46. Unless

Summary: There is a better way to atone: to look to the future, not the single path I've already walked. It is already behind me. It is time to stop looking back.

Pain is what wakes me. Not from my numb, broken arm, or the burn on my face, but an ache in my chest that drags me back into consciousness on the bloody, frozen field. Little time seems to have passed; the dragon lays on the ground, still, and Merlin is suddenly blocking the sky in front of me. He looks heartbroken, face pinched.

"It hurts," I gasp, and his eyes widen.

"Your arm, I can—"

"No, Merlin, it hurts," and I manage to lift my uninjured arm, weakly wave at the spot, deep beneath my sternum. Merlin quickly unties my red cloak, ripping the thick cloth of the shirt underneath to expose my pale chest to the winter air. I immediately shiver, looking down at the still-healing burn he touches hesitantly, the burst of red skin flaring out from where the claim lines connect. No added injury; on the surface at least.

"Nimueh's having the injured put in the same room, I'll get someone," he says anyway, pulling away.

"Merlin," I say and grab his wrist. He stops, looks at me. Face too pinched, echoing waves of something that feels like hopelessness. Something's wrong. Who stepped in front of me. What happened.

He sucks in a breath, red eyes squeezing shut for a moment.

But then Leon is there, and two other knights, who quickly push Merlin aside to carry me back to Kanen's headquarters. Quarters for the wounded and dying now, all of them Lord Uther's men. I doubt they would make room for the ruffians, if there are any left to be tended to.

They lay me down on a blanket, one of the knights quickly forming a splint for my arm till a recruit can look at it. Leon tells me to get some rest before quickly turning to the lying form on my left. Freya, I recognize, and her arms are wrapped in bandages. Leon takes her hand, gives her a sip of water. I look away.

But on my right is another sight I can hardly look at. Will, body covered in a blanket. His eyes are open, but listless, flickering around him in a daze. Too young, too brave. I remember the body, in front of mine, just in time. It must have been him.

Merlin all but confirms my fears as he enters the packed room, immediately kneeling between us both. His face is ashen, exhausted.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," I say, because it is my fault. Will would have never put himself in my path, if it didn't mean saving Merlin as well.

For once, he just nods, puts a hand on Will's forehead. The boy turns his head, tries to find Merlin's face with his eyes. "Safe now," he murmurs, grinning weakly. "Knew there was a way. S-sorry for . . . bein' an idiot, before that."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Merlin says, shaking his head with a heavy smile. He grips one of Will's hands in both of his.

Will huffs a laugh, grimaces, then flicks his head at me as he says, "He'll tell you different. But, least now you can . . . you, you have a chance still. Promise me."

"Will, you—"

"Promise you'll try, find a way," he says in one breath, eyes screwing shut in pain. But then they wrench open, too bright, and Merlin starts crying.

"Promise, I promise," he sobs.

Will's breathing gets easier then, slower. "Nice to see you again," he says with the ghost of a grin, too quiet and too calm.

Merlin laughs wetly. "Yeah, you too."

"Merlin . . ." he starts, and his lips only form the next word. Then Will's eyes flutter, his chest hitches, and his body lets out a final sigh.

Merlin stares. Maybe he's waiting for an inhale; maybe he's just frozen.

"DRAGONS! All to arms, dragons!" Somebody opens the door to shout, and I whip my head to see the landing of the first through the doorway. Kieran, the large pale one, looking very grave as knights and their recruits rush out to meet it. The other dragons follow.

Merlin immediately flashes to his feet, though I manage to catch the hem of his trousers before he can run.

"Merlin," I start, and he looks down, eyes terrifyingly blank as he shakes his head and wrenches from my grip. "Stop, wait—!" I cry, and stumble to my feet again to follow him into the fire.

I'm too far behind, too slow to catch up as Merlin runs or stop him before he stands between Lord Uther's army and a host of dragons. "YOU SWORE!" he yells up at them, and Kieran takes a step back. "You promised not to fight!"

"Recruit, stand back—!"

"Merlin, stop—"

"And we did not," Kieran bites back in a thunderous voice, lips pulled back to show teeth. The beast looks surprisingly agitated. "We did not, but our lord and king has more power. Kilith had no choice."

The legion of knights and recruits are still as stone, all in awe of hearing a dragon speak. "We tried to stop him, we tried," Aaleth the dragon adds. "But more of the smelly man's men are dead than yours. So in the end—"

The beast never finishes. Instead every dragon there flinches violently when Merlin cuts her off.

"Leave."

