Ubi Sunt (Part I)
Title: Ubi Sunt
Art link: On LJ
Rating: R
Word Count: ~41,000
“Where is the horse gone? Where the rider? Where are the seats at the feast? Where are the revels in the hall? Alas for the bright cup! Alas for the mailed warrior! Alas for the splendour of the prince! How that time has passed away, dark under the cover of night, as if it had never been!”
When Merlin had been a little boy, he’d wanted to ride horses. It hadn’t ended well for him.
If there was a story to be told, and Merlin wasn’t quite convinced there was one, then that would be the story. He’d wanted something, and he hadn’t gotten it, and in the vein of all great epics he would have to find a blind bard to tell it. He would probably have to die to make the ending more interesting. Crippled didn’t have the same ring to it as corpse.
Merlin turned his eyes around the venue, taking in the sights and sounds and smells of the convention. That’s where Gaius had sent him to, kicking and screaming and a little frightened: a horse convention. Merlin had spent the first day of the weekend in relative anonymity, which had been a relief. But paranoid, that was a good word to describe him, paranoid that someone would figure him out. Will and Gwen said it had something to do with an inflated ego, which was their nice way of reminding him that the world didn’t revolve around his accident. All the same, freak accidents and skyrocketing careers made for an interesting type of infamy. Merlin felt like a cliche, but really, he just wanted to be left alone.
He shook it off, because he wasn’t here to be maudlin. He was here to do his job-or that’s what Gaius had said, when he’d all but chased Merlin off the continent with a broomstick. It was more of a vacation than it was work, but it was the sort of thing Gaius would say was for Merlin’s own good. So Merlin had been bundled, protesting loudly, onto a plane, and he had flown across the ocean and he’d been dumped into New York City, at a big horse back riding conference that felt strange and a little out of place amidst all the grandeur. Still, they had popcorn and events every hour, and the area was big enough that Merlin went unnoticed, whether he was curled half around himself in the bleachers, or tucked near the back of the crowd at the far end of the arena, the metal bars that formed the ring digging into his stomach.
It was a habit born of self-imposed exile that he wouldn’t get any closer, but he was enjoying watching. The girl was too young yet to be anything like a champion, but she was good. She moved with her horse, and the dialogue between them was something beautiful to watch. She had a prosthetic leg, according to the brochure, but her interaction with the animal was seamless. It was the sort of moment that made Merlin smile, because he’d dedicated every conscious moment since his accident to therapeutic horseback riding at Camelot Stables, which Gaius owned. “That’s the ticket,” he murmured thoughtfully.
“Ride much?” a voice asked, somewhere to his left.
Merlin raised an eyebrow, “Did you try to find the nearest non-American person you could?” he eyed the man who’d appeared next to him, unfamiliar, so not a reporter who Merlin knew, but Merlin was wary-always wary-that someone would come out of the woodwork with a question that would knock him back down on his arse.
The man’s laugh was warm, and Merlin made an effort to pull his shoulders down from around his ears. The protective hunch was pretty much his permanent state whenever he was outside the safety of Camelot. That was the thing about freak accidents, really, and Merlin’s accident had been the freakiest he’d ever heard of, they destroyed your sense of trust in the world. “I might’ve been missing someone who speaks my language,” the stranger admitted. “But you sound more Irish than me, so I missed my mark.” He held out his hand, grinning, “I’m Leon,” he added when Merlin just looked at it.
“Merlin,” he said finally, offering half a smile and his hand.
“What an interesting name,” there was a pause, and Merlin could see the moment Leon put two and two together. “Are you-”
“I should be going,” Merlin announced, pushing back from the railing and glancing over his shoulder at the girl on the big, ugly horse. He’d been enjoying their performance, but some things-like his dignity-were worth protecting. “Nice meeting you.”
“Hey, no, wait,” Leon reached out and grabbed Merlin’s arm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ve just heard of you.”
Merlin inclined his head, “Not surprising,” he said quietly, tugging slightly on his arm until Leon let go. Merlin took another step backwards, preparing to make a break for it, but Leon spoke over the rush of panic in Merlin’s ears.
“No, I mean, your work at Camelot. What you’re doing with those kids-“ Leon broke into a wide smile, “It’s the kind of thing I’ve always wanted to get into. My coach, though, he’s not so big on the charity gigs.”
“Who do you ride with?” Merlin asked, curious now, but still tense. He was poised to run, like a horse, he thought ruefully-at least he wasn’t cornered. Still, his curiosity was getting the best of him. Just because he hadn’t let the equestrian world keep tabs on him didn’t mean he’d never kept tabs on them.
“Uther Pendragon.”
Leon looked proud when he said it, and so he should. Uther’s team was notoriously hard to get on-rigorous and intense, and it only took riders who had been riding for nearly as long as they’d been walking. Uther’s riders were famously brutal--but definitely champions, and it made sense that Uther was “not so big on charity gigs.” Merlin had never met the man, but he’d competed against some of his riders, and had thought the lot of them to be bratty and irresponsible, as though they were entitled to the trophy just for showing up at the event, as though they deserved it, more than anyone else there. Leon, though, seemed nice enough-and then Merlin remembered who he was. “You ride Green Knight, don’t you?” he asked.
“That’s me,” Leon smiled, “He’s a good horse.”
Good horse was something of an understatement, and that surprised Merlin more than anything else about his new acquaintance. Uther’s horses, like his riders, were well bred champions. They weren’t good horses, they were works of art, they were expensive, and, much like their riders and their trainer, famously stand-offish. Green Knight was one of the most amazing horses Merlin had ever had the pleasure of competing against, he said as much to Leon.
“I remember riding against you,” Leon answered, his grin rueful. “I knew I didn’t stand a chance the second I saw you take the first jump. I got quite the tongue lashing after that show, but in all honesty, if I’d had my way I would have withdrawn. I was too green to be competing with you.”
“You rode well. Really, mate. I was impressed.”
“You were impressed with my horse,” Leon answered, laughing again. “Not with his rider.” The conversation fell into a comfortable lull, and Merlin’s guard dropped down enough that he returned to watching the girl in the ring. She was at the end of her ride, now, and dropped into a salute. There were no judges, the gesture was directed at the crowd. They cheered for her, and Merlin took a slow and steady breath. This was the healthiest he’d felt in a long time. His back didn’t ache, he had been walking straight all day. Maybe getting out of England had been good for him, after all.
“I was sorry to hear about your accident,” Leon said finally. “You were--”
Whatever Leon was going to say was cut off. A harried looking blond appeared at his elbow. “Leon,” she said, her voice low and insistent. “We have to go, something’s gone wrong with Arthur.”
Merlin frowned. “Arthur?” he said quietly, following along as the woman tugged Leon away from the arena.
“Merlin!” someone shouted, “Merlin Emrys! How do you feel about Arthur Pendragon’s accident?”
Merlin froze, caught off guard by the reported who had all but appeared at his elbow. In another life, in another world, he would have thought him quite handsome. In this life, there was a recording device in front of his mouth, and the man’s smile was honestly interested, and familiar. “I know you,” Merlin said.
“I interviewed you a few years ago, for my Uni’s column on sports, but Merlin, how do you feel about Arthur’s accident? ”
“I don’t know anything about Arthur’s accident,” Merlin said, his voice rough and automatic. “I don’t think I ever will.”
And then he ran, because when Merlin was a little boy he’d thought his destiny was to be a champion. He’d been wrong, and running from it ever since.
That’s the funny thing about destiny, though. It catches up with you.
Camelot Stables was located reasonably far outside the city. It preserved the air of solitude that Merlin thought all barns should have, but at the same time made sure his commute wasn’t mind-numbing. Even if he stayed at the barn more than at his flat, it was still nice to know the drive could be made. The barn itself, tonight, after a long time away, stood sturdy and beautiful against the backdrop of stars. Merlin felt like he was being welcomed home as the wind ruffled the trees that lined the long drive up to the old barn.
His godfather, Gaius, was the owner and founder of the therapeutic riding facility. Alongside Merlin’s father, the man had created a haven for children and adults alike, with a range of illness and injury-both physical and mental. It was haven for Merlin too, a place away from London’s busy thrum and all his coursework. It was an amazing place, a Utopia of sorts. But most importantly, it was home.
A half-mile beyond the barn, up a lazily escalating hill, stood Gaius’s house. The lights were still on in the kitchen, which Merlin took to mean that his godfather was awake, waiting to see if Merlin would stop by the barn. Predictably, when the headlights of Merlin’s trusty old car crested the last small hill into the lot, a dark silhouette appeared in the kitchen window. It stood there for a second then walked away. The lights in the house went off, and Merlin laughed and jumped out of the car.
