made any difference. He’d already been wounded and Morgana hadn’t been able to do anything but punish innocent people in her drive to get to him.

The fact that Gwaine had known about Merlin’s magic and never said anything was more surprising and harder to understand. Granted, the man had had years to get used to the idea and didn’t have the same background Arthur did, but he couldn’t comprehend how anyone could be so casual about such a secret. And why everyone seemed so intent on protecting Merlin from Arthur. Perhaps if that was how he was viewed, it was no wonder Merlin was afraid to tell him. Which made Arthur want to reevaluate everything again. Was he truly such a bad lord? Merlin had never given an inch to Arthur that Arthur could see, so why was everyone on Merlin’s side?

Of course Arthur never got time to think about that either, because news came of Morgana’s attack and he had to put aside all personal considerations and be a King, even if he was not sure he deserved to be one. It was harder to trust his instincts and he made the decisions, fearful that he was making the wrong ones. Desperately he clung to other words he’d heard long ago. Words spoken by Guinevere on different occasions.

“Worry is not a wise counsel. Forget everything else. You have to follow what you believe is right…You have a good heart, be true to it…You've a kind heart, Arthur, don’t ever change. Not for anyone.”

But it was hard to keep the dread out when the realization of Morgana’s obvious madness grew over him. She was not just bent on revenge; not just trying to achieve what she thought was rightfully hers anymore. No, there was no rationality to her actions; something had happened to drive her so far over the brink of insanity she’d been hovering over that Arthur didn’t think she could ever come back again. He shut his eyes against the moment of pain he felt for her and continued to give orders.

Of course, then Merlin had to speak up.

“Arthur, I can beat her. You know I can.”

“I know, Merlin,” Arthur said sharply. “Just-just let me think.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Merlin said, suddenly sounding much less like the shrinking Merlin of the last few days and more like the insolent Merlin trying to get Arthur up in the mornings. “I am Emrys. I’m who she wants revenge against. She may think she hates you, but it’s me she’d love to kill. And I can beat her. Why are you willing to risk more of your men? Send me…the person you’re not even sure about.”

Arthur felt like hitting him. Really hitting him. Like the way he would hit someone who’d insulted his Queen, not the way he normally hit Merlin, in fun or in playful frustration, or to illustrate a point. Merlin still didn’t quite get it, didn’t understand how hard it was for Arthur to trust both Merlin and his own judgment now, and there Merlin was, telling him what to do.

“You’re doing it again, Merlin. Playing on my emotions and sense of duty. You’re right, of course. But just because I haven’t figured out what to do about you yet does not mean I’m going to send you out alone to face a woman with deadly, magical powers, no matter what you can do. So shut up and let me think!”

Merlin sighed, but shut up thankfully, probably due more to Guinevere’s body language than anything else. Blessed be Guinevere for always being there and for changing the subject, putting the focus back on Gwaine.

Who was being obstinate, as per usual.

“Percival, get him back to bed. Gaius, make sure he stays there,” Arthur said, realizing he had to be the grown up in this situation. “Drug him if you have to. Merlin, I don’t know how long it will take to find out where Morgana is, but you should prepare yourself. We’ll- let’s talk later.”

Of course then everyone started in on him and he realized he was incredibly tired. So tired he didn’t want to stand up anymore.

He issued orders for the reports of the scouts to be brought to him when they came in, but it could be a few days before that happened, so he knew he had time to rest. The day was getting late and he was more than happy to turn in for the night, even if it was earlier than usual for bed.

Merlin dithered around for awhile after everyone left, as if not sure if he should be helping Arthur or not. Arthur didn’t even know what to say, but Guinevere again, took pity on the both of them, and knew just what to do.

“Merlin, you must be tired as well. I’ll take care of Arthur tonight. Perhaps tomorrow you can resume your duties, but I’m pretty sure you deserve some days off.”

Merlin actually rolled his eyes but did what Guinevere said and disappeared, leaving Arthur alone with Guinevere.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” he said as they walked back to their room.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you earlier, but I thought you’d prefer the time to think.”