It's certainly not the harshest I've heard Merlin's voice be, or the firmest, or the loudest. But there is something in it, something strong enough to make the dragons stomp their feet, wings twitching, necks rolling like restless horses. Then Kieran snarls, steps closer to Merlin, and bows its great head before pushing off into the sky. The other four dragons quickly follow.

The burning village is silent.

In the hours that follow all recruits are sent to the infirmary to help with healing. A quiet woman holds my broken arm delicately, whispering words that make my stomach roll as bone knits back together. Freya is given a salve for her burned arms, Uther is being attended to by every recruit with a drop of energy left while Nimueh flits around him, useless. I lay down, stare at the empty spot next to me where Will used to be, and don't sleep.

More than 48 hours since I had a decent rest, and I can't force my eyes shut.

I aliesan Merlin the ability to heal, ignore the wrenching hurt, like a pulled muscle, that immediately follows. Merlin moves around the room of injured silently, with a continuous track of tears running down his cheeks. I'm not sure if he notices they're there. Regardless, he still smiles at some of the people he heals, murmurs comforting words I can't hear, and it feels wrong.

I've just murdered his best friend, and Merlin brings me a ration of bread and meat without so much as a glare in his eye.

The villagers are back before dusk, and Sir Jethro immediately orders them to give quarter to the knights in whichever houses have not burnt down. Morgana returns with them, her smile small but real. That is at least one thing that can be said: she is alive.

I leave the room of wounded on weak legs, that night, breathing in icy air that pleasantly numbs my aching heart. It's easy to forget, caught up in all the goings of the past two days, that there will be a return journey. But for a second I try to imagine it, Merlin and I passing first through the outer ring of sentries, the tents of injured or training soldiers, and then further to the Inner Ring. More lessons with Nimueh, more fear of my father, more whispering in our tent in the case someone hears.

My mind flashes to Merlin, the strange gravity to his voice as he ordered the dragons leave, and the thought comes: unless.

A small flare of fire distracts me, perhaps the last of the dragon's flames flickering out in the cold night. But then I hear a sniffle, and then another, and I move around the smoldering remains of cottage to see Merlin standing in front of a tiny pyre. It's immediately clear who's burning.

He wipes his nose as I approach, gaze flicking to me then back at the fire. "Apparently my balls of light are flammable," Merlin says, and his eyes reflect the golden flames. Then he whispers, "Leoht," a small globe appearing and floating toward the pyre. I feel a twinge in my chest, eyes momentarily going hazy, but I blink the blur away. The fire leaps higher at its touch.

"Good," I say, though my voice betrays my discomfort.

Merlin frowns at me, the light disappearing. "What's wrong?" I shake my head, moving to go, but Merlin grabs me by my cloak. "You're hurting, I can feel it. You said earlier, your chest. What's wrong?"

I open my mouth to respond, but my knees buckle. It's embarrassing, being in pain in front of the funeral pyre of the boy I killed. Like I have any right. But still my lungs are gasping for air, the hurt in my chest so deep it feels connected to my soul; and that's when I finally realize.

"The claim," I whisper out loud, hearing the truth in my voice.

"What about it?" Merlin says, kneeling in front of me.

I shake my head, smiling without humor. How sick, how twisted. "The claim wants your magic back," I say, knowing I'm right. "It's been nagging at me more and more, the past few weeks, and I just thought . . . I didn't realize. I haven't taken it away in such a long time."

Not since YOU CANNOT DIE, YOU WILL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES, YOU HAVE TO LIVE.

"So it's hurting you?" Merlin asks slowly.

"Yes," I admit, and pause. His face is unreadable. I say the next words out of sheer determination: "But it's alright. I'm sure with time, I'll get used to it."

Merlin huffs, rolling his eyes. "Take it," he says, and grabs my hands with his. Our fingers lace together seamlessly; instinctive. "Go ahead."

It's contradicting, holding his hands in position to aliesan when I'll really be doing the opposite, but I can't help but find a small comfort in it as I give in, like the selfish child I am. I nod, and my mind goes through the soothing motions of sheathing:

A small, faraway island on a calm lake.

A golden sword pulled into its scabbard.

EMRYS.

Merlin shudders, head bowing, and my eyes sting. "I'm sorry," I say in a hollow voice, looking down at our hands. "For Will." For taking your magic, again and again and again. For treating you any less than human. They are useless words, too much to ever make up for. My voice wavers, eyes welling up as I say, "For—for everything."

"Arthur." He says the name so sharply my head snaps up, meeting his eyes. They are tired, but brave. I realize, as he continues, that they've always looked brave. "You've punished yourself long enough for what's happened to me."