“Apparently just knowing I’m home means he doesn’t have to walk out here in the dark,” he informed the barn in front of him.
“Well I don’t mind walking out here in the dark,” a familiar voice said from somewhere to his left. Merlin spun around, laughing, just in time to catch the bundle of breeches and curly hair.
“Guinevere!” he said, hugging her tightly. “I told you I wasn’t going to die in a plane crash.”
She hit him hard on the shoulder. “I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t die! I knew it,” she paused, “Not that these things don’t happen, and that people get upset when there are plane crashes, I mean, it’s completely valid for people to be afraid, I just meant I knew you weren’t going to die in a fiery explo-”
“It’s good to see you too, Gwen,” Merlin said, cutting off her ramble before she got too into it. He squeezed her waist one last time before letting go completely and turning to lead the way back into the relative warmth and light of the barn.
Gwen wanted to know everything about his trip. She wanted to know if there had been any exceedingly hot new PT experts at the conference, if the food at the American restaurants had been any good, and if the New York accent was as intense as the movies made it seem. Merlin answered her questions as best he could, but mostly just let her ask. She seemed glad to have someone to talk to, or at least someone who talked back. Both of them talked to the horses, but aside from the occasional nibble or stomped hoof, neither of them got much in the way of responses.
Gwen ducked off to go find the barn cat who, she insisted, had missed Merlin intensely, and Merlin went off to visit his horses.
The first stall he visited, as he always did, was The Fisher King’s.
Merlin called him Fish, for short, as he always had, because the show name (although impressive on the circuit) was a mouthful, and too pretentious to be shared between friends. The beautiful black stallion looked at him calmly over his stall door, and to anyone else, Fish might have seemed unenthusiastic for the return of his rider, but Merlin knew better. Fish didn’t look over his stall door often, and the horse nickered welcomingly as Merlin finally rested a hand on his face, gently rubbing the white star hidden under his soft forelock.
“Hello, friend,” he whispered. Even the quiet words echoed in the otherwise silent stable. “I missed you.”
Fish met his gaze appraisingly, the warm brown eye surveying Merlin for a second before Fish finally lowered his head and wuffed a soft breath against the pocket of Merlin’s jacket.
“Yes, yes, yes, I brought you an apple,” Merlin chuckled. He broke it in half, holding one half out on his flattened palm, bringing the other half to his mouth. He bit into the apple, watching as his horse, his prize stallion did the same.
There had been a time when Merlin and The Fisher King had been destined for shared greatness. The Equestrian world had been swept up in the story of the lean young rider and his beautiful stallion-both young, both incredibly talented. They’d taken the Irish show circuit by a storm, and his mother and his coach had pressed upon him the importance of realizing his talent. They shooed him off to show in the UK, who had shooed him off to show in the US, and eventually, despite his youth, Merlin had begun to realize his dreams of being a famous rider, an Olympic one, probably. He’d been favored, the young Irish riding prodigy who would turn around the lack of medals the team had won in the past.
His chances were good. His horse was strong. His form impeccable and even some of the more famous equestrians were known to take him out to lunch, or ask if he’d like to go for a trail ride, or a friendly competitive race when he was home on break. The eventing season in Britain ran from March to October every year, and he spent his off months training. Occasionally headed to Florida or Australia for a light level competition to keep him and Fish on their feet.
Merlin’s first competition at the highest level of international eventing was the Kentucky Rolex-three days after his eighteenth birthday. He won without contest on a borrowed horse. The Kentucky was a test run for Merlin, to see how he handled the stress. Fish had remained in the UK, watched by Gaius. If Merlin did well at the Rolex, Fish and Merlin would ride next in the Badminton Trials, one week later, in Britain. The win was exciting for Merlin, who was the youngest competitor that year, but it would have been better, he’d thought, on his horse.
The Badminton Trials were the second leg in the Grand Slam of Eventing (the Triple Crown of horse showing) and Merlin had anticipated being able to compete at the highest level of competition since he was sixteen and taking champion at every level of competition he and Fish were allowed to compete in. The Badminton was his first real shot at international fame and glory, at proving himself to be one of the best riders in the world. As the second leg, it was pivotal for the rider who won the first. The only rider to ever win all three events, and thus take the title of champion, was Pippa Funnell in 2003. If Merlin won Badminton, he realistically could win all three. Just the thought of it made his head spin.
Merlin remembered that morning so clearly.
He remembered waking up and walking down to the barn at 4am, stretching himself out as he went, his boots shoved on over his pajama bottoms, his hair a mess. He’d grabbed Fish and walked into the ring, and they’d walked around in circles, Merlin talking, Fish snorting like he knew what Merlin was saying. As other riders, more appropriately dressed, started to appear, Merlin walked Fish back to his stall. He leaned up against his horse, taking in the warmth of the beautiful black coat, and whispered “This is it, this is for us.” Fish bit his shoulder, which Merlin took as agreement.
Merlin won the Badminton. The press went wild. They hailed him as some sort of prodigy. He was shocked to hear from Pippa, the 2003 champion, who told him that if he could do what she’d done at half her age, then he should do just that and be proud of himself. The words were spoken in the gruff tone he associated with the best riders he knew. He thanked her profusely and hugged his horse.
Merlin wasn’t an overconfident person, but he had, at one point in his life, been a proud and happy one. The few weeks between the Badminton Trials and the Burghely were the best in his life. He felt loved, he loved his horse, and he felt happier than he’d ever wanted to admit. Merlin dared to hope that he could win. He’d been wrong. The accident was still a fresh bitter taste in his mouth, even after all the months between that and now.
~~~
“Merlin?” Gwen’s voice shook him out of remembering the accident, the feeling of the sand in the ring grinding against his neck, the sound of his own bones cracking, and Fish’s frantic, heavy breathing.
Merlin visibly shook himself. He said nothing, just looked at Fish for a little while, slowly stroking the horse’s mane. He wished that he could say it didn’t bother him, but it did. Only Gwen knew that he still woke up screaming. She hadn’t known him when the accident happened, but she’d known of him. She’d hoped to compete in the ring one day, too, she just fell in love with helping other’s first. Merlin wasn’t sure what life without Gwen would be like, but he had an idea, and it wasn’t pleasant. She’d helped him more than he’d ever dreamed anyone could, for that, he was eternally grateful.
“We could’ve been good,” Merlin said finally. Merlin thought that a lot, but he didn’t often say it out loud. In the hospital, he’d always avoided saying it. Everyone was thinking it, he could read it on their faces, there was no reason to actually articulate it. No reason to make it any realer than it already was. Sometimes, he still wondered if they blamed him. He wasn’t entirely sure who “they” were, but he knew that they existed. They were the people who still talked about his accident, who wanted to know what would happen if he tried to show again. “They” were never far from Merlin’s thoughts. He hated them.
“Oh, Merlin,” Gwen whispered, and wrapped her arms around him. Merlin hugged her for a little while, got lost in the smell of her fruity shampoo and the leathery barn. He held on to Gwen until the urge to cry over a past he couldn’t change left him, and then he let go.
It had been worse, recently, than it had been in a long while. His back hurt, he was depressed more often, and he found himself remembering. The nightmares, too, had gotten worse. The trip to New York was supposed to help calm him, but it hadn’t really. He’d heard about the Pendragon accident while he was there, and although that had been a few weeks ago, now, it still made his accident feel all the more recent.
“Did you hear about Arthur Pendragon?” Merlin asked. Gwen probably had, but she pretended that she hadn’t, so that he could tell her about something a little more real than memories.
~~~
“Heels down, chin up! Molly, don’t look so confused. If you pull on your reins and look in the corner, of course that’s where Percival is going to go. Look straight ahead, loosen your hands. That’s the ticket!”
The tiny girl looked even tinier on the huge, muscular Clydesdale. The two were definitely not a traditional pairing, but Merlin knew that they would be great partners. He held his breath for her, automatically counting paces as Molly and Percival approached the low cross rail. She was a good jumper and a promising young rider. Merlin liked her. Molly had the kind of spunk people used to say he had, back before everything had gone to shit. She was outgoing, she spoke her mind, and she had a fantastic seat. The girl looked happy to be on a horse, and despite her disabilities, she had all the chance in the world to show legitimately. Merlin had been talking with her mother about some casual; local shows to test Molly and Percival out in. Neither had told the girl, and if today’s session went well, Merlin planned to break the news.
It went well. As Merlin told Gwen about Molly’s reaction, he talked with his hands. The girl’s happiness made him feel lighter too, despite the shadow of his own accident and the Pendragon accident. Merlin and Gwen were out on one of Camelot’s many trails, checking to see if any fallen logs or rocks would cause a dangerous situation for young riders. As he spoke, Merlin absentmindedly tangled and untangled his fingers in Fish’s mane.
