VII: Epilogue

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Snow just had fallen, a thin layer of white covering the rooftops, and the days had grown short, the sun a brilliant shade of copper as it reached the horizon. It had been a beautiful although chilly day with children laughing on the streets and when evening came, people wrapped their cloaks about them tighter and went indoors, into the warmth.

Ealdor was a small town: it was less than two days' ride from nearest city so whenever the fairs were held the townspeople could go, but remote enough to miss when passing through the landscape. The houses were unevenly place along the street, some packed together tightly, other spread out, surrounded by farmland. A soft yellow glow shone through the windows and the cracks of the shutters.

It had taken them years and nearly a fortune to get here. They were lucky, Merlin supposed, to have been able to at all. Ealdor had not exactly welcomed them with open arms but it was a good place to start: here, they were strangers, and no one knew anything about them. Will hadn't complained. He was relieved and happy to see the frown on Merlin's face disappear along with the words on Camelot's streets. It had only been weeks before rumours of the painting spread like wildfire but by then they had already decided to leave and begun counting the coins. As soon as they had enough to make a living someplace else, they had packed what they had, said goodbye to Hunith and Thomas and Freya (the girl sobbing into Merlin's chest, "You promised not to leave me!") and left Camelot behind.

Leaving had been strangely easy and Merlin hadn't glanced over his shoulder a single time back at the city he'd grown up and called his home.

Their cottage was tiny and they still needed more linen and tools and other necessary items, but Merlin didn't complain. Both he and Will worked the best they could and they didn't lead an awful life: there was food on the table and clothes on their bodies and they laughed and loved without hesitation.

There were no rumours about them at Ealdor's marketplace.

Merlin shifted the girl in his arms higher up his hip and walked over to the crib. Maybe it was luck or fate that he and Will had stumbled upon the child when travelling to Ealdor: the girl had been just a few weeks old, wrapped in a small dirty blanket, eyes full of tears and clearly been abandoned. He hadn't the heart to leave her there, alone and cold where she would die and Will, who had always wanted a family of his own, had agreed that they'd claim the child for their own and raise her; she looked nothing like either of them, but the townspeople never bothered to ask. Like any town it already had its share of broken families and parentless children. Maybe the girl's parents had fallen ill or been killed; maybe she'd simply been an inconvenience.

From time to time Will would speak up about it and lower his voice to a hush, a whisper: "Perhaps she or the parents possessed sorcery," he'd murmur and fear would grip Merlin's heart every time even if probably wasn't true; there had been no sign of abnormality, no glowing lights or inanimate objects coming to life. Ealdor might be small, but there still were guards and the law and the hate against magic.

Soft knocking at the door broke through his musings and Merlin looked up, hoping to see Will step over the threshold, cheeks flushed and with newly-fallen snowflakes in his hair, but there was just another knock, sharper this time. He frowned. A guest at this hour? Gingerly he placed his daughter in her crib in the corner, making sure she laid warm and comfortable and her breathing evening out, before walking over to answer the door.

The man on the doorstep was tall and his cloak was weather-bitten, but beneath it there was a rich man's clothing and Merlin couldn't breathe, staggering backwards.

"I am sorry to intrude." A deep breath, maybe hesitation. "May I come in?"

His eyes shone although there were dark circles of tiredness beneath them and his face was worn and aged; like he had kept going despite having little energy left. He was no more than twenty-four years old, but had aged quickly and it was evident that he was full of emotion and maybe distress and a thousand feelings ran through Merlin's mind at the sight.

It took a moment for Merlin to regain his voice and when he spoke there was a slight tremor. "What are you doing here?" he gasped, absolutely terrified, yet his heart leapt with a strange kind of joy and he wondered wildly why had the man have to come, now when he almost was able to forget him – when he was just a shadow, something Merlin had almost pushed away. To have him step back into his life full of breath and colour was horrifying.

"You shouldn't be here."

The man didn't move but his expression betrayed him. "I have been searching for almost a year."

I have been searching for you for almost a year.

A year. It was too long a search for something he shouldn't search for at all: was the man a fool? This would only cause pain. What good could come from this? Merlin's heart raced and he felt both love and burning fierce hate at the man's foolish dedication when he should have let. "You shouldn't have," he said, an edge to the tone, struggling not to betray how unsteady he felt. "You should leave – there is nothing for you here."

