Destination Reflections: a fic
Title: Destination Reflections
Author: jelazakazone
Fandom: Merlin
Pairings/characters: Merlin, Arthur, Gwen
Rating: G
Word Count: about 1500
Warnings: Character death, heartbreaking, maths that don’t add up
Summary: Merlin reminisces about the past as he travels to Arthur’s funeral
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and are not intending to profit from them
Authors’ notes: jillbertini was asking me about Merlin and Arthur’s destiny and this is my answer to her. Thanks to lewisian_gneiss for the awesome beta help. She is helping me put flesh on the bones of my characters and the ground beneath their feet.
Merlin rested his gnarled, veined hand on the Great Dragon’s scaled flank and sighed. “Are you ready old friend?”, he asked. With a flap, they left the ground, Kilgharrah’s wings spreading majestically. Tears were streaming down Merlin’s face and he could not tell if it was grief that wrung them from his eyes or the cold wind. As the rosy fingertips of dawn warmed the land, Merlin started to thaw. Still in shock from the battle and gore on the field, he was struck by the fecundity of the land. Arthur, his King, the Once and Future King, had united the land of Albion piece by mighty piece. He couldn’t believe that his powerful warrior had succumbed to mortal wounds.
Creaking leather straps brought him out of his reverie and he realized they were nearing Camelot. The passage of time had not been kind to him, but the years had adored Camelot. She looked as beautiful as ever, with bright streaming pennants, gleaming white castle walls, and shiny bronze gates. Kilgharrah set down in the field outside the castle walls. He could go no further.
Merlin walked through the gates, glad to be home after months of campaigns. He saw the city as if he were the naive young man who had arrived with his destiny entirely ahead of him. The wonder of his first days returned to him in a rush and he remembered how overwhelmed he had been when he arrived. The smells of straw and mud, horse manure, and food cooking in the streets made him feel eighteen years old again. Looking around, he appreciated the hale, hearty people he saw, knowing that Arthur had created a peaceful kingdom.
“No young man, no matter how great, can know his destiny. He cannot glimpse his part in the great story that is about to unfold.” And so it was, on their first meeting, that neither had known their shared destiny nor how it would unfold.
Slipping back into reverie, Merlin remembered Arthur’s voice saying "Where's the target?" He remembered feeling compelled to stop; he had not understood what or whom he saw. After watching Arthur torment the harassed page, Merlin had not been able to hold his tongue any longer; he remembered saying "friend", although he had amended it to "prat". Tears sprung to his eyes as he remembered how that “prat” had become Merlin’s greatest friend, one who had been willing to risk his royal hide for a him, a mere servant.
Merlin smiled as he thought back; time and familiarity helped him piece together what Arthur had been thinking. He was sure Arthur had wondered who had had the temerity to stand up to him. He remembered Arthur challenging him as they’d passed each other on the street. “How’s your knee walking coming along? Ah, don’t run away!” When Merlin had replied “From you?”, Arthur had said “Oh, thank god, I thought you were deaf as well as dumb.” He didn’t know what had made Arthur call out to him, but he felt certain that Arthur was impressed at his boldness in standing up for himself. Merlin remembered fumbling the cold mace and thinking that he could just use magic to gain the upper hand. Catching sight of Gaius’s disapproving face, he had stopped and surrendered. He had been surprised that Arthur seemed to sense something unusual about himself and that Arthur hadn’t been able to put his finger on. Merlin knew that Arthur had been impressed with his boldness, but confused that he would continue to try to fight when Arthur’s skills were clearly superior.
Brushing up against people as he made his way down the crowded street, Merlin walked on. He caught sight of the stocks; in a rush, his memories spun to the dungeon and the first time he’d heard the voice of The Great Dragon. He had thought he had dreamed that voice, it was so unearthly. It woke him and he tracked it down, down, down to the lowest depths of the castle. The air was chilly and dank, although the fiery torch he held to light the way heated his face and shoulder. He was amazed by the size of the cavern and curious to know where the voice was coming from. He called into the abyss, “Where are you?” and the Great Dragon swooped in. Merlin was awestruck.