He was in the middle of explaining how Molly had jumped up and down despite her bad leg when he realized Gwen wasn’t listening. She nodded absently for the fourth time and Merlin eyed her suspiciously.
“Yep. And then Molly and I eloped. It was great, went to Vegas and everything. Except the priest was late because there was a line for the loo,” Merlin continued, one eye on Gwen, the other on the trail.
“Sounds great, Merlin, I’m happy for you both,” Gwen murmured in response.
“Guinevere!”
“Hmmm?”
“What’s gotten into you? You’re distracted. I’m supposed to be the broody and distracted one in this relationship. I’ll need to find another flatmate.”
“Oh stop,” Gwen smiled, “I’m sorry. It’s just…” She paused and shifted uncomfortably in her saddle. “Merlin, have you ever been in love?”
“I, uh, what?”
Merlin had never been in love, he’d had crushes, sure. Gwen knew that. He and Will had messed around too, before he’d gotten serious about riding. Merlin cherished those nights in the field behind Crazy Old Mingus’s barn, because they reminded him of what it felt like to be human. Merlin loved Will and suspected Will loved him, but Merlin was definitely not in love. Nor had he ever been. There hadn’t been time for romance when he was just beginning, and now he didn’t care.“No, Gwen, I haven’t.” He paused, then said, “Are uh, are you?”
Gwen didn’t answer him, she was silent for a long time, and then abruptly turned her horse, Galahad, back toward Camelot. She didn’t say anything; he wasn’t going to get much of an answer like this.
“Gwen, what-” Merlin started to ask, but he was cut off as Gwen galloped back the way they came. Merlin sat for a few seconds in stunned silence, before he picked up an easy trot. “Don’t worry, Fish,” he said softly, stroking his horse’s neck, “She’s just a stupid ugly showoff. Galloping on the trail is overrated.”
~~~
“Gwen,” Merlin said forty minutes later, his voice barely hiding his shock and a little bit of anger, “Why is Morgana Le Fey standing in my office?”
“Well, I mean. She’s famous. So that’s a good thing. And we’re kind of. Kind of friends, yeah?” Gwen said slowly. “And well, she’s got a brother. Not that that’s a bad or a good thing. But she wants to take a lesson.”
Merlin’s mouth must have been hanging open, because Gwen reached out and touched his chin. He couldn’t think of another reason for her to touch his chin. “No.”
“Well, she just wants to meet you. She knows about you -“ Gwen hesitated, “From before. From when you were showing. She’s really impressed with your past and everything.”
Merlin paled, and then bristled. He wasn’t sure why the subject was still such a touchy one, especially with Gwen. She was the best flatmate in the world, and never made fun of him when she caught him on the couch at 4am, watching old training videos from back when he was a rising star.
“I don’t,” he said shortly, “I don’t want to meet anyone who has questions about my past. I don’t care if it’s that stupid reporter for the magazine who wants to do an article on my ‘tragic accident’ or the Queen or fucking Morgana Le Fey the actress. I want nothing to do with anything about my past. OK Gwen? You should know that, you better than anyone. I can’t go back there. I don’t want to speculate about what could have been, it’s been a year since I got on a horse again, and I just want to move on. Please, Gwen.” Merlin wanted to sound a lot stronger than he came out, but he couldn’t help himself.
All the therapy sessions in the world couldn’t fix the part of him that remained broken. No hospitals or surgery could give him back that hope he used to have. He could care about the kids, like Ashley, who had the potential to do great things despite their disabilities, but Merlin himself was broken, The Fisher King was broken, and the sooner all these people who kept popping out of the past let them alone, the better things would be. “My past is in the past, and I think we just need to forget about it.”
“I can’t let that happen,” spoke a new voice from the door to the tack room. Its owner strode into the room, just as stately and impeccable as her voice. Not a hair out of place or a piece of hay stuck to her, despite the fact that Merlin and Gwen were both disheveled and there was definitely hay stuck to his sweater and probably caught up in his hair as well. “I’m Morgana Le Fey,” the woman said, holding out a hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Merlin.”
Merlin just stared. “Look, Ms Le Fey,” he began. He had a whole spiel ready. He was going to give her the names of great coaches in the area, tell her that he loved she was interested in riding, but she cut him off.
“Call me Morgana, please, and it’s not me who needs the lessons, it’s my brother. Does the name Arthur Pendragon mean anything to you?”
The stories had been splashed across the equine news for weeks. It was the worst accident in recent memory aside from Merlin’s own. It was just as inexplicable. And Merlin was, after New York, intimately familiar with the details.
The facts were these. Arthur Pendragon had mounted his horse, Arcturus, in preparation for the match. Everything had gone smoothly, he’d done his usual charming, tongue in cheek salute to the judges. The first three jumps were perfect. Just before the fourth one, something went wrong. Arcturus and Arthur were on the ground. They both stayed down. Arthur spent one month in the hospital barely lucid enough to know his own name. When he woke up, his horse was dead, his career was on thin ice, and everyone in the world wanted an interview.
Merlin knew the story upside-down and sideways. He had the articles clipped away, snuck into a book he’d taken to New York with him, where Gwen or Will would never find them. It was so similar-he couldn’t help but wonder…but no. He’d dismissed the thought of foul play early on in the original investigation of his accident. He never wanted to think of it again. But the clippings stayed there, and he’d followed the news. He’d been relieved when Arthur had woken up from his coma and heartbroken when Arcturus had been put down. Merlin knew this story well, it had been his. Although, his own ending had been happier, at least.
Merlin could sympathize with the other man, but he didn’t know why Arthur Pendragon had anything to do with him, and knowing who Arthur was didn’t explain why Morgana Le Fey was standing in his office, or why he’d decided to hear her out.
He was a little slow processing it, which would of course explain why Gwen and Morgana managed to talk him into a trail ride. He was so busy trying to work out Arthur Pendragon’s involvement in the whole situation that he couldn’t come up with a viable excuse.
That was how Merlin found himself sitting on Fish, watching Morgana Le Fey, the thrice Oscar nominated, once tony winning singer and actress, and Gwen, his best friend and the most wonderfully normal person he knew, gossip like schoolgirls. The day was crisp and cold, but the trails were clear and pleasant, and Merlin found that he really was enjoying himself. He decided it was a bonding experience, and besides, Morgana clearly knew her way around a horse, which meant that he could enjoy his day without spending time reminding her to keep her heels down or to look where she was going. Morgana was pleasant and just about the most beautiful woman Merlin had ever seen.
No one talked about Arthur again, and Merlin was so wrapped up in feeling good about Fish, about Gwen, about Morgana, that he didn’t even think to bring it up.
The day was surreal in a good way.
~~~
“It wouldn’t hurt you to sleep at home, some nights,” Gwen commented from across the tack room. She was watching Merlin do one of his unhealthy habits-cleaning his old dressage saddle until it shined like he was about to enter the show ring and remind the world of the rider he used to be. Merlin rolled his eyes.
“Harpy,” he mumbled, which wasn’t really an answer. Merlin believed it fully covered his range of emotions on the subject, though.
Gwen laughed her quiet little laugh, and Merlin felt guilty for being smarmy. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I know you’re just worried about me, but you don’t have to be. I’m not cleaning this to waste away in self pity, I’m cleaning it because I want to keep my hands busy. Besides, Fish was looking tired after all the riding today. I just want to stay close, just for now, ok?”
With a shrug of her shoulders, Gwen finished packing her bag. She kissed Merlin’s cheek on the way out. Merlin knew that was both a scolding and acquiescence. He thought for a second about how much he really truly loved Gwen, because she was the best. The absolute best.
Merlin sat in the tack room, idly rubbing his sore leg and thinking that it was probably going to snow tomorrow, and watched Gwen’s taillights until she crested over the last hill and he was once again enveloped in the warm silence of the stable.
“Merlin.”
So much for quiet. He didn’t recognize the voice, however, and put the saddle back on its rack before moving toward the tack room door.
“Merlin.”
He frowned. “Hullo?” he said cautiously.
Merlin moved slowly down the aisle. He grabbed a pitchfork off the nearby wall, for self-defense, he supposed, and took a deep breath as he rounded the corner.
“MERLIN.”
He jumped about three feet in the air, but the barn aisle was empty. It was just horses, none poking their heads out the stall doors to indicate alarm. The barn was quiet, the horses were calm. Merlin took a shaky breath.
“Is this me?” he said out loud, “Finally going mad?”
“MERLIN!”
“No way. No bloody way.”
