The Day in Crystal

It was near impossible to tell time in the cells, but dinner – and Gwaine – had been and gone hours ago. He'd been a little louder than usual, had drunk a little more, but otherwise had not mentioned the girl with blonde hair. I guessed that his hurt would heal with a little more time.

Not quite midnight, but close, I thought, surprised when voices came toward the cell, accompanied by the jangling of keys. "His Majesty's orders," one of the guards informed another. "We're to bring the sorcerer."

I stood, feeling the pinprick sensation of constricted blood flowing freely again, and tossed the blanket onto the cot. As they unlocked the cell door, I bundled up the pages I'd written and replaced the wax stopper in the ink bottle.

"D'you want the shackles?" the third guard asked.

The one with the key paused. "King Arthur didn't say to use 'em," he said.

"But – a sorcerer?" his companion said dubiously. They all looked at me.

"I reckon," said the one with the keys slowly, "if he wanted out, he'd have already done it. And if he meant the king harm…" He shrugged. "He'd have already done it."

"Come on, then," his companion told me, and I followed, up the stairs from the cell, along the corridors. The two guards escorted me to the council room, where one announced, "The sorcerer, sire," before shutting the door behind me.

Arthur was seated at the table, not in his place at the head, but halfway down one side, with his back mostly to the door and his face illumined by the low-burning fire in the fireplace opposite. He was slouched in the high-backed chair, his head propped in one hand while his fingers slowly massaged his temples.

I waited. It was an exquisite torture, wanting to offer comfort and support and a listening ear for his troubles, knowing that I'd been the cause and could therefore offer nothing that wouldn't increase the hurt of betrayal. And I deserved every minute.

"Merlin," he said finally, without lifting his head.

"Sire," I responded. I couldn't help hoping. It wasn't that man. It wasn't leave me… just… you heard.

He pointed to the chair opposite him, and I hurried to obey, setting my writing down on the table in front of me, leaning over the edge of it, clasping my hands between my knees to keep them from shaking.

"So, Merlin," he said, his voice and face expressionless, his eyes dark with fatigue. "You have magic."

"Yes, I –"

"Please don't speak." His tone didn't change. "Gaius has explained to me the – exclusivity, of your magic. You did not choose to begin using magic, nor can you choose to stop. He has – tried, to explain your reasons for remaining in Camelot. Whose laws you break, it seems, by your very existence."

His left hand in his lap, Arthur laid his right atop his stack of parchment, flipping the edges with his thumb. I recognized his writing, even upside down, and knew it was his notes from the day's meetings, summaries of the arguments each councilman or knight had offered. We'd gone over similar notes together on similar late nights, as I finished polishing armor or folding and storing clean laundry or brushing boots, he'd repeat what had been said, clarifying his understanding, sometimes scoffing at my impressions or just taking in what I said silently.

Once again, it seemed he'd summoned me at the end of the day to discuss the issue at hand. Me. Or – magic.

"I trusted you," he said slowly. "And you've lied to me all this time."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"I'm sorry too. I understand why you didn't tell me, but…" He snorted. "Seems you can keep a secret to save your life, after all."

"Not my life," I said, and he was startled into meeting my eyes. "I wasn't concerned about saving my life. I was worried about what would happen to you. If I was found out… I wouldn't be around to protect you, anymore."

He shifted in his chair, lifting his chin slightly as he studied me. "Leon told me, he remembers when the ban on magic was enacted, when he was a child. Gaius and Geoffrey, of course, as well as every councilman, remember the time before the start of the Purge. Gwaine and Percival have both told me of conditions in other kingdoms where they've traveled, and magic is allowed under regulation of the law."

I remembered another such discussion on the question of magic, what he'd been raised to believe. If I do that, he'd said to me, six months ago, speaking of bringing magic back to Camelot, all my father's work will be for nothing. Sorcery will reign once more in Camelot.

Not reign, but live. "We have had this conversation also, you and I," I said softly. Perhaps my father was wrong, perhaps the old ways aren't as evil as I thought. "A just and fair kingdom doesn't mean unfettered sorcery and superstition –"

"I had a conversation," he said deliberately, "with someone who was a - trusted friend, with an unbiased opinion. Or so I thought."

I tried, I thought numbly. I'd said, do what is in your heart, what you believe, what is right and best for Camelot.

"This morning," Arthur said deliberately, "You said, I am a sorcerer." His eyes had never been sharper. And there would be no blurting some crazy excuse about herbs or taverns and skipping from the room. "You didn't say, I am the sorcerer."

"The sorcerer," I said.