A deep yet raspy voice filled the cavern and Merlin had been somewhat offended by the dragon’s remark that he was so small, but he’d brightened when he’d heard that he’d had a destiny to fulfill. Merlin’s toe caught on a pebble as he stumbled, becoming aware of his surroundings once more. In the distance, he could see the entrance to the Great Hall where his King lay. He chuckled to himself, though, as he recalled the dragon telling him that Arthur was to be the Once and Future King and that he, Merlin, would be instrumental in his success: nay, that they were each one side of the same coin. He had not known that each would lean on the other many times over the years: they had saved each others lives; they had defeated foes together that neither could have defeated alone; they had achieved great goals together on quests; and they had enjoyed each other’s company and grown to trust and respect each other. It was clear to Merlin that they had both benefited from happenstance bringing them together; he was happy to credit destiny as he and Camelot had prospered under Arthur’s rule.
The trumpets blared as Merlin approached the entrance to the Great Hall. The hour to visit the dead sovereign had arrived. Red capes billowing, the guards bowed to Merlin as he approached and Merlin bowed back. Gwen waited for him at the entrance, eyes red and cheeks flooded with tears. As he raised her hand for a kiss, he noticed her ragged nails.
Gwen and Merlin had been friends many long years and her presence was a great comfort to him. He looked into her eyes and saw only sadness. He said, “I’m so sorry.” With a puzzled look, she asked him, “What ever for?” With a deep breath, Merlin said, “I have failed both you and Arthur and now we see the end of Camelot.” Gwen denied Merlin’s utterance with a rush, “Oh no Merlin! You have not failed us in the least. Without you, Arthur would never have become the Once and Future King and Albion would not have been able to exist. You have not failed us. You are our greatest champion and ally.”
Tears leaked from Merlin’s eyes and he tucked Gwen’s hand into his arm as they processed toward the funeral bier. His heart swelled with gratitude at Gwen’s words for he was feeling the bitter pain of defeat at Arthur’s death: the ultimate failure. And yet, Arthur had ruled for many years. Had he not just this morning seen evidence of Arthur’s power on the verdant land? He reflected on Gwen’s wisdom. Merlin and Arthur were truly two sides of one coin and Albion would never have existed and prospered had it not been for both of them, working together for each other and the kingdom. Merlin felt confident that Arthur would be the greatest king Camelot would ever know and that his name would be remembered by every age until the end of time.
As they neared the casket, Gwen let go of Merlin’s arm. His arm felt cold where her hand had been and he shivered. This time, the final time, he knew he had to face Arthur alone. Gwen’s words gave him the strength he needed to say goodbye one last time. He took a couple more steps and found himself gazing on his King, cloaked in red velvet. Arthur looked strong, even in death. His hair had greyed with age, but his face was remarkably smooth for a man who had bourne the weight of a growing kingdom. Merlin wished he could give one last rousing speech, as he had done so many times, to give himself and Arthur the faith and courage they all needed to face impossible odds, but the time for speaking was done. Merlin lay a hand on Arthur’s cheek and said simply, “Goodbye.” While his heart felt heavy, he was sure they would not be parted for eternity. He knew his own time on this mortal coil was drawing to a close as well. He thought that if he had one regret it was that he had not been able to trade his life so Arthur might live a while longer.
Merlin withdrew his hand slowly; it felt so heavy. He stepped back, away from Arthur and waited for Gwen to pay her respects. Gwen also placed her hand inside the coffin and Merlin thought he saw her smooth the cloak, as if Arthur had somehow rumpled it. And then she was done, turning to him, eyes bright and wrinkled at the corners to hold the tears in. Her warm hand caught up his cold hand, and they walked out together.
Merlin stumbled on the threshold, falling into the sunlight courtyard, his heart broken. He felt Albion must have shattered at that moment too; there were no sides of the coin left to hold it together.