"Cenred is dead," the man said. "I thought I should tell you. I…"

"You should leave," Merlin cut across, not wanting to hear anything more, ignoring the sting of the words because they were true and it would be better for them all of the man paid they heed; "and forget."

They looked at each other quietly for a moment and Merlin remembered exactly the feeling of being trapped by that stare in the past.

After a heartbeat, the man's heard turned sideways and his hands lifted something from the pack, a flat package wrapped in red cloth. When the man held it out for him to take, Merlin just shook his head. He didn't need to see to know what was beneath the fabric, the texture dangerously close. He had never thought to see it again and never wanted to.

"No."

"I cannot keep it, and I will not sell it." Like he was saying, I cannot let anyone else look at it.

"Then destroy it – burn it – it doesn't matter," Merlin said, hollowly, scared at his own harshness. "But I will not take it."

The man dipped his head in admission. He spotted the burning hearth and, without a word, stepped into the house and crossed the floor with powerful strides and threw it into the fire before there was time for protest. The flames spluttered and flickered before starting to lick hungrily at the edges and a faint smell of colour settled in the room, and Merlin was for a moment scared that Will would come home and smell it and find out, but then relaxed: he could tell him after this without worrying, because it was over now. The cloth fell away and slowly the canvas melted and by the morning there would only be a charred pile of ashes and memories left. After this, once it was truly gone, everything could be forgotten.

"I know what this has caused, and I apologize," Arthur murmured turning back to him and Merlin realized there were tears shining in the man's eyes.

He didn't say 'Good' or 'I understand' or 'Please, now go' anything at all in reply because the words would just fall flat and make this goodbye worse; Merlin stepped aside, ignoring the sharp cold wind blowing through the open door, nodding jerkily.

"I will not return," Arthur said though there was no guarantee that I will not forget you. The man turned and left, the door creaking as it was closed and his horse neighed impatiently as he swung himself up in its saddle. It was all over now and Merlin knew that the man would hold true to his word, that he would never more would hear Arthur's husky voice or his footfalls across the floor.

()()()

Author's note: Thank you everyone who've read, faved or reviewed! Without you I might not have bothered to finish this story. Also I'm feeling quite saddened at ending this already. (Endings are my weakness; it can take me ages to get them done and longer to get them well.) I know the last chapter could have been the ending if I wanted to, but I decided to write an epilogue. I'm sorry xXMistressMadHatterXx who wanted something from Arthur's point of view - it was my plan to write only from Merlin's POV. (I usually write from a general or many people's POV, and decided to try something 'new'.) Writing from Arthur's point of view in this story would be tricky and tough. Maybe some other time...

At my DeviantArt account I've actually uploaded a piece that could have been the painting Arthur did - it was kind of my intention as I made the picture (although I of course imagine Arthur to be a better artist than me - being a 'real artist' and all). See it here: www . itar94 . deviantart . com /art /Portrait-Merlin-259337469. It's at least an idea of the painting for those who want it visual and not just described in words. (I kept the neckerchief on.)

Review replies (If you have an account and PM allow, you should have recieved a reply through it; otherwise it's here.)

fictitiousshore: Thank you! I'm really glad you've read and liked this story.
On Uther's reaction: there's this thing mentioned about the past, (Uther said to Arthur "Don't you recall what happened last time?" or something like that), and all right that's quite vague. But that painting isn't going to be a private thing or secret for much long, even if Arthur said that 'no one has to know', because once Cenred's got it nothing can stop him from talking about right? So what Arthur said was a heat-of-the-moment-thing. And yes, they need the money, quite badly, so the painting was sold to Cenred but that's why they kicked out Merlin, so that when the rumours started it wouldn't affect them that much. (You could imagine that in the past, when Arthur painted that other paining for Cenred with a servant in the picture, the same thing happened: the servant was thrown out.) Because it's easier to blame a servant than blame a lecherous man with power and money.
I hope that cleared it up.

Nina: Thank you for reviewing! (Question after chapter 5: The gold in Merlin's eyes that Arthur painted; it were specks of it, rather than a full colour, so in the painting Merlin has 'blue eyes with gold in them' rather than gold eyes.)

Slashie: Thank you!