I glare at him, ignoring the tears that I can't blink back. Only right, that he sees me for who I truly am."I killed your friend, I took you away from here, I helped enslave you—"

"There was a part you played in my becoming a recruit," he nods, firm, "but there's a more important part you've played, in helping me survive."

I shake my head and look down again; the tears are falling faster, in fat drops that splatter on our linked hands. Merlin squeezes them. "By being kind. By protecting me. By being my friend, looking out for me instead of yourself. And maybe that was all out of guilt; even so—"

"It wasn't." I lift my head, make sure he can see the truth in my eyes. "But it's not enough."

Merlin smiles softly. "Even so. I won't blame you."

"But I . . . I think I want to be blamed, Merlin," I finally let myself say, and my shoulders slump. It's like a release of poison, saying the truth out loud.

Merlin frowns, confused. He looks me over, thinking hard for a minute, and I try to not feel like I've been split open. Letting him into a part I scarcely knew existed inside myself: the need to self-atone.

He feels it; I'm aware for the first time of a soft feather touch of other in my chest, and all at once Merlin's smile returns. "Well. Then . . . I will blame you."

A thrill of fear, of hurt, stabs into my gut and I think viciously to myself, good. It's only right.

Merlin lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh, though, and my brow furrows in bemusement. "But only," he says, one corner of his mouth still curled up, "if I can also forgive you. You've forgiven me after all, for everyone you've lost by my hand."

I blink at him owlishly. Foehart, and then Yilgrid, I realize he means after a moment. Who indeed used to be my family, my parents in a way, before all this happened. But Foehart had kidnapped Merlin, intended his slavery no matter his otherwise kind nature. Yilgrid chose to shun me, hurt me in hurting Merlin. They are a wound, a sore ache in my heart, but the loss of their love allowed me to gain something of much higher value.

I think of what I've gained. Merlin, most importantly; but I've gotten Morgana back as well, my sister in so many ways before Uther tore us apart. I've earned the trust of Gaius the physician, and the kind regard of Gwen the serf. I've gained strength, strength to judge for myself right from wrong and good from evil.

Perhaps most of all, strength to try to be brave, like Merlin has shown me how to be.

I let go and stand, offering a hand down to him with a small smile. "Alright."

Merlin's smile brightens. "Alright." I pull him up.

And there we stand. Having lost everything because of each other, loved ones and freedoms and our own innocence—but now, allies. Friends. Brothers.

And there is that nagging fear creeping from the back of my thoughts, reminding me of all that is and still will be unjust in this world. His forgiveness was never the answer. But in accepting it, I can see even clearer now that there is always an unless. There is a better way to atone: to look to the future, not the single path I've already walked. It is already behind me. It is time to stop looking back.

"Will you also forgive me, then, for what I'm about to do?" I ask then, realizing that some things must be inevitable. I know now what must be done.

Merlin grins, expectant. "And what is that?"

We head back to the largest cottage an hour later into the night: one in purpose. But I know I'll need to wait. It is late, and Nimueh is still crowded over my father, anxious and uncertain. It appears a bed has been dragged into the room for him to lay on. Morgana stands further back, calm. More ready to face death than the grown woman in front of her.

But Lord Uther is not dying, or so Morgana explains. "He's unconscious still, a lot of healing spells at once can do that. I suspect by morning our lord will rise. Right, my Lady?" She gives Nimueh the term mockingly.

Nimueh surprisingly rounds on Merlin and I with anger. "You stupid children, coming here like you could be some kind of heroes."

Merlin reels back, in shock. "If we hadn't come—"

"There would have been a battle! His Lordship wouldn't have had to trade his neck for his useless son's. And what are you doing here? You haven't managed to kill him yet, think you'll finish the job now?" Her eyes are wide, wild, too much like a cornered animal in this dark.

Merlin opens his mouth to spit something back, but I stop him with the thought, She's afraid. We could be the reason for her death, remember?

Merlin visibly struggles, but eventually he shuts his mouth. Nimueh never confirmed it, of course; but she'd disappeared from our tent rather than deny it. Now she stalks around Uther's bandaged body like a territorial dog, barking at anyone who nears. "Are you so afraid of dying?" Morgana asks, voice incredulous. She pushes off from the wall, and Nimueh snarls at her approach.

"Are you?" she hisses, eyes darting between Morgana and Merlin. "Death or the claim, that's the choice, and every one of us chose this. Life, or whatever imitation of it. Be thankful—it is still a better deal than the Lady ever gave."