Author: jelazakazone
Fandom: Merlin
Pairings/characters: Merlin, Arthur, Gwen
Rating: G
Word Count: about 1500
Warnings: Character death, heartbreaking, maths that don’t add up
Summary: Merlin reminisces about the past as he travels to Arthur’s funeral
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and are not intending to profit from them
Authors’ notes: jillbertini was asking me about Merlin and Arthur’s destiny and this is my answer to her. Thanks to lewisian_gneiss for the awesome beta help. She is helping me put flesh on the bones of my characters and the ground beneath their feet.
Merlin rested his gnarled, veined hand on the Great Dragon’s scaled flank and sighed. “Are you ready old friend?”, he asked. With a flap, they left the ground, Kilgharrah’s wings spreading majestically. Tears were streaming down Merlin’s face and he could not tell if it was grief that wrung them from his eyes or the cold wind. As the rosy fingertips of dawn warmed the land, Merlin started to thaw. Still in shock from the battle and gore on the field, he was struck by the fecundity of the land. Arthur, his King, the Once and Future King, had united the land of Albion piece by mighty piece. He couldn’t believe that his powerful warrior had succumbed to mortal wounds.
Creaking leather straps brought him out of his reverie and he realized they were nearing Camelot. The passage of time had not been kind to him, but the years had adored Camelot. She looked as beautiful as ever, with bright streaming pennants, gleaming white castle walls, and shiny bronze gates. Kilgharrah set down in the field outside the castle walls. He could go no further.
Merlin walked through the gates, glad to be home after months of campaigns. He saw the city as if he were the naive young man who had arrived with his destiny entirely ahead of him. The wonder of his first days returned to him in a rush and he remembered how overwhelmed he had been when he arrived. The smells of straw and mud, horse manure, and food cooking in the streets made him feel eighteen years old again. Looking around, he appreciated the hale, hearty people he saw, knowing that Arthur had created a peaceful kingdom.
“No young man, no matter how great, can know his destiny. He cannot glimpse his part in the great story that is about to unfold.” And so it was, on their first meeting, that neither had known their shared destiny nor how it would unfold.
Slipping back into reverie, Merlin remembered Arthur’s voice saying "Where's the target?" He remembered feeling compelled to stop; he had not understood what or whom he saw. After watching Arthur torment the harassed page, Merlin had not been able to hold his tongue any longer; he remembered saying "friend", although he had amended it to "prat". Tears sprung to his eyes as he remembered how that “prat” had become Merlin’s greatest friend, one who had been willing to risk his royal hide for a him, a mere servant.
Merlin smiled as he thought back; time and familiarity helped him piece together what Arthur had been thinking. He was sure Arthur had wondered who had had the temerity to stand up to him. He remembered Arthur challenging him as they’d passed each other on the street. “How’s your knee walking coming along? Ah, don’t run away!” When Merlin had replied “From you?”, Arthur had said “Oh, thank god, I thought you were deaf as well as dumb.” He didn’t know what had made Arthur call out to him, but he felt certain that Arthur was impressed at his boldness in standing up for himself. Merlin remembered fumbling the cold mace and thinking that he could just use magic to gain the upper hand. Catching sight of Gaius’s disapproving face, he had stopped and surrendered. He had been surprised that Arthur seemed to sense something unusual about himself and that Arthur hadn’t been able to put his finger on. Merlin knew that Arthur had been impressed with his boldness, but confused that he would continue to try to fight when Arthur’s skills were clearly superior.
Brushing up against people as he made his way down the crowded street, Merlin walked on. He caught sight of the stocks; in a rush, his memories spun to the dungeon and the first time he’d heard the voice of The Great Dragon. He had thought he had dreamed that voice, it was so unearthly. It woke him and he tracked it down, down, down to the lowest depths of the castle. The air was chilly and dank, although the fiery torch he held to light the way heated his face and shoulder. He was amazed by the size of the cavern and curious to know where the voice was coming from. He called into the abyss, “Where are you?” and the Great Dragon swooped in. Merlin was awestruck.
