there was (once) hope in me (gwen, merlin)
Title: there was (once) hope in me
Fandom: Merlin
Characters: Gwen, Merlin.
Rating: PG
Prompt: #27 - fire @ story_lottery
Disclaimer: I don’t own the show, characters, etc. The title is (sort of) from Konstantine by Something Corporate.
Spoilers: Future!fic. Everything that has taken place on the show (at least up to where we are now with the troll eps) is meant to have happened, but this story doesn’t have any significant spoilers for it.
Summary: They cannot reclaim Camelot on their own.
Author’s Note: This is set a few years into the future from where the show is. It is probably also a little confusing, but as I will most likely write more in this world, hopefully what doesn’t make sense will then. Although there are some hints of pairings I’d say this is very much gen/friendship fic (unless Gwen/Merlin is your thing, in which case I guess you can read it that way). Thank you to sophieisgod for all her help!
No one sees it coming.
Camelot had been in disarray before the prince was kidnapped, but it is only with Arthur gone that it truly falls to pieces.
The loss of his son and the knowledge that his ward had been practicing sorcery kills Uther long before Heingst thrusts the blade into his chest and burns the castle to the ground.
Some escape: many flee to the villages, and are slaughtered there. But a small few find their way past the fires and manage to gather in the forest.
At first, all their thoughts are fixed on mere survival. As they watch Camelot burn from afar that seems the most this small, battered group of survivors can aspire to. But once the flames turn to smoke, and the smoke to ash, and every day reveals more who have escaped, more than, in the first few days of the attack, they could ever have imagined, they begin to realise they can do more than just endure. And they decide to fight back.
They cannot reclaim Camelot on their own. They need someone to rally behind, someone to call their leader; they need their rightful king. But it has been so long since Prince Arthur was taken that many have started to fear he has already been killed: their attackers have no need for him alive anymore. And yet, others reason, surely they would make a show of his death if he had been killed (as they had brutally done with Uther, parading his mangled corpse in the town before lighting it aflame) to assert their dominance and power over the people of Camelot (before they stripped away that title, leaving them the people of a nowhere place). There are some who think he has escaped, but has turned his back on them, knowing the battle to already be lost, and preferring instead to start a new life for himself somewhere far away. However, those few who had truly known the prince know that that would not be the case, and are left to wonder whether he has escaped and is trying to make his way back them, or has come to a much darker fate.
Gwen has done her best to stay positive, ever since the first day their problems started, when the Dragon had escaped, but finds it increasingly difficult the more time goes by. Even if she believed Arthur was still alive, he could be terribly injured. Even if she believed Morgana was still alive, she may have sided with their enemy (in truth, Gwen and Merlin both sometimes wonder in their darker moments whether Morgana had been the one who helped their enemy into the castle). Even if they found Arthur, and he was well, would he be able to save them?
It is the last thought that she fears most, as she lies in her tent at night, underneath the thin blankets, shivering in the cold, unable to sleep. Despite the ever-sinking morale and growing rumblings of despair, everyone has placed their last hope with him, but Gwen does not see what one man could do that would make such a difference when all of their combined efforts have not yet been able to. And as much as she tries to help the few knights there are left, trying to organise this motley crew, she knows she is not the only one who thinks there is no end in sight, other than the one that awaits everyone. (Their attackers had shown no mercy and hope was an easy target.)
But even after everything they had been through, never has she felt her spirit sink as it does today.
When Gwen rushes into Merlin’s tent her arrival has already been announced, for she has been calling his name as she ran across the camp.
“Gwen?” is his response, as he turns to face her, fully dressed in black and grey. The clothes have seen better days, slightly ragged and scorched, but so has he, so they do not look out of place. It is in contrast to the hard silver plates of armour that shine, although not as brightly as they once did (having clean armour is of no importance here).
Before she can say anything, part of his armour comes loose from his breastbone and as it hangs by a single strap, Merlin clumsily trying to refasten it before the plates fall off entirely, and Gwen has to choke back a sob.
She crosses the short distance to take care of it, and does so far more quickly and adeptly than he could have, despite the numerous times he had had to do the same for Arthur, before. When he smiles his thanks, Gwen experiences a feeling she thinks can only be akin to a mother sending her boy off to do battle - and, yet, the scars on his face prove he is not a boy (not anymore).
“Lancelot says they are sending you…” she begins, and finds she cannot go further.
He shakes his head gently. “I choose to go.”
This mission had always been his idea first before the knights thought of it. And yet it is his quiet confidence that scares her most. If only she could see a tremor of fear in him, she would know he was more prepared. Magic alone will not save him, not where he is going.