The only other living thing looking at the same barn aisle as Merlin at that very moment was a giant but ancient old Clydesdale named Kilgharrah. The kids all jokingly called him the Great Dragon because his combination of white, grey, and brown hairs made him look a little bit green.
“You have such a great destiny, Merlin. Your gift, Merlin, has a reason.”
“You’re a talking horse. Who keeps repeating my name.”
“Listen to me, Merlin. Without you, Arthur will never succeed. It is important that he should succeed. None of us can choose our destiny, and none of us can escape it. You are two sides of the same coin; one cannot exist without the other.”
Merlin was still staring at the horse in question. He’d known Kilgharrah for all of his life, it seemed strange that the horse would now be talking to him. Really, really strange. “You’re a talking horse,” he said again.
“You are slow, for one who is destined to be so great,” the horse said, tossing his head impatiently. “You may focus on what I am, or you may focus on what I am saying. This is important Merlin, you must help Arthur. He must succeed. There is so much danger, yet.”
Merlin paused for a moment, still looking at the horse. Kilgharrah, aside from being green, had the oldest eyes Merlin had ever seen. He bit down on his lip and looked away. Destiny? People didn’t talk of destiny anymore. Destiny was a thing of the past, not a vessel of the future. He knew there was destiny, once, just like he knew there were dragons, and wizards, and castles, and knights. The line blurred somewhere between legend and fact.
Of course, Merlin found it hard to count fact in when he was talking to a horse. A green horse named Kilgharrah.
“Wait,” Merlin said eventually, after considering his options. He was alone in the barn, there was no one to watch him talk to the horse, and he figured it wasn’t going to hurt to see what the animal had to say. If he woke up in a few hours, then at least it was a dream.
So Kilgharrah spoke to him, and Merlin dropped himself down on a hay bale to listen to tales of great kings and great wizards and of destiny. The horse told him about the choices presented, the choices made, and the consequences. He spoke of great kingdoms and namesakes. At the end of it, Merlin felt like he could write a book on Arthurian legend. He did not feel like he knew where this was going.
“So am I supposed to save a kingdom, wield some magic, or what?”
“You’re not listening, Merlin,” the horse rumbled. “The time of Camelot the city has passed, the legacy of Merlin and Arthur has become legend. You are here, today, a new person with old memories. But you are not alone. Morgana is back. Gwen is back. Even Arthur, though he is angry and afraid. You have suffered the loss of what you considered your greatest gift, but now you will discover all that you have to offer.”
“But-”
“There is another who has returned,” the horse/dragon said slowly. “He ruined so much once before and he will try once more. This time you must stop it. Destiny rarely gives second chances, Merlin. You and Arthur must not fail again.”
Then the old horse turned around in the stall and walked out into the pasture behind. No amount of coaxing could get him to return.
~~~
“You know, if you’re going to come in this late you could put your keys down instead of throwing them at the table. It’s a very nice table and doesn’t deserve your anger,” Gwen said grumpily from where she was curled up on the couch.
“I didn’t throw them. I placed them. Besides, you’re sleeping on the couch so you can’t yell at me,” he snapped.
With the grace only best friends could manage, when Merlin lay down next to Gwen, she forgave the sharpness of his words. She wrapped a warm arm around his shoulders and let him hide his face in her neck. That was the best part of Gwen, Merlin thought. She knew when he wanted to talk and when he wanted someone to hold him until the world stopped ending around his rather large ears.
“Call Morgana,” he said finally. “I’d like to meet Arthur.”
The grin that spread across Gwen’s face was slow and ponderous, and even though it said ‘I win, I win, I win’ in a childish voice, it was also so full of love and Gwen that Merlin didn’t even wince, he just smiled back.
“I’ll do that in the morning,” Gwen announced, sounding pleased with herself. “Tonight, I’m going to make us tea, and we’ll watch About a Boy and talk about Hugh Grant’s ass, and then maybe we’ll watch a Colin Firth movie.”
It sounded lovely, so much lovelier than talking horses, in fact, that Merlin decided not to mention it. Ever.
~~~
The Tuesday morning that Merlin and Morgana had agreed upon was clear, bright, and beautiful. That was his first and last good thought in five hours that came between his five am wake up and Arthur’s ten a.m. arrival at the barn.
Gwen made tea and toast because it was her morning to make breakfast. Her conversation was determinedly cheerful despite Merlin’s own blank look and blanker one word replies. Part of him was annoyed that they weren’t talking about the real problem here: the regret he had for saying yes, that strange moment of weakness that came after a horse talked to him. Merlin thought that the many therapists Gaius had hired and Merlin had fired would attribute this to post traumatic stress. They would all probably agree with Gwen-they would say that meeting Arthur was good for Merlin. They would say that it was time to bury that hatchet.
Merlin let Gwen drive the pair of them to the barn, even though it was his turn. He stared out the window and counted the trees that passed him. He tried to blink his eyes in time with the fence posts they passed, and was frustrated when he couldn’t manage it. Merlin felt a strange trickle from the back of his head forward, like a forgotten brain cell was wriggling through the cracks in his sanity and pushing itself forward. After that, he had no trouble blinking exactly when the window lined up with the posts.
Gwen hopped out of the car as soon as she cut the ignition, and the slam of her door made Merlin jump. He bit his lip hard enough to taste blood as he watched her walk away, the smooth purple of her worn breeches disappearing into the darkness of the pre-dawn barn. He swallowed hard and gripped the door handle, counting slowly to fifteen then back down again. A trick one of the many therapists suggested-it never worked.
Merlin could have stayed in the car all morning, but the thought of facing Arthur without a good ride to work off his nerves made him slip out of the soothing leather interior and step into the cool air. Moisture wrapped around him like a blanket, and he took a few seconds to let his eyes adjust to the dimness around him.
Even in the pitch black, Merlin knew his feet could map their way into the barn without his brain thinking about it, but when he blinked and found himself in front of Fish’s stall and couldn’t remember walking there. He’d just--it was like he’d just appeared. Merlin shook the feeling off and got to work quietly grooming his horse. He kept up a steady conversation; relieved for once that Fish was not the kind of horse who talked back.
Normally he and Gwen rode together, but today he rode alone. He had wasted too much time for a good trail ride, but he and Fish made their way out to the cross country course, way back behind the barn, where the curtain of trees and bushes provided some privacy from Gaius’s farm house and Gwen’s current tack room position. Merlin knew they both wanted to watch him, just like he knew he didn’t want to be watched. This was the only time of day he could pretend he still had a future, and as he let Fish slip into a steady canter and they circled the course, he pretended there was never an accident.
Once upon a time, it hadn’t been dangerous for Merlin to gallop. There was no threat to his ankle, knee, or thigh. His hand would never cramp, and his back wouldn’t ache when he rose into a three-point position for too long. Those days were long gone, but once in a while when he was stressed or frightened or so unhappy that he couldn’t see straight, Merlin played this game of pretend. He could be the vibrant youth he’d once been. He was healed; he and Fish could take over the world.
Together they did a few jumps. Fish and Merlin communicated the same as they always had, through a seamless bond. Looking at them, it was impossible to tell where they became two separate creatures. Merlin slid his hand down Fish’s neck as they landed a jump, and it was easy to mistake it for a light patch on the horse’s coat.
The feeling of belonging in the world snapped back into place as Merlin made one last circuit before he and Fish slowed for a cool down. The ride had not been nearly long enough, but the day stretched out ahead of him, and he could no longer put it off. Merlin closed his eyes as they made lazy circles around the course. Finally, when their twin breaths evened out, Merlin slowed Fish to a halt. He dismounted, and with one last glance at the jumps, turned to walk his horse back up to the barn--and the real world
Each step was sure footed, there was no chance of stumbling. Merlin kept his eyes closed, trusting the strange feeling this new warmth in his head created as it moved through his brain. He became more familiar with it as they moved, and he knew suddenly, without a doubt, that this was an ancient part of him.
For just a moment, Merlin felt as though he was sleeping.
For the briefest of seconds, a battlefield was painted behind his eyelids, and blue eyes more familiar than his own crinkled in the corners as soft lips formed slow, steady words.
But Merlin couldn’t hear them.
He fought to get a better grip on the image, to bring it more into focus. Almost like a warning, his back twinged, and then began to ache.
Merlin’s eyes snapped open and he dropped Fish’s reins. He stood in the middle of the path with wide eyes and shaking hands, his horse nudging at Merlin’s shoulder in concern.
Merlin swallowed thickly, then finally reached out and traced a hand over Fish’s neck. “Sorry.” He exhaled, his body thrumming with pain and a longing that he couldn’t find a name for. “Fish,” he said finally, slinging a long arm around his best-animal-friend’s neck, “It’s going to be a bloody long day.”