A deep yet raspy voice filled the cavern and Merlin had been somewhat offended by the dragon’s remark that he was so small, but he’d brightened when he’d heard that he’d had a destiny to fulfill. Merlin’s toe caught on a pebble as he stumbled, becoming aware of his surroundings once more. In the distance, he could see the entrance to the Great Hall where his King lay. He chuckled to himself, though, as he recalled the dragon telling him that Arthur was to be the Once and Future King and that he, Merlin, would be instrumental in his success: nay, that they were each one side of the same coin. He had not known that each would lean on the other many times over the years: they had saved each others lives; they had defeated foes together that neither could have defeated alone; they had achieved great goals together on quests; and they had enjoyed each other’s company and grown to trust and respect each other. It was clear to Merlin that they had both benefited from happenstance bringing them together; he was happy to credit destiny as he and Camelot had prospered under Arthur’s rule.
The trumpets blared as Merlin approached the entrance to the Great Hall. The hour to visit the dead sovereign had arrived. Red capes billowing, the guards bowed to Merlin as he approached and Merlin bowed back. Gwen waited for him at the entrance, eyes red and cheeks flooded with tears. As he raised her hand for a kiss, he noticed her ragged nails.
Gwen and Merlin had been friends many long years and her presence was a great comfort to him. He looked into her eyes and saw only sadness. He said, “I’m so sorry.” With a puzzled look, she asked him, “What ever for?” With a deep breath, Merlin said, “I have failed both you and Arthur and now we see the end of Camelot.” Gwen denied Merlin’s utterance with a rush, “Oh no Merlin! You have not failed us in the least. Without you, Arthur would never have become the Once and Future King and Albion would not have been able to exist. You have not failed us. You are our greatest champion and ally.”
Tears leaked from Merlin’s eyes and he tucked Gwen’s hand into his arm as they processed toward the funeral bier. His heart swelled with gratitude at Gwen’s words for he was feeling the bitter pain of defeat at Arthur’s death: the ultimate failure. And yet, Arthur had ruled for many years. Had he not just this morning seen evidence of Arthur’s power on the verdant land? He reflected on Gwen’s wisdom. Merlin and Arthur were truly two sides of one coin and Albion would never have existed and prospered had it not been for both of them, working together for each other and the kingdom. Merlin felt confident that Arthur would be the greatest king Camelot would ever know and that his name would be remembered by every age until the end of time.
As they neared the casket, Gwen let go of Merlin’s arm. His arm felt cold where her hand had been and he shivered. This time, the final time, he knew he had to face Arthur alone. Gwen’s words gave him the strength he needed to say goodbye one last time. He took a couple more steps and found himself gazing on his King, cloaked in red velvet. Arthur looked strong, even in death. His hair had greyed with age, but his face was remarkably smooth for a man who had bourne the weight of a growing kingdom. Merlin wished he could give one last rousing speech, as he had done so many times, to give himself and Arthur the faith and courage they all needed to face impossible odds, but the time for speaking was done. Merlin lay a hand on Arthur’s cheek and said simply, “Goodbye.” While his heart felt heavy, he was sure they would not be parted for eternity. He knew his own time on this mortal coil was drawing to a close as well. He thought that if he had one regret it was that he had not been able to trade his life so Arthur might live a while longer.
Merlin withdrew his hand slowly; it felt so heavy. He stepped back, away from Arthur and waited for Gwen to pay her respects. Gwen also placed her hand inside the coffin and Merlin thought he saw her smooth the cloak, as if Arthur had somehow rumpled it. And then she was done, turning to him, eyes bright and wrinkled at the corners to hold the tears in. Her warm hand caught up his cold hand, and they walked out together.
Merlin stumbled on the threshold, falling into the sunlight courtyard, his heart broken. He felt Albion must have shattered at that moment too; there were no sides of the coin left to hold it together.