He rose and rounded the table, pushing aside the chair next to mine to seat himself on the table. He put his right hand on the back of my chair and leaned toward me until our faces were less than a foot apart. I couldn't look away from that keen blue gaze – it felt like he was studying my very soul.

"You are the same," he said. "It was a disguise."

"Yes," I said.

He straightened but kept his seat on the table. "Why?" he demanded.

"I was just – trying to help," I said. "When your father accused Gwen of witchcraft – sire, we both knew it wasn't true, but your father wouldn't believe you and he – he never believed me so I – created a scapegoat. I figured no one would recognize me eighty years old and –"

"You figured!" he exclaimed. "Sorcerers are executed in Camelot, Merlin! We almost burned you at the stake!"

"I remember," I said softly.

"The enchanted amulet," he said. "That was the truth." I nodded. "And you were at Camlann as well."

"Better late than never," I said.

"You let me believe –" he stopped. "That last night, I called you coward because you weren't going to Camlann. You made me believe you weren't going to Camlann, so you could have Gwaine take you out somewhere to sneak into your disguise and show up and save the day – up there on that cliff throwing lightning so all could see you – coming for me when I was wounded – healing me, saving my life – and this morning, the perfect opportunity for you to claim credit, to place this whole kingdom in your debt, and instead you let Leon walk you to the cells! I can't tell whether you truly are a coward, or the bravest man I know. I can't figure whether you're too clever for all of us or incredibly stupid."

I couldn't help a smile, but I tried to keep it a small one. "It's probably both," I said. "Or all? Sometimes I'm not sure, myself."

"So I'd like an explanation," he said. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

"I… had some time on my hands today," I said. "I've written… these."

He glanced down at the scribbled, ink-smeared pages. "What are they?" he said. "They look a mess."

"This packet is a list of every time I've done magic, since I came to Camelot," I said. "As much as I could remember, and if you want me to rewrite it so its chronological, I can try but I just set it down as I remembered and –"

"The other?" he said.

"The second is a list of all the lies I've ever told you," I said.

For a moment he said nothing, just looked at me. "As many as you could remember," he said finally, in a voice low but steady, "and not necessarily in chronological order?"

I nodded, doing my best to keep my breathing steady, catching a traitor tear swiftly, hoping he wouldn't see.

"Your hearing will be first thing in the morning," Arthur said. "Percival told me he brought you a blanket, and you've had your meals." He looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded again, pushing back my chair and standing, ready to be taken back to my cell for the night. "Two questions," Arthur added. "Morgana."

He'd seen me kill his sister with a bolt of lightning – well, near enough, I'd heard Percival and Gwaine had found her dead on the battlefield. I blurted, "I'm sorry –"

He acted like he hadn't heard me. "She called you Emrys," he said. "And then I remembered something. Years ago – and not very far from this room – she said, not even Emrys can save you now."

"The druids –" I started, but he held up one hand for my silence. Mostly I had ignored that wish in the past, but those times, I recognized, might be long gone. Such liberties might never be mine to take again.

"My question is this," he said, more slowly. "You stayed. You worked. You hid your magic, you lied, you – saved my life. And listened. Did you do this because you were waiting, hoping that I would someday change the laws on magic?"

"Well, not –"

"Did you," he went on, "deliberately befriend me, as the crown prince to the throne, seeing some weakness, seeing that I could never be the kind of king my father was?"

"If compassion and wisdom are weakness, I would to God all men had it as you do!" I said. "I hope and pray you are never the kind of king your father was! Yes, I hoped that one day you would see that magic could be useful and good, but I am not just some manipulative sorcerer with my own goals to achieve. This – all this I've ever done – everything for you, Arthur. My magic is for you, my work, my strength, my patience, my heart – is all for you. I do this because you're my friend, and I –" I never want to lose you. Stupid tears. I wiped my face angrily and muttered, "Hell, this was easier when you were dying."

He was looking at me strangely. "When was I dying?"

"You weren't," I said, trying to laugh it off. "It was just something I saw."

His eyes narrowed. "Tell me the truth," he demanded.

"The truth." I sighed. "The truth is, that it's my fault. I was told Mordred was a danger, but he was a child and you were determined to help him. I was told Morgana was a danger, only you loved her like a sister – and then she really was your sister. I was told you would fall at Camlann, but I knew you would never agree not to go."

"Breathe, Merlin," Arthur said, with a mix of consternation and amusement.

"I was told to reveal myself to you, to assume my identity and tell you my name, and because I did not, my magic was taken from me and I needed Gwaine to make sure I reached the crystal cave without getting killed by bandits while I was helpless and Morgana was there and trapped me so I was late getting to Camlann –"

"Merlin," Arthur said.