It takes me a moment to realize she's talking about herself. Mostly the older knights call her that, as well as a few other inhabitants of the Inner Circle, but never in her presence. I haven't thought much of the reason behind it; but now the implications expand after hearing her and Morgana say it, referencing for the first time to when she must have been free, before—free to create the claim herself.

Free to force it on others as well, it would seem.

Nimueh shuts her mouth, perhaps aware of what's going through our heads. Merlin looks livid, and I'm all at once grateful he doesn't have any power to go behind it. Morgana looks simply disgusted.

"You're still alive yet, my Lady," I say, not sure what expression is on my own face. Nimueh's face twitches. "Everyone get some rest, now."

Surprisingly enough, everyone listens. Not saying another word, I walk back to my spot in the sick room, and Merlin follows. He lays down where Will used to be, and I situate on my back, propping my splinted arm on my chest. It's almost odd, now, feeling that absence of pain below the burn scar.

Has it hurt at all since? Merlin asks, as if sensing the direction of my thoughts. Perhaps he can.

The truth is horrible, but he deserves to know it. No.

Good. You'll know for the future now, when to take it back.

Merlin, I start, and then reach out for his skinny fingers in the dark. I find them curled up next to his face, and can feel him huff in annoyance as I tug them out. Lace them with mine.

What are you doing? He's trying to come off sounding annoyed, but I can hear the tentative hope anyway. I smile.

"Ic aliesan don min fero," I whisper into the chilled air, and think, You cannot die. You will do whatever it takes to live. Shivering as Merlin's eyes flash molten gold.

Was that—? He starts, eyes wide.

Something you have the right to, I tell him. No matter if it hurts me.

"I had it all along though, didn't I?" he whispers aloud, and smiles. The look of wonder on his face makes my heart ache, but I smile wider.

"Since the river," I correct. And the tugging is there, but it always was, just not so insistent like it has been the past two days. Now I have to search to feel the pull: the stretch of Merlin's magic, hanging in precarious balance between us.

The morning after the battle comes, and I wake at the sound of my father's voice, demanding to be caught up on the day before. Sir Jethro and some of his other knights help him limp out of the room, Nimueh hovering in the background, and I feign sleep still. I don't approach until later, midday, when he's surely been debriefed on all that's happened. For once, the truth will be in my favor.

"My lord," I start upon entering the slightly charred cottage, empty save for him. My father is sitting in a rickety chair, back bent, one hand against the bandaged side of his face. He startles up at the sound of my voice, but quickly recovers.

"Soldier," he nods, though his jaw is tight. "I do not wish to speak with you, not until we return to Camp. In the meantime—"

"Father," I cut in, and ignore the pounding of my heart at calling him such a thing. The sweat running down my back despite the winter chill, the subtle shake in my hands. I ball them into fists. "It's a matter of great importance. It cannot wait." His eyes are emotionless, expression smooth at first. I wonder if I will be turned away, and try not to panic at the thought. This has to work.

But then Uther Pendragon, warlord of southern Camelot and commander of a magical army, heaves a long, shaky sigh and says, "Son."

I blanch.

"Son, what is so important?" he intones heavily, staring across the room at the floor.

I try to keep my voice steady, even as the rest of me shakes. "My recruit, sir. He—"

"Convinced you to save this little town, I assume," he interrupts, eyes flicking to me slowly, knowingly.

"He convinced the dragons, sir," I say. "They listen to him. They wouldn't fight, because of what he told them."

"Perhaps. But not all of the beasts listened."

"No," I agree, and force myself to take a step forward. Uther raises a brow, waiting. "No, and yet we would all have been killed if it wasn't for him. I think—"

"What? I should give the recruit rank for merely doing its duty?" Uther cuts in, voice turning sharp. "You think soft things—weak things, soldier. Things I have never been able to root out from you."

Thrills of fear strike in my gut, but I force myself another step. "He needs to be at the front lines," I declare.

"Winter will be over soon," my father shakes his head, and then stands. "After that you would have no place there."

"Then make a place for us," I argue and try not to feel small under his looming height. Uther frowns, the skin pulling against the bandages on his face. "Permanently. My recruit can stop the dragons. He can make them leave a battle, your men saw it. He can even slay one."

"And what of the little recruit's safety? Surely you won't throw it into the fray," Uther jeers.

"Many lives will be saved," I say, not specifying whose.