“I was going to come and tell you goodbye,” he lies, and she believes.
“Are you sure about this?”
“I must. We must find Arthur and help him before he can help us.”
Gwen nods. Unlike her, he has always believed in Arthur and Excalibur, both with question, as if he knew something she didn’t. She had never thought the prophecy about the sword was true, but she still finds it easy to say, “I am coming with you.”
“Gwen, there is -”
“I am going where you are going.”
He said it to her once, in that time before now, although it did not hold the same meaning then. But she sees in his face before he speaks words of agreement that he will not stop her. She knows that he does not want to.
The first leg of their journey is conducted mainly in silence (one they have too long grown used to for any discomfort to be present) over lakes and through forest until shortly before nightfall they reach the cave they must pass through to complete the second part. The cave is pitch black and they cannot see even past their first step despite the faint light outside. As they stand just inside the entrance, Merlin turns to his side and softly chants an incantation that creates an orb in his right hand.
There is something about watching Merlin perform magic that unnerves her. Although she has known about his powers for some time now, she hasn’t seen him use them often, and so when she does Gwen is always struck by how sure he is, in contrast to his often awkward manner in everyday things.
The light from the orb is an eerie blue that creates an unnatural glow about the path through the cave now apparent to them; perhaps rightly so, for it is an unnatural light and, although she is witness to its usefulness, it is of no comfort to her.
As if sensing her unease, Merlin turns back so that he now faces her fully and lifts his free hand. She is expecting some sort of reassuring touch, but instead she watches his eyes turn red and orange just before a heat bursts behind her back.
She sees for the first time, a row of torches behind and to the side of her, the closest of which Merlin has re-lit. He moves to take it for her, but she reaches it first. With the torch in her hands, her palms feel warmer than they have in months, possibly even years. But what she finds truly remarkable is that she feels the flames rekindle something inside of her. Merlin may have made them through magic and the fire in his eyes, but they are not like the floating orb and its unearthly glow. They are here and they are real, burning hotly by her skin.
“Gwen?”
Merlin is here still. Even if the people and the places they once cared about are not. Merlin is real.
When he reaches for her hand to lead her through the cave, each of them with their own beaming light, she grasps his palm tightly in hers. She is ready.
Fandom: Merlin
Characters: Gwen, Merlin.
Rating: PG
Prompt: #27 - fire @ story_lottery
Disclaimer: I don’t own the show, characters, etc. The title is (sort of) from Konstantine by Something Corporate.
Spoilers: Future!fic. Everything that has taken place on the show (at least up to where we are now with the troll eps) is meant to have happened, but this story doesn’t have any significant spoilers for it.
Summary: They cannot reclaim Camelot on their own.
Author’s Note: This is set a few years into the future from where the show is. It is probably also a little confusing, but as I will most likely write more in this world, hopefully what doesn’t make sense will then. Although there are some hints of pairings I’d say this is very much gen/friendship fic (unless Gwen/Merlin is your thing, in which case I guess you can read it that way). Thank you to sophieisgod for all her help!
No one sees it coming.
Camelot had been in disarray before the prince was kidnapped, but it is only with Arthur gone that it truly falls to pieces.
The loss of his son and the knowledge that his ward had been practicing sorcery kills Uther long before Heingst thrusts the blade into his chest and burns the castle to the ground.
Some escape: many flee to the villages, and are slaughtered there. But a small few find their way past the fires and manage to gather in the forest.
At first, all their thoughts are fixed on mere survival. As they watch Camelot burn from afar that seems the most this small, battered group of survivors can aspire to. But once the flames turn to smoke, and the smoke to ash, and every day reveals more who have escaped, more than, in the first few days of the attack, they could ever have imagined, they begin to realise they can do more than just endure. And they decide to fight back.
They cannot reclaim Camelot on their own. They need someone to rally behind, someone to call their leader; they need their rightful king. But it has been so long since Prince Arthur was taken that many have started to fear he has already been killed: their attackers have no need for him alive anymore. And yet, others reason, surely they would make a show of his death if he had been killed (as they had brutally done with Uther, parading his mangled corpse in the town before lighting it aflame) to assert their dominance and power over the people of Camelot (before they stripped away that title, leaving them the people of a nowhere place). There are some who think he has escaped, but has turned his back on them, knowing the battle to already be lost, and preferring instead to start a new life for himself somewhere far away. However, those few who had truly known the prince know that that would not be the case, and are left to wonder whether he has escaped and is trying to make his way back them, or has come to a much darker fate.