"But it wasn't entirely terrible because I looked at the future in the crystals and saw Mordred wound you mortally and I had to take you two days to Avalon just the two of us on horseback with enemy Saxons all around and I told you about my magic and you wanted to send me away but I had to save you, I had to try and I had to use magic to light the fire, and to hide our tracks and to kill the Saxons that found us and then –" I stopped, I was breathing much too fast and more tears, dammit.

"And then," Arthur prompted gently.

I rubbed my sleeve across my face. "And then I was too late anyway," I said bitterly. "Too late to stop Mordred, to late to tell you of my magic, too late to save you. You died in my arms on the shore of the lake."

He stared at me. "You saw that future in a crystal in a cave?" he said incredulously. I nodded. "And then, what? You changed my fate?"

"I don't know," I said, raising my hand to point at the resting place of the shard in his shoulder. "I don't know, yet. You have a destiny, and I have a destiny, and -"

"There's a difference between fate and destiny," he said, repeating words I'd spoken when the two of us traveled to Breneved, as if he hadn't understood until now.

"Some men are born to plow fields," I said, smiling. "Some live to be great physicians, others - to be great kings. I was born to serve you, Arthur. And I'm proud of that."

"You are?" he said narrowly. "My second question, Merlin, was to ask you to explain why, if you were disguised as a powerful sorcerer who could evade capture and disappear at will, why – out of anything at all you could possibly do within Camelot or to any of the citizens – why you chose to ride your prince like a mule."

I stared at him, my mouth probably dropped open. Out of everything he could possibly have asked me… I caught a devilish glint in his eye, and snapped without thinking, "Well, now you know how it feels to be worked like a mule – day in and day out it's Merlin do this and Merlin do that and wash my socks and polish my armor and sharpen my sword and finish the laundry and scrub the floor and muck the stable and have the horses ready by first light –"

He was laughing at me outright now, and I tripped over my chair, forgotten behind me, as I turned to storm grandly out.

"Excuse me, sire," I said stiffly. "My cell awaits."

"So it does," he agreed. "And Merlin – tomorrow morning –"

I sighed. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

He said blandly, "Don't be late." I stared at him a moment disbelieving, til he flicked his fingers at me in a dismissive gesture.

Something made me turn back, just as I reached to pull the door open. Arthur stood before the fireplace, the flickering shadows making his expression stern and sad. In either hand he held a sheaf of my papers. He glanced from one to the other, then back again. And then, to my surprise, he threw one packet into the fire.

I slipped out the door, and as the two guards escorted me back to the cell, I couldn't help but wonder, which had he chosen to destroy without ever reading, the magic – or the lies?

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

In the morning, it was Gwaine who came to escort me from the cells. "The king would like to have a word with you," he said, and gave me an ironic smile.

Maybe he remembered the last time I'd been in this cell, too.

"It isn't too late," he said, as we walked the corridors and stairs. I noticed he was taking me to the throne room. I noticed also that we passed far fewer people than was normal for the time of day. "You and me, we take a wrong turn on this little stroll, end up at the stables, grab a mount –"

"You really think Arthur will order my execution?" I said.

"Honestly, Merlin?" Gwaine's smile disappeared. "We can't tell what he's thinking, or what he means to do."

My heart dropped and my hands felt cold. For the first time in a long time, I felt completely helpless. If Arthur rejected me, rejected magic, he would, as the Disir warned, seal his doom. Arthur's bane… was Arthur himself. Our fates, as our destinies, were intertwined.

At Gwaine's nod, the two guards at the double doors of the chamber opened them, swinging them inward. Ah. This was where everyone was, the crowd five times what it had been when I'd made my confession yesterday.

Whispers filled the air as we walked down the center of the room, and I avoided looking at anyone, as Gwaine left me to stand alone. I didn't want to see friendly encouragement nor cold curiosity nor more malignant spite. None of that mattered.

My attention was on Arthur. He looked pale and tired, leaning on his right elbow on the armrest of the throne, left hand limp in his lap. There were frown lines on his face and his gaze rested on the section of flooring just past his feet. Then another detail spoke to me – he was wearing formal clothing, complete with the red robe and crown of the king.

It was my sentencing, then.

Arthur let the murmuring continue for several moments, before he lifted his head. The physician in me wanted to leap forward, to touch his forehead, his wrist, check for fever or rapid heart-rate. But I couldn't. Not now, and maybe not ever.

