![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Merlin - Crystal in Clarity
Title: Crystal in Clarity
Genre: Gen (slight hint of Merlin/Arthur)
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1,850 words
Spoilers: The Crystal Cave, Arthurian Myths
Warnings: Discussion of Character Death
Synopsis: All will be clear, just not quite yet.
Author's Notes: For the "hallucinations" square at![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hc_bingo. I usually despise anything to do with character death, but ended up going in that direction with this one as it is what came to mind the strongest with this prompt.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or these interpretations of the myths and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
Arthur was, and always shall be, an arse. Merlin cheerfully told him as much as often as possible to which, at least on their latest journey, Arthur simply smiled and shrugged. When Merlin went into exquisite detail about the hows and whys of the matter, he actually earned the head thrown back, full body laugh, which rather made this horrible trip worthwhile.
They stopped for the night and Merlin left to go fill the waterskins at the nearby stream. He returned to discover Arthur had managed to roll out solely his own bedroll, nothing more, and was stretched out with his hands behind his head waiting expectantly for Merlin to do the rest. There wasn't even a fire going, wasn't even a spot cleared for one, and so Merlin sighed dramatically and announced, "You really are a prat, aren't you?"
He cleared the area by hand, and stacked stones in a neat circle to form a barrier in hopes of not setting a supposedly sacred wood on fire. When it came time to start the fire itself though, he didn't bother with a flint but used one of the first spells he ever learned, something that seemed innate to his very being. The time for secrets was long past, and he watched Arthur watching him. There was no judgement in his eyes, only curiosity and maybe the tiniest bits of wonder.
Dinner that evening was a grouse unlucky enough to wander by and a few root vegetables found at the edge of the clearing. There was no need to dip into their supplies yet, not when the land was offering what they needed freely and without cost.
He eventually laid down, after dithering for far longer than he should practising spells of protection and safety, only to wake a short time later with his mind filled with images of death and destruction, of sacrifice and betrayal, of blood seeping into the supposedly sacred earth, and the earth offering absolutely nothing in return.
Arthur was there for him, talking him down, helping him to regulate his breathing until the harsh gasps evened out to something that still pained his chest, but that he was at least capable of managing.
"It was just a dream," Arthur told him, the "silly old warlock" silent at the end.
Merlin nodded and closed his eyes and tried to believe the lie, even as he shifted slightly on his bedding, ever closer to the one he knew he needed to protect and the one he knew he was destined to fail.
The next morning he awoke to Arthur berating him for oversleeping, though not a word was mentioned about his little dalliance of the night before. Breakfast was a bit of bread soaked with the drippings left over from their last meal and enough water for him to need to top off the waterskins once more.
The campsite was cleared quickly enough, the fire safely out, and then they were on their way again, the sky bright above them even as the darkness of the forest lurked on either side.
It was well past mid-day when they reached it. The pillars of carved stone loomed high, but not quite menacing, not now, not after all this time. He thought of how they managed to save Arthur's life once in this very clearing, and wondered if he would need to repeat the task.
He stepped forward, towards the place that he knew held the answers, but felt hesitation at his side. Arthur had not followed, had not moved past the stones, hand pressed to their carvings, musing, contemplating, and doubtlessly going to make Merlin's task that much more difficult.
Merlin rolled his eyes and gestured forward. "Come on, you prat," he muttered, earning the expected glare for his troubles.
The voice that spoke next was not Arthur's though, and not one of the supposedly fallen kings that surrounded them. It was familiar and warm and filled with concern as it asked, "Merlin, where are you going?"
Merlin turned slowly, his eyes taking a moment to find the figure in the shadows. He recognised the voice, but the shape blended into the surroundings until the sun managed to break through the trees and show him what would have stayed hidden from him without its aid.
"Gwaine, have you been following?" he asked, as heartened by the concern as he was annoyed by the intrusion.
"Since the lower town," the knight confirmed. He stepped closer, the light playing across the armour that he wore, glinting along the stones and trees as though they were water on a lazy Spring afternoon.
Merlin scrubbed a hand through his hair. It was too long, but he didn't mind it. He glanced behind him at his destination, then back at his waiting friends. Arthur's back was to Gwaine, and he took full advantage of this fact by making faces that threatened to make Merlin smile, or even chuckle, despite the seriousness of the situation. It wasn't as though he had a strict timeline to follow, not exactly, but he felt a pressing need to continue, to finish what he had started.