>>>
Art link: On LJ
Rating: R
Word Count: ~41,000
“Where is the horse gone? Where the rider? Where are the seats at the feast? Where are the revels in the hall? Alas for the bright cup! Alas for the mailed warrior! Alas for the splendour of the prince! How that time has passed away, dark under the cover of night, as if it had never been!”
When Merlin had been a little boy, he’d wanted to ride horses. It hadn’t ended well for him.
If there was a story to be told, and Merlin wasn’t quite convinced there was one, then that would be the story. He’d wanted something, and he hadn’t gotten it, and in the vein of all great epics he would have to find a blind bard to tell it. He would probably have to die to make the ending more interesting. Crippled didn’t have the same ring to it as corpse.
Merlin turned his eyes around the venue, taking in the sights and sounds and smells of the convention. That’s where Gaius had sent him to, kicking and screaming and a little frightened: a horse convention. Merlin had spent the first day of the weekend in relative anonymity, which had been a relief. But paranoid, that was a good word to describe him, paranoid that someone would figure him out. Will and Gwen said it had something to do with an inflated ego, which was their nice way of reminding him that the world didn’t revolve around his accident. All the same, freak accidents and skyrocketing careers made for an interesting type of infamy. Merlin felt like a cliche, but really, he just wanted to be left alone.
He shook it off, because he wasn’t here to be maudlin. He was here to do his job-or that’s what Gaius had said, when he’d all but chased Merlin off the continent with a broomstick. It was more of a vacation than it was work, but it was the sort of thing Gaius would say was for Merlin’s own good. So Merlin had been bundled, protesting loudly, onto a plane, and he had flown across the ocean and he’d been dumped into New York City, at a big horse back riding conference that felt strange and a little out of place amidst all the grandeur. Still, they had popcorn and events every hour, and the area was big enough that Merlin went unnoticed, whether he was curled half around himself in the bleachers, or tucked near the back of the crowd at the far end of the arena, the metal bars that formed the ring digging into his stomach.
It was a habit born of self-imposed exile that he wouldn’t get any closer, but he was enjoying watching. The girl was too young yet to be anything like a champion, but she was good. She moved with her horse, and the dialogue between them was something beautiful to watch. She had a prosthetic leg, according to the brochure, but her interaction with the animal was seamless. It was the sort of moment that made Merlin smile, because he’d dedicated every conscious moment since his accident to therapeutic horseback riding at Camelot Stables, which Gaius owned. “That’s the ticket,” he murmured thoughtfully.
“Ride much?” a voice asked, somewhere to his left.
Merlin raised an eyebrow, “Did you try to find the nearest non-American person you could?” he eyed the man who’d appeared next to him, unfamiliar, so not a reporter who Merlin knew, but Merlin was wary-always wary-that someone would come out of the woodwork with a question that would knock him back down on his arse.
The man’s laugh was warm, and Merlin made an effort to pull his shoulders down from around his ears. The protective hunch was pretty much his permanent state whenever he was outside the safety of Camelot. That was the thing about freak accidents, really, and Merlin’s accident had been the freakiest he’d ever heard of, they destroyed your sense of trust in the world. “I might’ve been missing someone who speaks my language,” the stranger admitted. “But you sound more Irish than me, so I missed my mark.” He held out his hand, grinning, “I’m Leon,” he added when Merlin just looked at it.
“Merlin,” he said finally, offering half a smile and his hand.
“What an interesting name,” there was a pause, and Merlin could see the moment Leon put two and two together. “Are you-”
“I should be going,” Merlin announced, pushing back from the railing and glancing over his shoulder at the girl on the big, ugly horse. He’d been enjoying their performance, but some things-like his dignity-were worth protecting. “Nice meeting you.”
“Hey, no, wait,” Leon reached out and grabbed Merlin’s arm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ve just heard of you.”
Merlin inclined his head, “Not surprising,” he said quietly, tugging slightly on his arm until Leon let go. Merlin took another step backwards, preparing to make a break for it, but Leon spoke over the rush of panic in Merlin’s ears.
“No, I mean, your work at Camelot. What you’re doing with those kids-“ Leon broke into a wide smile, “It’s the kind of thing I’ve always wanted to get into. My coach, though, he’s not so big on the charity gigs.”
“Who do you ride with?” Merlin asked, curious now, but still tense. He was poised to run, like a horse, he thought ruefully-at least he wasn’t cornered. Still, his curiosity was getting the best of him. Just because he hadn’t let the equestrian world keep tabs on him didn’t mean he’d never kept tabs on them.
“Uther Pendragon.”
Leon looked proud when he said it, and so he should. Uther’s team was notoriously hard to get on-rigorous and intense, and it only took riders who had been riding for nearly as long as they’d been walking. Uther’s riders were famously brutal--but definitely champions, and it made sense that Uther was “not so big on charity gigs.” Merlin had never met the man, but he’d competed against some of his riders, and had thought the lot of them to be bratty and irresponsible, as though they were entitled to the trophy just for showing up at the event, as though they deserved it, more than anyone else there. Leon, though, seemed nice enough-and then Merlin remembered who he was. “You ride Green Knight, don’t you?” he asked.
“That’s me,” Leon smiled, “He’s a good horse.”
Good horse was something of an understatement, and that surprised Merlin more than anything else about his new acquaintance. Uther’s horses, like his riders, were well bred champions. They weren’t good horses, they were works of art, they were expensive, and, much like their riders and their trainer, famously stand-offish. Green Knight was one of the most amazing horses Merlin had ever had the pleasure of competing against, he said as much to Leon.
“I remember riding against you,” Leon answered, his grin rueful. “I knew I didn’t stand a chance the second I saw you take the first jump. I got quite the tongue lashing after that show, but in all honesty, if I’d had my way I would have withdrawn. I was too green to be competing with you.”
“You rode well. Really, mate. I was impressed.”
“You were impressed with my horse,” Leon answered, laughing again. “Not with his rider.” The conversation fell into a comfortable lull, and Merlin’s guard dropped down enough that he returned to watching the girl in the ring. She was at the end of her ride, now, and dropped into a salute. There were no judges, the gesture was directed at the crowd. They cheered for her, and Merlin took a slow and steady breath. This was the healthiest he’d felt in a long time. His back didn’t ache, he had been walking straight all day. Maybe getting out of England had been good for him, after all.
“I was sorry to hear about your accident,” Leon said finally. “You were--”
Whatever Leon was going to say was cut off. A harried looking blond appeared at his elbow. “Leon,” she said, her voice low and insistent. “We have to go, something’s gone wrong with Arthur.”
Merlin frowned. “Arthur?” he said quietly, following along as the woman tugged Leon away from the arena.
“Merlin!” someone shouted, “Merlin Emrys! How do you feel about Arthur Pendragon’s accident?”
Merlin froze, caught off guard by the reported who had all but appeared at his elbow. In another life, in another world, he would have thought him quite handsome. In this life, there was a recording device in front of his mouth, and the man’s smile was honestly interested, and familiar. “I know you,” Merlin said.
“I interviewed you a few years ago, for my Uni’s column on sports, but Merlin, how do you feel about Arthur’s accident? ”
“I don’t know anything about Arthur’s accident,” Merlin said, his voice rough and automatic. “I don’t think I ever will.”
And then he ran, because when Merlin was a little boy he’d thought his destiny was to be a champion. He’d been wrong, and running from it ever since.
That’s the funny thing about destiny, though. It catches up with you.
Camelot Stables was located reasonably far outside the city. It preserved the air of solitude that Merlin thought all barns should have, but at the same time made sure his commute wasn’t mind-numbing. Even if he stayed at the barn more than at his flat, it was still nice to know the drive could be made. The barn itself, tonight, after a long time away, stood sturdy and beautiful against the backdrop of stars. Merlin felt like he was being welcomed home as the wind ruffled the trees that lined the long drive up to the old barn.
His godfather, Gaius, was the owner and founder of the therapeutic riding facility. Alongside Merlin’s father, the man had created a haven for children and adults alike, with a range of illness and injury-both physical and mental. It was haven for Merlin too, a place away from London’s busy thrum and all his coursework. It was an amazing place, a Utopia of sorts. But most importantly, it was home.
A half-mile beyond the barn, up a lazily escalating hill, stood Gaius’s house. The lights were still on in the kitchen, which Merlin took to mean that his godfather was awake, waiting to see if Merlin would stop by the barn. Predictably, when the headlights of Merlin’s trusty old car crested the last small hill into the lot, a dark silhouette appeared in the kitchen window. It stood there for a second then walked away. The lights in the house went off, and Merlin laughed and jumped out of the car.