“As always you know my needs before I do,” he said, squeezing her hand. “It was just what I needed, thank you.”

“And now I think you need that bath,” she said.

“Do I look that terrible?” he asked as they walked into their room and closed the door.

“You look just fine,” she said, smiling. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have a bath.”

He wasn’t sure why, but being there with her, alone in their bedroom, made him feel much less tired. He reacted instinctively, pressing closer to her, causing her to lean back against the door and her breath quickened.

“And what about your earlier promise?”

“Promise?” she asked innocently, her eyes fluttering closed as his mouth hovered next to her neck.

“To join me,” he said, ghosting his lips down her skin, enjoying the feel of her heart beating faster against his chest.

“You need to rest,” she said, attempting to push him away.

He let her, but kept hold of her arm.

“Not more than I need to be with you.”

“I’m right here,” she said.

“I had thought I would never see you again,” he said.

“I know,” she whispered.

“How?”

“You sent your seal, Arthur. It was a pretty clear sign you were planning for the end.”

“It was meant to be a compliment,” he said, lifting her chin to see her eyes. She nodded, but there was such sadness in her gaze that he frowned. “But you did not see it that way,” he surmised.

“What I saw was a sign that the man I loved had given up hope and would not be returning to me. That he loved and trusted me, I already knew, but that was not what I wanted in that moment.”

“I’m sorry for what I put you through,” he said, sighing.

She gripped his arms tightly.

“No, Arthur, you did the right thing, going to face her, fighting. But sometimes it feels like the pain we went through to get here, all that I’ve given up to wear this crown, should have been enough. I shouldn’t have to worry about losing you as well.”

“Guinevere,” he said.

“No, I’m being silly, I know. I just can’t help feeling that way occasionally. I would not trade our life together, but it does not always seem fair.”

“No, no, it’s never been fair,” he said, and this time it was him who led her wordlessly into their inner room, then stopped short at the sight of the steaming bath.

He looked at her in surprise and she smiled at him.

“I have my ways,” she said.

“May they never cease,” he said, gathering her closely to him and leading her toward the bath.

Turning her around, he kept his lips on her neck while he leisurely untied her dress. Women’s clothing had always been a complete mystery to him, but having spent the last four years married to Guinevere, he was quickly becoming a master, making it his business to know everything there was to know about getting them off.

Slowly she turned to face him as he placed her dress carefully in the wardrobe, and then pulled her undergarment over her head.

She was always a sight that took his breath away, dark skin gleaming in the torchlight, roses in her cheeks because he was looking at her. He took her hand and gently lowered her into the water. She looked up at him expectantly and he smiled.

He quickly crossed to the doors, both of them, locking them securely, and then set the screen around the bath for good measure before divesting himself of his shirt and breeches and stepping into the bath with her.

The hot water made his muscles sing with joy, the tightness he’d been indulging them in all day, dissipating with the heat. He could also feel the dirt and grime of his long battle wash away. He felt truly clean again for the first time in so long.

Being the King, his bathtub was naturally bigger than most, but it was small enough that there was nowhere he could move that did not involve touching her in some way. And he didn’t mind that at all.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now,” he said, pulling her gently against him.

Her wet skin slipped against his in a most pleasant way as she turned her head to face him.

“Sometimes, Arthur, there’s something very normal about you.”

“What’s that?”

“You never cease to be a man.”

He laughed and then captured her mouth with his, relishing the feel of her lips parting beneath his, his teeth gently scraping along her mouth, the wetness of her tongue sliding beneath his own.

For several moments it was peace, the quiet intimacy of a husband and wife enjoying time together, her helping him wash the last few days off him, but the water was colder sooner than Arthur would have liked. He grabbed towels, set out for them earlier, and stepped out, wrapping hers around her. He rubbed her down gently despite her protests.

“You did this for me earlier,” he said. “Now it is my turn.”

“My lord is most gracious,” she said, bobbing her head, her hair, still dry, flowing around her like a curtain.

“You are beautiful, Guinevere,” he murmured, bringing the towels up her legs, staring up at her. “Like sunrise over a mountain or a rainfall in the desert or the first flower of spring.”