"We need to go," was all he said.
"Where?" Gwaine asked, pressed, begged to know.
Merlin reminded himself that Gwaine didn't know, couldn't know, the truth behind the mission. He had kept him in the dark until now, deliberately obfuscating for days because this was private, this was personal, this was something he needed to do for himself and his prat of a king was already one person too many.
"We need to get to the cave," he explained. "Before nightfall at the least, earlier would be preferred. You needn't come with us, we'll be fine."
Gwaine sighed and shook his head. "Merlin, there's no 'we,' only you," he said, and his voice was filled with the sorrow that riddled the castle, the sorrow he had been trying to escape. "I've followed you for the past two days, heard you talking to him, but he's not real, he doesn't exist, never did."
Merlin made a face. "Of course he did, he was our king."
"Merlin, Arthur is dead. He fell in battle and will not return," Gwaine said with surprising compassion for his bluntness.
There was something on his face. It was wet and as annoying as Arthur prior to his morning tea. He swiped at it, sleeve coming away damp and stained, but more seemed to follow.
"Well, that rather explains why the man I've been wasting my time babbling to has varied from prince to king and has changed outfits more times during this little trip than even Arthur can justify now, doesn't it?" he asked blithely. The Arthur beside him chuckled, even as his armour grew stained with dirt and something Merlin did not want to think about.
"Then why...?" Gwaine started, but trailed off as though afraid of the answer to his question.
"Because I needed him to be here, for this of all things," Merlin replied. He stepped closer to the cave and the shuffling of leaves told him his friend followed.
"He can't be here, Merlin," Gwaine insisted. "He's gone."
"You don't think I know that?" he asked, voice harsh to his own ears. He did not turn around; did not dare to take that risk. "I failed. I was to watch over him and protect him, and I failed. He and so many others died, and there was nothing I could do about it, nothing at all. But this? This I can do. I can wait and be there next time, be ready and willing and able. Next time we will win. Next time our king, our friend, our Arthur, will be victorious."
"There will be no next time," Gwaine said. He sounded pained, sounded as though Merlin was not the only one with damp sleeves and wet skin.
"That is where you are wrong."
It was not Merlin who spoke, but the man he had been waiting for, the man he had prayed still existed in this place. He had helped Arthur, helped Merlin once before, and given him the clues, the glimpse of what would be, even then, that insured he would return now to be there for the future.
"Taliesin," Merlin greeted him, saw his own grief reflected on the old man's face.
"Emrys," he was greeted in turn. "I have been waiting for you."
Merlin quirked his lips with a huff of breath. "Of course you have."
"Who?" Gwaine asked, and Merlin did not need to turn around to know his sword was drawn, even in this most sacred of places.
"Be at peace, fair knight," Taliesin bade, and Gwaine seemed to sheath his blade without knowing why he did so. "Strength, Courage, and Magic will be reunited, but not this day. You have other quests you need to see to first, other tasks that you must complete to prepare the world for your return."
"But..." Gwaine stuttered, both believing and unsure.
"Arthur will return," Merlin said, and he believed the words even more each time his spoke them. "He will return and we will have our grand victory and we will welcome in those great days that legend boasted about. Just not yet."
He led Gwaine to the entrance of the cave, let him see just the very edge of the secrets the cave held, just enough to see that his words were true, just enough for him to see the past lead to the future lead to everything that they had dreamed of and spoken of during late nights around the fire.
Gwaine tried to step closer still, tried to see things he was not yet ready to see, but Merlin stopped him much like Taliesin had stopped him all those years ago. "This is not for you," he whispered, even though he would miss his friend's presence.
"You have a future in this life to see to before you may be tasked with others," Taliesin told him, pushing him back slightly with only the force of words. "Rest easy knowing you, as Merlin here, will never truly be alone and that, when the time comes, you will be together once more."
Gwaine looked as though he wished to protest, a look that grew as the entrance to the cave began to seal itself, Merlin on one side and he on the other. His expression changed from rage to grief while Merlin's own was locked in sadness, but he knew this was the way it must be, this was the way the future had foretold should they ever wish the world to be the way they needed it to be.
Merlin watched Gwaine fade away, the image of Arthur at his side. Both would be locked away, even as he was from them. But, as he looked to the reflections that surrounded him, the hundreds of Arthurs and Gwaines and even Percivals and Leons, he knew that this was only temporary. He knew that, one day, they would be reunited. He knew that, until that day, he would wait in good company.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.