“Apparently just knowing I’m home means he doesn’t have to walk out here in the dark,” he informed the barn in front of him.
“Well I don’t mind walking out here in the dark,” a familiar voice said from somewhere to his left. Merlin spun around, laughing, just in time to catch the bundle of breeches and curly hair.
“Guinevere!” he said, hugging her tightly. “I told you I wasn’t going to die in a plane crash.”
She hit him hard on the shoulder. “I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t die! I knew it,” she paused, “Not that these things don’t happen, and that people get upset when there are plane crashes, I mean, it’s completely valid for people to be afraid, I just meant I knew you weren’t going to die in a fiery explo-”
“It’s good to see you too, Gwen,” Merlin said, cutting off her ramble before she got too into it. He squeezed her waist one last time before letting go completely and turning to lead the way back into the relative warmth and light of the barn.
Gwen wanted to know everything about his trip. She wanted to know if there had been any exceedingly hot new PT experts at the conference, if the food at the American restaurants had been any good, and if the New York accent was as intense as the movies made it seem. Merlin answered her questions as best he could, but mostly just let her ask. She seemed glad to have someone to talk to, or at least someone who talked back. Both of them talked to the horses, but aside from the occasional nibble or stomped hoof, neither of them got much in the way of responses.
Gwen ducked off to go find the barn cat who, she insisted, had missed Merlin intensely, and Merlin went off to visit his horses.
The first stall he visited, as he always did, was The Fisher King’s.
Merlin called him Fish, for short, as he always had, because the show name (although impressive on the circuit) was a mouthful, and too pretentious to be shared between friends. The beautiful black stallion looked at him calmly over his stall door, and to anyone else, Fish might have seemed unenthusiastic for the return of his rider, but Merlin knew better. Fish didn’t look over his stall door often, and the horse nickered welcomingly as Merlin finally rested a hand on his face, gently rubbing the white star hidden under his soft forelock.
“Hello, friend,” he whispered. Even the quiet words echoed in the otherwise silent stable. “I missed you.”
Fish met his gaze appraisingly, the warm brown eye surveying Merlin for a second before Fish finally lowered his head and wuffed a soft breath against the pocket of Merlin’s jacket.
“Yes, yes, yes, I brought you an apple,” Merlin chuckled. He broke it in half, holding one half out on his flattened palm, bringing the other half to his mouth. He bit into the apple, watching as his horse, his prize stallion did the same.
There had been a time when Merlin and The Fisher King had been destined for shared greatness. The Equestrian world had been swept up in the story of the lean young rider and his beautiful stallion-both young, both incredibly talented. They’d taken the Irish show circuit by a storm, and his mother and his coach had pressed upon him the importance of realizing his talent. They shooed him off to show in the UK, who had shooed him off to show in the US, and eventually, despite his youth, Merlin had begun to realize his dreams of being a famous rider, an Olympic one, probably. He’d been favored, the young Irish riding prodigy who would turn around the lack of medals the team had won in the past.
His chances were good. His horse was strong. His form impeccable and even some of the more famous equestrians were known to take him out to lunch, or ask if he’d like to go for a trail ride, or a friendly competitive race when he was home on break. The eventing season in Britain ran from March to October every year, and he spent his off months training. Occasionally headed to Florida or Australia for a light level competition to keep him and Fish on their feet.
Merlin’s first competition at the highest level of international eventing was the Kentucky Rolex-three days after his eighteenth birthday. He won without contest on a borrowed horse. The Kentucky was a test run for Merlin, to see how he handled the stress. Fish had remained in the UK, watched by Gaius. If Merlin did well at the Rolex, Fish and Merlin would ride next in the Badminton Trials, one week later, in Britain. The win was exciting for Merlin, who was the youngest competitor that year, but it would have been better, he’d thought, on his horse.
The Badminton Trials were the second leg in the Grand Slam of Eventing (the Triple Crown of horse showing) and Merlin had anticipated being able to compete at the highest level of competition since he was sixteen and taking champion at every level of competition he and Fish were allowed to compete in. The Badminton was his first real shot at international fame and glory, at proving himself to be one of the best riders in the world. As the second leg, it was pivotal for the rider who won the first. The only rider to ever win all three events, and thus take the title of champion, was Pippa Funnell in 2003. If Merlin won Badminton, he realistically could win all three. Just the thought of it made his head spin.
Merlin remembered that morning so clearly.
He remembered waking up and walking down to the barn at 4am, stretching himself out as he went, his boots shoved on over his pajama bottoms, his hair a mess. He’d grabbed Fish and walked into the ring, and they’d walked around in circles, Merlin talking, Fish snorting like he knew what Merlin was saying. As other riders, more appropriately dressed, started to appear, Merlin walked Fish back to his stall. He leaned up against his horse, taking in the warmth of the beautiful black coat, and whispered “This is it, this is for us.” Fish bit his shoulder, which Merlin took as agreement.
Merlin won the Badminton. The press went wild. They hailed him as some sort of prodigy. He was shocked to hear from Pippa, the 2003 champion, who told him that if he could do what she’d done at half her age, then he should do just that and be proud of himself. The words were spoken in the gruff tone he associated with the best riders he knew. He thanked her profusely and hugged his horse.
Merlin wasn’t an overconfident person, but he had, at one point in his life, been a proud and happy one. The few weeks between the Badminton Trials and the Burghely were the best in his life. He felt loved, he loved his horse, and he felt happier than he’d ever wanted to admit. Merlin dared to hope that he could win. He’d been wrong. The accident was still a fresh bitter taste in his mouth, even after all the months between that and now.
~~~
“Merlin?” Gwen’s voice shook him out of remembering the accident, the feeling of the sand in the ring grinding against his neck, the sound of his own bones cracking, and Fish’s frantic, heavy breathing.
Merlin visibly shook himself. He said nothing, just looked at Fish for a little while, slowly stroking the horse’s mane. He wished that he could say it didn’t bother him, but it did. Only Gwen knew that he still woke up screaming. She hadn’t known him when the accident happened, but she’d known of him. She’d hoped to compete in the ring one day, too, she just fell in love with helping other’s first. Merlin wasn’t sure what life without Gwen would be like, but he had an idea, and it wasn’t pleasant. She’d helped him more than he’d ever dreamed anyone could, for that, he was eternally grateful.
“We could’ve been good,” Merlin said finally. Merlin thought that a lot, but he didn’t often say it out loud. In the hospital, he’d always avoided saying it. Everyone was thinking it, he could read it on their faces, there was no reason to actually articulate it. No reason to make it any realer than it already was. Sometimes, he still wondered if they blamed him. He wasn’t entirely sure who “they” were, but he knew that they existed. They were the people who still talked about his accident, who wanted to know what would happen if he tried to show again. “They” were never far from Merlin’s thoughts. He hated them.
“Oh, Merlin,” Gwen whispered, and wrapped her arms around him. Merlin hugged her for a little while, got lost in the smell of her fruity shampoo and the leathery barn. He held on to Gwen until the urge to cry over a past he couldn’t change left him, and then he let go.
It had been worse, recently, than it had been in a long while. His back hurt, he was depressed more often, and he found himself remembering. The nightmares, too, had gotten worse. The trip to New York was supposed to help calm him, but it hadn’t really. He’d heard about the Pendragon accident while he was there, and although that had been a few weeks ago, now, it still made his accident feel all the more recent.
“Did you hear about Arthur Pendragon?” Merlin asked. Gwen probably had, but she pretended that she hadn’t, so that he could tell her about something a little more real than memories.
~~~
“Heels down, chin up! Molly, don’t look so confused. If you pull on your reins and look in the corner, of course that’s where Percival is going to go. Look straight ahead, loosen your hands. That’s the ticket!”
The tiny girl looked even tinier on the huge, muscular Clydesdale. The two were definitely not a traditional pairing, but Merlin knew that they would be great partners. He held his breath for her, automatically counting paces as Molly and Percival approached the low cross rail. She was a good jumper and a promising young rider. Merlin liked her. Molly had the kind of spunk people used to say he had, back before everything had gone to shit. She was outgoing, she spoke her mind, and she had a fantastic seat. The girl looked happy to be on a horse, and despite her disabilities, she had all the chance in the world to show legitimately. Merlin had been talking with her mother about some casual; local shows to test Molly and Percival out in. Neither had told the girl, and if today’s session went well, Merlin planned to break the news.
It went well. As Merlin told Gwen about Molly’s reaction, he talked with his hands. The girl’s happiness made him feel lighter too, despite the shadow of his own accident and the Pendragon accident. Merlin and Gwen were out on one of Camelot’s many trails, checking to see if any fallen logs or rocks would cause a dangerous situation for young riders. As he spoke, Merlin absentmindedly tangled and untangled his fingers in Fish’s mane.