She blushed deeply and he could never quite get over her innocence still, despite the many times they’d done this, the things he’d said to her. It was as if she could not understand the way she affected him simply by being herself.

“You speak very prettily, Arthur,” she said, running her hands over his wet hair, now free of dried blood and sweat, while he rubbed himself down quickly.

“I mean every word,” he said, taking her hands and kissing the knuckles of each hand.

“I believe you do,” she said, surprising him by grasping his hands and pulling him toward the bed.

He laid out a towel underneath them and ran his hands along her skin. It was inconceivably soft beneath his fingers, the rough pads of his fingers still sensitive enough to rejoice in the contrast. Despite the majority of her life spent being poor, being used to labor, her own fingers were softer now, eased by the passage of time being Queen.

She arched her back underneath his touch, breathing out his name, and he enjoyed the fact that he knew her body so well, knew just where to touch her, exactly how to. He’d spent the last four years mapping the contours of her body, memorizing her touch of his.

He always fell in love with her all over again whenever they joined, her voice whispering endearments in his ear, her light touch becoming rougher with need, her ability to let go of her normal reserve heightening the longer they went. He was slow, wanting to make it last, wanting to feel this way instead of the way he had been feeling.

It hit him anew how close he’d come to never knowing her like this again and he increased his speed, the knowledge making him slightly more desperate, the need to feel her more. She encouraged him with her touch and her words, the incoherent noises falling from her mouth like a spur, urging him on.

The moments never lasted forever like he wanted, but it was not over forever like he had feared, and he was still there with her, wrapped in her arms, lying in a content tangle of limbs, her skin and hair and eyes and touch and whole self right within his reach.

“I love you very much, Guinevere,” he whispered into her hair. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” she whispered back and he was alarmed to hear tears in her voice.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said, “forgive me. I can’t help it. I just keep thinking about if you had never come back.”

“But I did,” he said, shifting his head to look her in the eye.

“But what if you hadn’t?” she asked. “I don’t mean to belittle what you went through, Arthur, but I have never felt so alone. I can understand better the burden that you must feel all the time. The weight of an entire kingdom on my shoulders, it was overwhelming. I don’t know how you stand it.”

“Honestly, I don’t know how I do either,” he said, brushing a kiss against her hair. “I’m sure you did better than I would have. There’s such a level-headed wisdom to you. But I am sorry you had to bear that for me.”

“It’s the life I chose,” she said, “and I’d choose it again, but it is harder than I ever imagined.”

“Is it really so difficult to be with me?” he asked, half-joking, thinking about more than just their marriage.

“You are not the problem,” she said, poking him. “And I would not ever have you think so. But you have begun something, Arthur, something different, and not everyone will agree with you. It was incredibly hard to get the council to agree to the decisions I made. They did not like a woman making them, they did not like a commoner making them, and they did not like the fact that I’m- that I- I can’t seem to bear you an heir.”

“Guinevere!” he said, looking into her eyes. “I could not love you more than if you’d given me a hundred heirs. I don’t care what they say. I would never change my choice of wife.”

“But what if something happens to you?” she said, voice muffled through tears. “What if something happens and I’m left alone for good, with no heir? What happens to this kingdom then? To the wonderful place you’ve entrusted to me? I don’t want to be the one to let it fall apart.”

“You wouldn’t,” he said, kissing her briefly. “I may not be as sure about my right to rule right now, but I do not doubt yours. The choices you’ve made, the trials you’ve endured, they have all been done with grace under pressure, executed by a wisdom I could never hope to contend with. It is you whom I trust above all others, your opinion that matters most to me. I cannot count the number of times I have almost chosen ill, but you held me back.”

“Why is it so easy for us to see the good in others but not ourselves?” she asked, tracing her hand up and down his chest, seemingly needing to touch him. “I would say those same things to you. I know you feel lost right now, that perhaps what you have accomplished was not you, but Merlin through you, but it is not true. Merlin may have influenced you and that is not such a bad thing as you may think, but you have ever chosen your own counsel, following your heart and conscience above all else. It is one of the things I admire most about you.”