Genre: Gen (slight hint of Merlin/Arthur)
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1,850 words
Spoilers: The Crystal Cave, Arthurian Myths
Warnings: Discussion of Character Death
Synopsis: All will be clear, just not quite yet.
Author's Notes: For the "hallucinations" square at
hc_bingo. I usually despise anything to do with character death, but ended up going in that direction with this one as it is what came to mind the strongest with this prompt.Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or these interpretations of the myths and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
Arthur was, and always shall be, an arse. Merlin cheerfully told him as much as often as possible to which, at least on their latest journey, Arthur simply smiled and shrugged. When Merlin went into exquisite detail about the hows and whys of the matter, he actually earned the head thrown back, full body laugh, which rather made this horrible trip worthwhile.
They stopped for the night and Merlin left to go fill the waterskins at the nearby stream. He returned to discover Arthur had managed to roll out solely his own bedroll, nothing more, and was stretched out with his hands behind his head waiting expectantly for Merlin to do the rest. There wasn't even a fire going, wasn't even a spot cleared for one, and so Merlin sighed dramatically and announced, "You really are a prat, aren't you?"
He cleared the area by hand, and stacked stones in a neat circle to form a barrier in hopes of not setting a supposedly sacred wood on fire. When it came time to start the fire itself though, he didn't bother with a flint but used one of the first spells he ever learned, something that seemed innate to his very being. The time for secrets was long past, and he watched Arthur watching him. There was no judgement in his eyes, only curiosity and maybe the tiniest bits of wonder.
Dinner that evening was a grouse unlucky enough to wander by and a few root vegetables found at the edge of the clearing. There was no need to dip into their supplies yet, not when the land was offering what they needed freely and without cost.
He eventually laid down, after dithering for far longer than he should practising spells of protection and safety, only to wake a short time later with his mind filled with images of death and destruction, of sacrifice and betrayal, of blood seeping into the supposedly sacred earth, and the earth offering absolutely nothing in return.
Arthur was there for him, talking him down, helping him to regulate his breathing until the harsh gasps evened out to something that still pained his chest, but that he was at least capable of managing.
"It was just a dream," Arthur told him, the "silly old warlock" silent at the end.
Merlin nodded and closed his eyes and tried to believe the lie, even as he shifted slightly on his bedding, ever closer to the one he knew he needed to protect and the one he knew he was destined to fail.
The next morning he awoke to Arthur berating him for oversleeping, though not a word was mentioned about his little dalliance of the night before. Breakfast was a bit of bread soaked with the drippings left over from their last meal and enough water for him to need to top off the waterskins once more.
The campsite was cleared quickly enough, the fire safely out, and then they were on their way again, the sky bright above them even as the darkness of the forest lurked on either side.
It was well past mid-day when they reached it. The pillars of carved stone loomed high, but not quite menacing, not now, not after all this time. He thought of how they managed to save Arthur's life once in this very clearing, and wondered if he would need to repeat the task.
He stepped forward, towards the place that he knew held the answers, but felt hesitation at his side. Arthur had not followed, had not moved past the stones, hand pressed to their carvings, musing, contemplating, and doubtlessly going to make Merlin's task that much more difficult.
Merlin rolled his eyes and gestured forward. "Come on, you prat," he muttered, earning the expected glare for his troubles.
The voice that spoke next was not Arthur's though, and not one of the supposedly fallen kings that surrounded them. It was familiar and warm and filled with concern as it asked, "Merlin, where are you going?"
Merlin turned slowly, his eyes taking a moment to find the figure in the shadows. He recognised the voice, but the shape blended into the surroundings until the sun managed to break through the trees and show him what would have stayed hidden from him without its aid.
"Gwaine, have you been following?" he asked, as heartened by the concern as he was annoyed by the intrusion.
"Since the lower town," the knight confirmed. He stepped closer, the light playing across the armour that he wore, glinting along the stones and trees as though they were water on a lazy Spring afternoon.
Merlin scrubbed a hand through his hair. It was too long, but he didn't mind it. He glanced behind him at his destination, then back at his waiting friends. Arthur's back was to Gwaine, and he took full advantage of this fact by making faces that threatened to make Merlin smile, or even chuckle, despite the seriousness of the situation. It wasn't as though he had a strict timeline to follow, not exactly, but he felt a pressing need to continue, to finish what he had started.
"We need to go," was all he said.