Gwen has done her best to stay positive, ever since the first day their problems started, when the Dragon had escaped, but finds it increasingly difficult the more time goes by. Even if she believed Arthur was still alive, he could be terribly injured. Even if she believed Morgana was still alive, she may have sided with their enemy (in truth, Gwen and Merlin both sometimes wonder in their darker moments whether Morgana had been the one who helped their enemy into the castle). Even if they found Arthur, and he was well, would he be able to save them?
It is the last thought that she fears most, as she lies in her tent at night, underneath the thin blankets, shivering in the cold, unable to sleep. Despite the ever-sinking morale and growing rumblings of despair, everyone has placed their last hope with him, but Gwen does not see what one man could do that would make such a difference when all of their combined efforts have not yet been able to. And as much as she tries to help the few knights there are left, trying to organise this motley crew, she knows she is not the only one who thinks there is no end in sight, other than the one that awaits everyone. (Their attackers had shown no mercy and hope was an easy target.)
But even after everything they had been through, never has she felt her spirit sink as it does today.
When Gwen rushes into Merlin’s tent her arrival has already been announced, for she has been calling his name as she ran across the camp.
“Gwen?” is his response, as he turns to face her, fully dressed in black and grey. The clothes have seen better days, slightly ragged and scorched, but so has he, so they do not look out of place. It is in contrast to the hard silver plates of armour that shine, although not as brightly as they once did (having clean armour is of no importance here).
Before she can say anything, part of his armour comes loose from his breastbone and as it hangs by a single strap, Merlin clumsily trying to refasten it before the plates fall off entirely, and Gwen has to choke back a sob.
She crosses the short distance to take care of it, and does so far more quickly and adeptly than he could have, despite the numerous times he had had to do the same for Arthur, before. When he smiles his thanks, Gwen experiences a feeling she thinks can only be akin to a mother sending her boy off to do battle - and, yet, the scars on his face prove he is not a boy (not anymore).
“Lancelot says they are sending you…” she begins, and finds she cannot go further.
He shakes his head gently. “I choose to go.”
This mission had always been his idea first before the knights thought of it. And yet it is his quiet confidence that scares her most. If only she could see a tremor of fear in him, she would know he was more prepared. Magic alone will not save him, not where he is going.
“I was going to come and tell you goodbye,” he lies, and she believes.
“Are you sure about this?”
“I must. We must find Arthur and help him before he can help us.”
Gwen nods. Unlike her, he has always believed in Arthur and Excalibur, both with question, as if he knew something she didn’t. She had never thought the prophecy about the sword was true, but she still finds it easy to say, “I am coming with you.”
“Gwen, there is -”
“I am going where you are going.”
He said it to her once, in that time before now, although it did not hold the same meaning then. But she sees in his face before he speaks words of agreement that he will not stop her. She knows that he does not want to.
The first leg of their journey is conducted mainly in silence (one they have too long grown used to for any discomfort to be present) over lakes and through forest until shortly before nightfall they reach the cave they must pass through to complete the second part. The cave is pitch black and they cannot see even past their first step despite the faint light outside. As they stand just inside the entrance, Merlin turns to his side and softly chants an incantation that creates an orb in his right hand.
There is something about watching Merlin perform magic that unnerves her. Although she has known about his powers for some time now, she hasn’t seen him use them often, and so when she does Gwen is always struck by how sure he is, in contrast to his often awkward manner in everyday things.
The light from the orb is an eerie blue that creates an unnatural glow about the path through the cave now apparent to them; perhaps rightly so, for it is an unnatural light and, although she is witness to its usefulness, it is of no comfort to her.
As if sensing her unease, Merlin turns back so that he now faces her fully and lifts his free hand. She is expecting some sort of reassuring touch, but instead she watches his eyes turn red and orange just before a heat bursts behind her back.
She sees for the first time, a row of torches behind and to the side of her, the closest of which Merlin has re-lit. He moves to take it for her, but she reaches it first. With the torch in her hands, her palms feel warmer than they have in months, possibly even years. But what she finds truly remarkable is that she feels the flames rekindle something inside of her. Merlin may have made them through magic and the fire in his eyes, but they are not like the floating orb and its unearthly glow. They are here and they are real, burning hotly by her skin.
“Gwen?”
Merlin is here still. Even if the people and the places they once cared about are not. Merlin is real.
When he reaches for her hand to lead her through the cave, each of them with their own beaming light, she grasps his palm tightly in hers. She is ready.