“Then we are both right,” he said, rubbing her shoulder. “We are both mighty rulers, all wise and knowing, able to handle anything thrown at us.”

“I do not know about that,” she said, smiling finally, “but perhaps our fears are not as great as they feel. I am always my bravest when you are with me.”

“And that is when I am wisest,” he said.

“So we should always be together,” she said.

“I like the sound of that,” he agreed, kissing her again, lingering.

She kissed him back with passion, but there was no urgency.

“It cannot always be,” she said, when they finally broke apart. “You will ride out again to face Morgana.”

“But you will rule with grace and mercy,” he said. “If I can promise to come back, will you promise to be here when I return?”

“That is a promise I can make,” she said. “But I shall not hold it against you if you break yours. It is not something in your control, after all.”

“I will come back,” he said, staring at her, trying to drive the truth into her soul if he had to. “Nothing can keep us apart, Guinevere. I believe that with all that I am. Think of how many times we’ve been separated. A little thing like death would not be able to do more than prolong the separation.”

“You’re very mystical all of a sudden,” she said, but she sounded touched.

“I believe it,” he said firmly.

“I guess I do too,” she said softly. “Through it all, you’ve been my one constant. I believe in that, in us. It’s what keeps me going.”

“I believe in you,” he said, resting his forehead on hers.

“And I in you,” she said, reaching up to caress his head. “I don’t care who saved you, or who influenced you, or how many questions we have about the past, you are King, Arthur. You are the man for this kingdom. I don’t know why you can’t see it, but perhaps it is part of why you are so good at it. Every time you fall down, you rise again. Every time something attacks, you sacrifice everything for everyone else. You understand the importance of every individual person. You seek to unite rather than conquer. You desire peace, not war. You want to ask questions before you make decisions. You walk a balance between the wisdom of your head and the clemency of your heart. Were I a simple peasant girl, one you’d never spoken to or noticed, I would love you still, grateful beyond all measure that King Arthur of Camelot was my lord. Every person in Camelot would give their lives for you because you’ve proven your worth to them time and time again. I don’t know if what Merlin says is true, but I can well believe that you will be the greatest King Albion has ever seen. The things you have done will last through all time. They couldn’t not.” She stared beyond him as if the future was already before her. “King Arthur of Camelot, the most noble man I ever met.”

Arthur pulled back slowly as she spoke, staring at her. A warmth rose through him at her words, like a blanket on a cold night, easing balm over his wounded soul. Her praise filled him with a desire to be the man she said he already was. He felt humbled to know that what she spoke she believed with all her heart. He seemed to see himself through her eyes, as if he could reach out and touch the future she seemed so sure he would have, the deeds she saw him doing. It was tangible, possible, all because she believed it. He had needed to hear those words, needed to hear it from someone other than Merlin. And in her words he found absolution for Merlin, for the man he loved like a brother, who saw this same vision that appeared so vividly before Arthur now, and who had striven to fulfill it the only way he knew how.

Nothing was perfect, nothing was certain. Arthur didn’t know what the future held. Morgana could kill him tomorrow. Some other evil could destroy Camelot, but he would not let such a thing happen without a fight. It might take years, it might not be exact, but he would fight for the future his loved ones saw for him.

He still did not know how he felt about Merlin exactly, what their new relationship would look like, but he no longer felt doubt about himself and he had none whatsoever about the woman lying next to him. It was a priceless gift, her words to him.

“You never cease to surprise me,” he said, at a loss for words, still stunned by the epiphany floating over him.

She laughed, seeming embarrassed.

“I can see you believe me now.”

“You’re most persuasive,” he said, kissing her again. “Thank you. Thank you, Guinevere, for never giving up on me.”

“You’ve come a long way, Arthur,” she said, between kisses. “I can only imagine to what heights you will rise.”

“So long as you are with me, there will be no limits,” he said, losing himself to her warmth and touch again.

Later he felt sleep folding over him and he welcomed it, no longer afraid of what was to come.