He was in the middle of explaining how Molly had jumped up and down despite her bad leg when he realized Gwen wasn’t listening. She nodded absently for the fourth time and Merlin eyed her suspiciously.
“Yep. And then Molly and I eloped. It was great, went to Vegas and everything. Except the priest was late because there was a line for the loo,” Merlin continued, one eye on Gwen, the other on the trail.
“Sounds great, Merlin, I’m happy for you both,” Gwen murmured in response.
“Guinevere!”
“Hmmm?”
“What’s gotten into you? You’re distracted. I’m supposed to be the broody and distracted one in this relationship. I’ll need to find another flatmate.”
“Oh stop,” Gwen smiled, “I’m sorry. It’s just…” She paused and shifted uncomfortably in her saddle. “Merlin, have you ever been in love?”
“I, uh, what?”
Merlin had never been in love, he’d had crushes, sure. Gwen knew that. He and Will had messed around too, before he’d gotten serious about riding. Merlin cherished those nights in the field behind Crazy Old Mingus’s barn, because they reminded him of what it felt like to be human. Merlin loved Will and suspected Will loved him, but Merlin was definitely not in love. Nor had he ever been. There hadn’t been time for romance when he was just beginning, and now he didn’t care.“No, Gwen, I haven’t.” He paused, then said, “Are uh, are you?”
Gwen didn’t answer him, she was silent for a long time, and then abruptly turned her horse, Galahad, back toward Camelot. She didn’t say anything; he wasn’t going to get much of an answer like this.
“Gwen, what-” Merlin started to ask, but he was cut off as Gwen galloped back the way they came. Merlin sat for a few seconds in stunned silence, before he picked up an easy trot. “Don’t worry, Fish,” he said softly, stroking his horse’s neck, “She’s just a stupid ugly showoff. Galloping on the trail is overrated.”
~~~
“Gwen,” Merlin said forty minutes later, his voice barely hiding his shock and a little bit of anger, “Why is Morgana Le Fey standing in my office?”
“Well, I mean. She’s famous. So that’s a good thing. And we’re kind of. Kind of friends, yeah?” Gwen said slowly. “And well, she’s got a brother. Not that that’s a bad or a good thing. But she wants to take a lesson.”
Merlin’s mouth must have been hanging open, because Gwen reached out and touched his chin. He couldn’t think of another reason for her to touch his chin. “No.”
“Well, she just wants to meet you. She knows about you -“ Gwen hesitated, “From before. From when you were showing. She’s really impressed with your past and everything.”
Merlin paled, and then bristled. He wasn’t sure why the subject was still such a touchy one, especially with Gwen. She was the best flatmate in the world, and never made fun of him when she caught him on the couch at 4am, watching old training videos from back when he was a rising star.
“I don’t,” he said shortly, “I don’t want to meet anyone who has questions about my past. I don’t care if it’s that stupid reporter for the magazine who wants to do an article on my ‘tragic accident’ or the Queen or fucking Morgana Le Fey the actress. I want nothing to do with anything about my past. OK Gwen? You should know that, you better than anyone. I can’t go back there. I don’t want to speculate about what could have been, it’s been a year since I got on a horse again, and I just want to move on. Please, Gwen.” Merlin wanted to sound a lot stronger than he came out, but he couldn’t help himself.
All the therapy sessions in the world couldn’t fix the part of him that remained broken. No hospitals or surgery could give him back that hope he used to have. He could care about the kids, like Ashley, who had the potential to do great things despite their disabilities, but Merlin himself was broken, The Fisher King was broken, and the sooner all these people who kept popping out of the past let them alone, the better things would be. “My past is in the past, and I think we just need to forget about it.”
“I can’t let that happen,” spoke a new voice from the door to the tack room. Its owner strode into the room, just as stately and impeccable as her voice. Not a hair out of place or a piece of hay stuck to her, despite the fact that Merlin and Gwen were both disheveled and there was definitely hay stuck to his sweater and probably caught up in his hair as well. “I’m Morgana Le Fey,” the woman said, holding out a hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Merlin.”
Merlin just stared. “Look, Ms Le Fey,” he began. He had a whole spiel ready. He was going to give her the names of great coaches in the area, tell her that he loved she was interested in riding, but she cut him off.
“Call me Morgana, please, and it’s not me who needs the lessons, it’s my brother. Does the name Arthur Pendragon mean anything to you?”
The stories had been splashed across the equine news for weeks. It was the worst accident in recent memory aside from Merlin’s own. It was just as inexplicable. And Merlin was, after New York, intimately familiar with the details.
The facts were these. Arthur Pendragon had mounted his horse, Arcturus, in preparation for the match. Everything had gone smoothly, he’d done his usual charming, tongue in cheek salute to the judges. The first three jumps were perfect. Just before the fourth one, something went wrong. Arcturus and Arthur were on the ground. They both stayed down. Arthur spent one month in the hospital barely lucid enough to know his own name. When he woke up, his horse was dead, his career was on thin ice, and everyone in the world wanted an interview.
Merlin knew the story upside-down and sideways. He had the articles clipped away, snuck into a book he’d taken to New York with him, where Gwen or Will would never find them. It was so similar-he couldn’t help but wonder…but no. He’d dismissed the thought of foul play early on in the original investigation of his accident. He never wanted to think of it again. But the clippings stayed there, and he’d followed the news. He’d been relieved when Arthur had woken up from his coma and heartbroken when Arcturus had been put down. Merlin knew this story well, it had been his. Although, his own ending had been happier, at least.
Merlin could sympathize with the other man, but he didn’t know why Arthur Pendragon had anything to do with him, and knowing who Arthur was didn’t explain why Morgana Le Fey was standing in his office, or why he’d decided to hear her out.
He was a little slow processing it, which would of course explain why Gwen and Morgana managed to talk him into a trail ride. He was so busy trying to work out Arthur Pendragon’s involvement in the whole situation that he couldn’t come up with a viable excuse.
That was how Merlin found himself sitting on Fish, watching Morgana Le Fey, the thrice Oscar nominated, once tony winning singer and actress, and Gwen, his best friend and the most wonderfully normal person he knew, gossip like schoolgirls. The day was crisp and cold, but the trails were clear and pleasant, and Merlin found that he really was enjoying himself. He decided it was a bonding experience, and besides, Morgana clearly knew her way around a horse, which meant that he could enjoy his day without spending time reminding her to keep her heels down or to look where she was going. Morgana was pleasant and just about the most beautiful woman Merlin had ever seen.
No one talked about Arthur again, and Merlin was so wrapped up in feeling good about Fish, about Gwen, about Morgana, that he didn’t even think to bring it up.
The day was surreal in a good way.
~~~
“It wouldn’t hurt you to sleep at home, some nights,” Gwen commented from across the tack room. She was watching Merlin do one of his unhealthy habits-cleaning his old dressage saddle until it shined like he was about to enter the show ring and remind the world of the rider he used to be. Merlin rolled his eyes.
“Harpy,” he mumbled, which wasn’t really an answer. Merlin believed it fully covered his range of emotions on the subject, though.
Gwen laughed her quiet little laugh, and Merlin felt guilty for being smarmy. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I know you’re just worried about me, but you don’t have to be. I’m not cleaning this to waste away in self pity, I’m cleaning it because I want to keep my hands busy. Besides, Fish was looking tired after all the riding today. I just want to stay close, just for now, ok?”
With a shrug of her shoulders, Gwen finished packing her bag. She kissed Merlin’s cheek on the way out. Merlin knew that was both a scolding and acquiescence. He thought for a second about how much he really truly loved Gwen, because she was the best. The absolute best.
Merlin sat in the tack room, idly rubbing his sore leg and thinking that it was probably going to snow tomorrow, and watched Gwen’s taillights until she crested over the last hill and he was once again enveloped in the warm silence of the stable.
“Merlin.”
So much for quiet. He didn’t recognize the voice, however, and put the saddle back on its rack before moving toward the tack room door.
“Merlin.”
He frowned. “Hullo?” he said cautiously.
Merlin moved slowly down the aisle. He grabbed a pitchfork off the nearby wall, for self-defense, he supposed, and took a deep breath as he rounded the corner.
“MERLIN.”
He jumped about three feet in the air, but the barn aisle was empty. It was just horses, none poking their heads out the stall doors to indicate alarm. The barn was quiet, the horses were calm. Merlin took a shaky breath.
“Is this me?” he said out loud, “Finally going mad?”
“MERLIN!”
“No way. No bloody way.”