"Some of you were present," Arthur began, and his voice caused a hush to fall, "yesterday morning when my servant Merlin confessed to the crime of sorcery, and demonstrated his guilt." He paused, as if the word tasted bitter. "The laws of Camelot are quite clear. There is, however, the question of which punishment his actions have earned."

He looked straight at me. "Sorcery, as of course everyone knows, carries the penalty of death. I have been told, the death of a sorcerer who has had access to the king is the only definitive means of proof that the king has not been enchanted." I tried to keep from flinching, but whatever he saw on my face, he looked away again. "In the past, a conviction of sorcery has resulted in a sentence of death by beheading, death by fire, by water." I tasted blood in my mouth. He had never looked or sounded more like Uther.

Then he sighed and rubbed his forehead. "In the past, people have been accused, convincted, and sentenced to death based upon the most casual of acquaintances with a sorcerer – any transaction of commerce, any act of hospitality, any favor or service accepted." There was an uneasy rustling throughout the chamber.

Arthur met my eyes again, and the hardness of Uther Pendragon was gone, leaving my own exhausted, conflicted Arthur. "Based on that," he said with a cold humor, "I would be hard-pressed to find a single citizen in Camelot who should not be prosecuted for association with the prisoner." Someone let out a hard laugh, it might have been Gwaine, or it might have been Percival.

"Another question has been raised," Arthur went on. "In cases where other laws have been broken – murder or theft for example – the motives of the one at fault are taken into account. Why, we have asked ourselves, is the same not true for crimes relating to sorcery?"

Arthur paused as if he were considering the question himself, which allowed – no, required – everyone else to do the same. It was done naturally, but it was effective. I was so proud, in that moment, of the king he'd become. Uther had never paused in his diatribes, had never encouraged his people to think or to question.

"The council has heard," Arthur continued, "testimony of a dozen citizens of good standing that speak to the question of the prisoner's motives. This number," he paused, and I knew from his expression that he was maintaining a solemn kingly countenance with an effort, "was limited due to the constraints of time allowed for the presentation of witnesses by the council."

I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling as well, as hope blossomed inside. A dozen people had spoken for me – and more would have, given the opportunity.

"The findings are this: far from wishing destruction or harm to the people of Camelot or their property, far from the ill intent often demonstrated by sorcerers who have proclaimed and proven themselves enemies of this crown and this kingdom, the evidence overwhelmingly points to this man's sincere desire to guard and protect his king, his friends, his land and people, often at significant risk to himself."

I found myself clutching my hand in a fist over my heart. In our brightest moments together, I'd dared hope for his forgiveness, maybe even a glimmer of understanding or acceptance. But what Arthur was giving me was beyond even that. He was giving me vindication.

"However," Arthur said, and for the first time stood from his throne. Someone cleared his throat significantly to the side, and I thought I recognized Gwaine. Arthur ignored him. "However, the fact of the crime remains. Sorcery, like theft or murder, does not go unpunished, regardless of motivation, though it may influence the severity of the sentence."

He stepped closer to me, his eyes linked to mine. Not execution, then. Maybe – maybe – not banishment? My heart soared. Oh, to remain at his side, to be allowed to stay – anything, I would do willingly, gladly suffer.

He stopped when he was about six feet from me. "If this man," he said, glancing at someone to my left, "were placed in the stocks, with the crime of sorcery published, what would be the reaction of the people, do you suppose?"

Leon stepped forward. "Sire?" he said carefully.

"The people," Arthur repeated quietly. "Would they be glad to see a sorcerer punished? Would there be rocks thrown, or nothing?"

He was asking, would the people want sorcery punished more harshly than standing in the stocks, or would they be sympathetic and not make the punishment worse?

There was a smile in Leon's voice. "In the past, sire," he said, "they have favored rotten vegetables." It was neither one, nor the other. The people were willing to follow their ruler's leading.

"Six months ago," Arthur said. "I swore to review any laws that might be considered harsh or unfair, to re-evaluate what is considered evil. It is high time to fulfill that vow, and the council will begin deliberations tomorrow. Merlin." He looked me full in the face, and I straightened. "You have been found guilty of the crime of sorcery by your own admission. Taking into account extenuating circumstances and the testimony of these several witnesses, I hereby grant you a royal pardon for all your crimes."

For a moment there was dead silence. I understood the words royal pardon, but thought there must be something else, something more. For surely this situation always culminated in punishment for me, didn't it?

Tears were running down Gwen's face, but she beamed at me. Noise assaulted from every side, cheers and protests, both. My back was thumped, my hand was shaken. I was pretty sure at one point that Gwaine leaped right off the ground.