I startle back when my father laughs. It's a cold, harsh sound, like it always has been, but there's something else hidden in it. "Finally the soldier you were born to be. For all the wrong reasons," he adds, shaking his head. But Uther's smile quickly flees. I try to keep my gaze steady, not blink away from those assessing, colorless eyes.

Then he nods. Slow, at first, but steady. "The path could still be dangerous. We will head directly to the battle encampments, from which my men and I will leave and you will stay. You will be appointed as a squire and I will return in the Spring when we further our advance on Camelot. Dismissed."

And just like that I'm out the door and out of his reach, his constant dominating presence. Perhaps for the first time in my entire life. Merlin is waiting for me not too far off, wrapped in the red cloaks no one has taken away from us yet, and whatever expression is on my face makes his go crestfallen.

It didn't work, Merlin says, waiting for confirmation.

I shake my head, letting his face further droop, before replying, I wouldn't say that.

Merlin looks up sharply. "Sorry?"

"We're leaving with them," I nod my head at the knights that pass us, "but we're making a quick stop first. At the battle encampments."

Merlin gusts out a half-laugh, half-sigh and looks up at the cloud-covered sky. "Thank the gods."

"The very place I've wanted to keep you from," I say with a sad grin.

"Yes, but before we realized I could command five dragons," he points out, and I nod. We make our way back to the main clearing, where knights and recruits alike pack up the remaining horses for the return journey. Little do they know of its sudden detour.

Merlin stops, however, and I know exactly where he's looking. I take the initiative to step off the snow-trodden path first, Merlin following as we round the corner of a house to the large pile of soot, ash and char.

I can't really command them, Merlin tells me, frowning down at the pyre's remains. Kieran could have said no, I think. But I was able to . . . compel them. Before any fighting started. I don't know why.

You were convincing, I put in, thinking of Morgana's words. The rest of her vision is murky in my mind, but one important detail stands out as I stare down at Will's remains: there would be someone Merlin couldn't save.

I smelled like the sea and the sky, Merlin jests, though his smile is weak. Just like Aithusa said.

Aithusa?

The female dragon who saved us.

The one who heard him crying, somehow. I wonder at that, wonder at why the beast would care to stop. What else did she say?

Merlin doesn't respond for a moment, staring down at the pile of black wood and white bones. His eyes are far away as he says the words aloud, "To fight. To stop the mad king and his dragons, unite my people. Convince you."

I swallow, unable to decipher anything from his look or our connection. "Of what?"

Merlin smiles. "Doesn't matter. I have," he says, then grabs one of my hands. And now I can feel it; no need in trying, in understanding what is simply the open happiness radiating from him. It's suddenly right there. Reaching for me, infecting me with its light like it probably always has been—at the corner of his soul attached to mine.

A/N: ...

...

Sorry, I needed a few seconds. Merlin and Arthur are my children (even if I'm a horrible parent) and I just want to cuddle them. And give them all the happiness, despite what my plot suggests. *le sigh* Okay, so the story is obviously not over. But this part of it is. When we return, it's after five years of being at the front lines and in Merlin's POV (mostly). Tentatively only a sequel? Maybe a third part? I keep changing my mind. But ANYWAYs.

Thank you for going on this journey with me. Thanks to my avid reviewers, my followers, my anon followers. All of my wonderful friends. Innate is still to come, so this is obviously not gooodbye - but as it will be a while before I start posting it (October!), I'm going to post a smaller Merlin fic I've already finished, just a funny reveal story. If you want something to tie you over, follow me!

ALSO, if you liked this story then favorite it! Woohoo, what a great idea. More importantly, let me know what you think about the story. I really really really would like whatever criticism or feedback you have, and of course positive comments you can fish up are a special plus for my writer's ego, haha. But tell me WHATEVER, seriously. This is the biggest story I've ever written, much less completed, so I'd love feedback. That means YOU!

Yes, I am posting this story under a few different author names as well! Don't be alarmed if you see it elsewhere :)

Aaaaaaand lastly, all of my fics have songs that inspire me amidst writing. For Recruit, there was a LIST, (go to 8tracks .com, /imagineligers /the-corner-of-his-soul-attached-to-mine, without the spaces to listen!) but here's two:

Map of the Problematique - Muse (Morgana saying "When we bleed we bleed the same" came from these lyrics)

Heart's A Mess - Gotye (Suggested by the guest Ender, and honestly I LOVE IT SO MUCH you guys should all listen, the lyrics totally fit Arthur!)

Okay, that's all . . . for me to do, that is, because obviously you guys are ALL going to let me know what you think? Right?

Thanks for reading, friends :)

Cheers!
LifeIndeed