Work Text:
Merlin doesn’t know how long he sat by the edge of the lake after the boat was finally swallowed by the mists of Avalon. Carrying the man who was his best friend and who he was now supposed to wait for to return once more. He’d cried and cried and cried until his body had no more tears to give and it racked with dry sobs before he no longer had the strength to express his grief and do nothing more than stare, some small hope that he’d imagined it all and that the boat would return, Arthur whole once more, smirking, wreathed in golden hues from the falling sun, calling him a clotpole. Merlin would say that was his word and they would ride back laughing to Camelot. Back to Guinevere and the knights and they’d celebrate the end of Morgana and their victory over the Saxons for days.
Eventually, his thoughts of his friends pulled him from his catatonic state and forced him to stand. He tore his gaze from the lake in near agony, not wanting to end his vigil so soon. But he needed to go. To tell Gwen. To tell Gaius he’d failed. He could find Gwaine and find comfort in his embrace. Finally tell him what he’d meant to say as they’d gone their separate paths before this all began. That he was magic, and that he was sorry he’d kept it secret for so long, but he wanted him to know and what did he have left to lose at this point. He hoped Gwaine would forgive him. But Gwaine had always been easygoing about illicit affairs and he hoped that his origins from lands that accepted magic would help with the reveal. He regretted not telling him sooner so many times but held back for Gwaine’s sake to not have to keep that kind of secret. What with his loose tongue and penchant for mead, he worried it would slip out at the drink’s behest.
He knew he was making excuses, for deep down he knew Gwaine cared deeply for Merlin and took everything he said more seriously than anything else and would have guarded his secret with his life. Merlin had lived the last several years in so much fear and anxiety over Arthur finding out, being banished or worse and unable to protect him that he became miserly with his secret as well as affections. It wasn’t fair to Gwaine who professed himself to Camelot for him, not Arthur…A jolt of fear ran through him. Would Gwaine stay now without Merlin having a master to serve, without a purpose to even be in Camelot? A city that would either see him banished or beheaded for sorcery? Gwen may be fair, but prejudice ran deep as a byproduct of Uther’s hate and Arthur’s reluctance to change. That was Merlin’s fault too.
Everything had been his fault. Morgana. Mordred. Arthur…how could he face any of them now? They might not know everything he’s done but his return alone would speak for itself. He trudged through the land without a horse, his barely held-together will guiding him back to Camelot. He barely rested, his grief carrying him numbly back home…
---
He drifted through the crowds of the lower town, not registering any of the talk of sorcery and whereabouts of the king, talk of his demise already spreading in the rumors. If the King’s manservant was seen returning alone, pale as a ghost, alone. It could only mean one thing. Gwen was waiting at the top of the stairs to the courtyard and when they locked eyes as he entered, the look on his face must have been enough to finally confirm for her the truth. The strongest woman he’d ever known, bar his mother, dropped to the ground, hand covering her mouth. Leon caught her on her way down and guided her crowned head to his shoulder to shield her from onlookers, the First Knight’s own realization and grief slowly creeping on his face like fog to a misty morning moor.
Merlin’s gaze wearily swept around the courtyard and found a scattering of knights lower their heads in acknowledgement, maids and servants holding each other together, breaking down in each other’s arms or disappearing back within the castle walls. Gaius was suddenly at his side and took hold of his arm tightly in comfort, his face lined with his age and mourning. Merlin forgot that Gaius would have cared for Arthur as a child and seen him grow up. The loss was more than just that of a monarch. Merlin raised his own hand and covered Gaius’s, squeezing back weakly, too exhausted to say any words.
He finally spotted Percival leaning against the parapets near the hall to the physician’s quarters, alone, and with his head bowed, shoulders hunched inward, the giant of a man looking smaller than he’d ever thought possible. Merlin felt Gaius squeeze his arm again and he met his mentor’s gaze, which seemed to have fallen even farther if possible. If anything, there was sympathy and a different kind of sadness there that Merlin didn’t understand. His brows knitted together in confusion, but before he could ask, Gaius shoved him gently toward Percival, patting him gently without a word.
Merlin’s heart started pounding. No. He hadn’t seen Gwaine out yet. He wasn’t with Percival. They would have returned together, certainly? No.
His feet carried him there reluctantly and sooner than he would have liked he was in front of Percival, who only met his gaze when he’d asked, “Percival?” in a croaked, wavering voice.
Percival’s eyes should have told him all he needed to know, but Merlin couldn’t so easily let go of this last hope he had tying him to this world.
“I failed him. I was too late, Merlin, he—” Percival’s voice broke at the end and the man shook his head, lowering it as his shoulders shook, failing to hold back tears.
Before Merlin could say anything, he didn’t think he could, Percival moved his hand where it was clutched at his chest, grasped Merlin’s hand and pressed something thin and metal into his palm, curling his fingers over it. “I think he would have wanted you to have this…” The knight glanced back toward the physician’s quarters before squeezing his shoulder tightly, meeting Merlin’s blank expression for a moment before turning away and walking back into the castle halls in silence.
Merlin stood for an age, registering the slowly warming metal in his fist. Slowly, he uncurled his hand and stared at Gwaine’s necklace, the gold ring resting gently on the silver charm underneath. He thought he’d cried all his tears at the lake, but soon he felt and saw the proof of his grief drip on the last hope he’d had of any joy, anything tying him to this life. His shaking hands curled around the necklace reverently and brought them to his lips, his eyes squeezing shut as he fell to his knees on the cobblestone, unfeeling of his now bruised knees and curled into a crouch, hunched over the last proof of what he’d lost.
“It was my mother’s. I’m saving it for someone not only she’d be proud of, but someone I want to stand by my side for the rest of the days.” Gwaine’s voice was soft in a rare moment of vulnerability they’d had in the Perilous Lands, no swagger or posturing from drink. This was wholly Gwaine, baring his secrets, for Merlin.
The man who’d bared everything to him, and Merlin who was a coward and now would never get the chance to do what he’d finally resolved to do. He’d failed not just Arthur, but Gwaine from the secrets he kept. The man deserved them more than anyone else and while he’d left him with a smile, it was sullied with knowing what he’d failed to do in those last moments. I hope you find what you’re looking for.
All Merlin wanted was to find that swagger again, that wry smile and a quip about the Princess and a hug at reuniting. To feel those strong arms around him again and finally give into the desires he’d had and sink into that feeling and take the comfort he’d shirked for so long from someone who would always, always give it to him without question. He’d been a fool. His whole life, he was a fool.
I’m sorry, Gwaine. I wasn’t the man you thought I was. I’m so sorry.
He put the charm around his neck, clutching it close to his heart with shaking hands, pressing a reverent kiss to the ring, before standing, unready to face what lay beyond the physician’s doors.