I couldn't take my eyes off Arthur. His words, I thought dimly, hadn't really sunken in, yet. He came very close and said to me softly, "You understand, Merlin, that things can never be the same."

I nodded. Yes, I'd known that for years, it was one of the things that had held me back – and I was not to escape punishment entirely, it seemed.

"You are not a helpless, blindly loyal, idiot of a manservant," Arthur continued. "You never were."

"I'm still the same person," I protested.

"No," he said. "No, you're not." A smile pulled sideways at his mouth. "There are parts of you that I know – that you trip because you're in a hurry and your feet are big, that you spill things and knock things over because you're clumsy. You've got –" he paused and gave me a mocking look – "ink on your face right now, because you don't pay attention. But there's a big part of your life that you hid from me, Merlin. An illegal part of your life. This, whatever this relationship was that we had –"

"Relationship?" I said softly, hopefully.

He made a move like he'd instinctively reached to smack the back of my head, but pulled back. I understood. That easy good-natured abuse – that would change. He wouldn't know quite how to treat me, might even worry about offending a powerful sorcerer.

It would take time. It wasn't that there would be nothing between us, or that it would remain troubled or awkward, just – different.

Then a look of pain shot through his eyes and all color vanished from his skin and I caught him as he tipped forward, both of us collapsing to our knees.

"Arthur?" Gwen said anxiously, kneeling beside us in a billow of purple silk, the three of us suddenly the center of a confusion of noise and attention.

"Your shoulder?" I said. His head lolled on my shoulder, and I spread my fingers gently over his wound, whispering the words of the spell.

"Merlin?" I heard Gaius say, as I healed the bruising and inflammation caused by the presence of the shard, then helped Arthur shuffle to a more comfortable position.

Somewhere above us, Gwaine raised his voice to someone else, "No he did not attack the king!"

Leon said, "There is no need to worry. King Arthur is still feeling the effects of the wound he received at Camlann – everyone please leave the room and let his physician attend him."

I tried another spell, this one to alleviate fever and pain.

"You idiot," Arthur whispered to me. "Magic is – still illegal."

"Well," I said, making an attempt to be saucy in spite of my concern, "pardon me."

He stared at me a moment before beginning to laugh.

…..*….. …..*….. Six Months Later …..*….. …..*…..

"Perhaps we could take a rest soon, sire," I gasped, rolling my shoulder under the weight of the wooden practice shield.

"Don't be such a girl, Merlin," Arthur ordered, and swung the sword one more time – slowly, deliberately, one-handed, keeping the elbow of his left arm tucked tightly to his side.

"I'm trying to think of you, sire," I objected. "You look like you could do with a rest."

He glared at me, but let the weapon fall to his side, turning to study the knights on the rest of the training field, the others sweating and grunting as they gave their full energy and attention to their sparring partners. I dropped the shield – thankfully – and came to examine his shoulder.

"Gaius said it would take time," I said, and wordlessly healed a slight tearing of muscle tissue our sedate exercise had caused.

"Six months, Merlin," Arthur growled. "I still haven't got half the use of it back. What the hell am I supposed to do if the Saxons attack again – as they almost certainly will?"

"Your father was troubled by his old war wounds to the end of his life," I said neutrally. "You will do as he did, sire, you will direct and order – and let others lead the fighting."

His jaw clenched and his grip on his sword-hilt tightened. "I cannot always stand aside in safety and watch while my men fight and die in my place."

"I know that," I said. My Arthur was a lion, a warrior. Someday, that shard would break loose and begin once again the journey towards Arthur's heart that would kill him – Mordred's destiny, after all, had been to play a role in Arthur's death. My job, as his physician and his sorcerer – his friend – would be to make sure that day was far distant. Decades, I was determined, when both of us were ridiculously old. "That is why my place is on your left." I gave a grin to his look of incomprehension.

"You can't mean you would go into battle with me," he said.

"You can't mean you would go into battle without me," I mimicked his tone and his frown. "I'll be your shield, Arthur – no one will get near your left without going through me." That was my destiny, after all.

He grunted, eyeing me up and down. "Well," he said. "You better use magic, then, because you're rubbish with the actual shield."

A/N: This was harder to get from my head to the page than I originally envisioned. But hopefully it's coherent, and insightful, and maybe, even – entertaining?

Here you have how I thought it should have happened – prophecy fulfilled in that Arthur 'fell' at Camlann, and Mordred still accomplished Arthur's death… eventually. And Arthur and Merlin are all set to accomplish Albion's golden age and the return of magic…