"Where?" Gwaine asked, pressed, begged to know.
Merlin reminded himself that Gwaine didn't know, couldn't know, the truth behind the mission. He had kept him in the dark until now, deliberately obfuscating for days because this was private, this was personal, this was something he needed to do for himself and his prat of a king was already one person too many.
"We need to get to the cave," he explained. "Before nightfall at the least, earlier would be preferred. You needn't come with us, we'll be fine."
Gwaine sighed and shook his head. "Merlin, there's no 'we,' only you," he said, and his voice was filled with the sorrow that riddled the castle, the sorrow he had been trying to escape. "I've followed you for the past two days, heard you talking to him, but he's not real, he doesn't exist, never did."
Merlin made a face. "Of course he did, he was our king."
"Merlin, Arthur is dead. He fell in battle and will not return," Gwaine said with surprising compassion for his bluntness.
There was something on his face. It was wet and as annoying as Arthur prior to his morning tea. He swiped at it, sleeve coming away damp and stained, but more seemed to follow.
"Well, that rather explains why the man I've been wasting my time babbling to has varied from prince to king and has changed outfits more times during this little trip than even Arthur can justify now, doesn't it?" he asked blithely. The Arthur beside him chuckled, even as his armour grew stained with dirt and something Merlin did not want to think about.
"Then why...?" Gwaine started, but trailed off as though afraid of the answer to his question.
"Because I needed him to be here, for this of all things," Merlin replied. He stepped closer to the cave and the shuffling of leaves told him his friend followed.
"He can't be here, Merlin," Gwaine insisted. "He's gone."
"You don't think I know that?" he asked, voice harsh to his own ears. He did not turn around; did not dare to take that risk. "I failed. I was to watch over him and protect him, and I failed. He and so many others died, and there was nothing I could do about it, nothing at all. But this? This I can do. I can wait and be there next time, be ready and willing and able. Next time we will win. Next time our king, our friend, our Arthur, will be victorious."
"There will be no next time," Gwaine said. He sounded pained, sounded as though Merlin was not the only one with damp sleeves and wet skin.
"That is where you are wrong."
It was not Merlin who spoke, but the man he had been waiting for, the man he had prayed still existed in this place. He had helped Arthur, helped Merlin once before, and given him the clues, the glimpse of what would be, even then, that insured he would return now to be there for the future.
"Taliesin," Merlin greeted him, saw his own grief reflected on the old man's face.
"Emrys," he was greeted in turn. "I have been waiting for you."
Merlin quirked his lips with a huff of breath. "Of course you have."
"Who?" Gwaine asked, and Merlin did not need to turn around to know his sword was drawn, even in this most sacred of places.
"Be at peace, fair knight," Taliesin bade, and Gwaine seemed to sheath his blade without knowing why he did so. "Strength, Courage, and Magic will be reunited, but not this day. You have other quests you need to see to first, other tasks that you must complete to prepare the world for your return."
"But..." Gwaine stuttered, both believing and unsure.
"Arthur will return," Merlin said, and he believed the words even more each time his spoke them. "He will return and we will have our grand victory and we will welcome in those great days that legend boasted about. Just not yet."
He led Gwaine to the entrance of the cave, let him see just the very edge of the secrets the cave held, just enough to see that his words were true, just enough for him to see the past lead to the future lead to everything that they had dreamed of and spoken of during late nights around the fire.
Gwaine tried to step closer still, tried to see things he was not yet ready to see, but Merlin stopped him much like Taliesin had stopped him all those years ago. "This is not for you," he whispered, even though he would miss his friend's presence.
"You have a future in this life to see to before you may be tasked with others," Taliesin told him, pushing him back slightly with only the force of words. "Rest easy knowing you, as Merlin here, will never truly be alone and that, when the time comes, you will be together once more."
Gwaine looked as though he wished to protest, a look that grew as the entrance to the cave began to seal itself, Merlin on one side and he on the other. His expression changed from rage to grief while Merlin's own was locked in sadness, but he knew this was the way it must be, this was the way the future had foretold should they ever wish the world to be the way they needed it to be.
Merlin watched Gwaine fade away, the image of Arthur at his side. Both would be locked away, even as he was from them. But, as he looked to the reflections that surrounded him, the hundreds of Arthurs and Gwaines and even Percivals and Leons, he knew that this was only temporary. He knew that, one day, they would be reunited. He knew that, until that day, he would wait in good company.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.