The only other living thing looking at the same barn aisle as Merlin at that very moment was a giant but ancient old Clydesdale named Kilgharrah. The kids all jokingly called him the Great Dragon because his combination of white, grey, and brown hairs made him look a little bit green.
“You have such a great destiny, Merlin. Your gift, Merlin, has a reason.”
“You’re a talking horse. Who keeps repeating my name.”
“Listen to me, Merlin. Without you, Arthur will never succeed. It is important that he should succeed. None of us can choose our destiny, and none of us can escape it. You are two sides of the same coin; one cannot exist without the other.”
Merlin was still staring at the horse in question. He’d known Kilgharrah for all of his life, it seemed strange that the horse would now be talking to him. Really, really strange. “You’re a talking horse,” he said again.
“You are slow, for one who is destined to be so great,” the horse said, tossing his head impatiently. “You may focus on what I am, or you may focus on what I am saying. This is important Merlin, you must help Arthur. He must succeed. There is so much danger, yet.”
Merlin paused for a moment, still looking at the horse. Kilgharrah, aside from being green, had the oldest eyes Merlin had ever seen. He bit down on his lip and looked away. Destiny? People didn’t talk of destiny anymore. Destiny was a thing of the past, not a vessel of the future. He knew there was destiny, once, just like he knew there were dragons, and wizards, and castles, and knights. The line blurred somewhere between legend and fact.
Of course, Merlin found it hard to count fact in when he was talking to a horse. A green horse named Kilgharrah.
“Wait,” Merlin said eventually, after considering his options. He was alone in the barn, there was no one to watch him talk to the horse, and he figured it wasn’t going to hurt to see what the animal had to say. If he woke up in a few hours, then at least it was a dream.
So Kilgharrah spoke to him, and Merlin dropped himself down on a hay bale to listen to tales of great kings and great wizards and of destiny. The horse told him about the choices presented, the choices made, and the consequences. He spoke of great kingdoms and namesakes. At the end of it, Merlin felt like he could write a book on Arthurian legend. He did not feel like he knew where this was going.
“So am I supposed to save a kingdom, wield some magic, or what?”
“You’re not listening, Merlin,” the horse rumbled. “The time of Camelot the city has passed, the legacy of Merlin and Arthur has become legend. You are here, today, a new person with old memories. But you are not alone. Morgana is back. Gwen is back. Even Arthur, though he is angry and afraid. You have suffered the loss of what you considered your greatest gift, but now you will discover all that you have to offer.”
“But-”
“There is another who has returned,” the horse/dragon said slowly. “He ruined so much once before and he will try once more. This time you must stop it. Destiny rarely gives second chances, Merlin. You and Arthur must not fail again.”
Then the old horse turned around in the stall and walked out into the pasture behind. No amount of coaxing could get him to return.
~~~
“You know, if you’re going to come in this late you could put your keys down instead of throwing them at the table. It’s a very nice table and doesn’t deserve your anger,” Gwen said grumpily from where she was curled up on the couch.
“I didn’t throw them. I placed them. Besides, you’re sleeping on the couch so you can’t yell at me,” he snapped.
With the grace only best friends could manage, when Merlin lay down next to Gwen, she forgave the sharpness of his words. She wrapped a warm arm around his shoulders and let him hide his face in her neck. That was the best part of Gwen, Merlin thought. She knew when he wanted to talk and when he wanted someone to hold him until the world stopped ending around his rather large ears.
“Call Morgana,” he said finally. “I’d like to meet Arthur.”
The grin that spread across Gwen’s face was slow and ponderous, and even though it said ‘I win, I win, I win’ in a childish voice, it was also so full of love and Gwen that Merlin didn’t even wince, he just smiled back.
“I’ll do that in the morning,” Gwen announced, sounding pleased with herself. “Tonight, I’m going to make us tea, and we’ll watch About a Boy and talk about Hugh Grant’s ass, and then maybe we’ll watch a Colin Firth movie.”
It sounded lovely, so much lovelier than talking horses, in fact, that Merlin decided not to mention it. Ever.
~~~
The Tuesday morning that Merlin and Morgana had agreed upon was clear, bright, and beautiful. That was his first and last good thought in five hours that came between his five am wake up and Arthur’s ten a.m. arrival at the barn.
Gwen made tea and toast because it was her morning to make breakfast. Her conversation was determinedly cheerful despite Merlin’s own blank look and blanker one word replies. Part of him was annoyed that they weren’t talking about the real problem here: the regret he had for saying yes, that strange moment of weakness that came after a horse talked to him. Merlin thought that the many therapists Gaius had hired and Merlin had fired would attribute this to post traumatic stress. They would all probably agree with Gwen-they would say that meeting Arthur was good for Merlin. They would say that it was time to bury that hatchet.
Merlin let Gwen drive the pair of them to the barn, even though it was his turn. He stared out the window and counted the trees that passed him. He tried to blink his eyes in time with the fence posts they passed, and was frustrated when he couldn’t manage it. Merlin felt a strange trickle from the back of his head forward, like a forgotten brain cell was wriggling through the cracks in his sanity and pushing itself forward. After that, he had no trouble blinking exactly when the window lined up with the posts.
Gwen hopped out of the car as soon as she cut the ignition, and the slam of her door made Merlin jump. He bit his lip hard enough to taste blood as he watched her walk away, the smooth purple of her worn breeches disappearing into the darkness of the pre-dawn barn. He swallowed hard and gripped the door handle, counting slowly to fifteen then back down again. A trick one of the many therapists suggested-it never worked.
Merlin could have stayed in the car all morning, but the thought of facing Arthur without a good ride to work off his nerves made him slip out of the soothing leather interior and step into the cool air. Moisture wrapped around him like a blanket, and he took a few seconds to let his eyes adjust to the dimness around him.
Even in the pitch black, Merlin knew his feet could map their way into the barn without his brain thinking about it, but when he blinked and found himself in front of Fish’s stall and couldn’t remember walking there. He’d just--it was like he’d just appeared. Merlin shook the feeling off and got to work quietly grooming his horse. He kept up a steady conversation; relieved for once that Fish was not the kind of horse who talked back.
Normally he and Gwen rode together, but today he rode alone. He had wasted too much time for a good trail ride, but he and Fish made their way out to the cross country course, way back behind the barn, where the curtain of trees and bushes provided some privacy from Gaius’s farm house and Gwen’s current tack room position. Merlin knew they both wanted to watch him, just like he knew he didn’t want to be watched. This was the only time of day he could pretend he still had a future, and as he let Fish slip into a steady canter and they circled the course, he pretended there was never an accident.
Once upon a time, it hadn’t been dangerous for Merlin to gallop. There was no threat to his ankle, knee, or thigh. His hand would never cramp, and his back wouldn’t ache when he rose into a three-point position for too long. Those days were long gone, but once in a while when he was stressed or frightened or so unhappy that he couldn’t see straight, Merlin played this game of pretend. He could be the vibrant youth he’d once been. He was healed; he and Fish could take over the world.
Together they did a few jumps. Fish and Merlin communicated the same as they always had, through a seamless bond. Looking at them, it was impossible to tell where they became two separate creatures. Merlin slid his hand down Fish’s neck as they landed a jump, and it was easy to mistake it for a light patch on the horse’s coat.
The feeling of belonging in the world snapped back into place as Merlin made one last circuit before he and Fish slowed for a cool down. The ride had not been nearly long enough, but the day stretched out ahead of him, and he could no longer put it off. Merlin closed his eyes as they made lazy circles around the course. Finally, when their twin breaths evened out, Merlin slowed Fish to a halt. He dismounted, and with one last glance at the jumps, turned to walk his horse back up to the barn--and the real world
Each step was sure footed, there was no chance of stumbling. Merlin kept his eyes closed, trusting the strange feeling this new warmth in his head created as it moved through his brain. He became more familiar with it as they moved, and he knew suddenly, without a doubt, that this was an ancient part of him.
For just a moment, Merlin felt as though he was sleeping.
For the briefest of seconds, a battlefield was painted behind his eyelids, and blue eyes more familiar than his own crinkled in the corners as soft lips formed slow, steady words.
But Merlin couldn’t hear them.
He fought to get a better grip on the image, to bring it more into focus. Almost like a warning, his back twinged, and then began to ache.
Merlin’s eyes snapped open and he dropped Fish’s reins. He stood in the middle of the path with wide eyes and shaking hands, his horse nudging at Merlin’s shoulder in concern.
Merlin swallowed thickly, then finally reached out and traced a hand over Fish’s neck. “Sorry.” He exhaled, his body thrumming with pain and a longing that he couldn’t find a name for. “Fish,” he said finally, slinging a long arm around his best-animal-friend’s neck, “It’s going to be a bloody long day.”
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