13. Something Finished

For a long while, there was nothing except the awareness that there was nothing. The biggest problem with this, of course, was that to have awareness, there had to be something, which there wasn't. It was all startlingly impossible to comprehend.

So Merlin gave up trying to comprehend it.

After the long, unnecessary period of nothing, there was a much shorter expanse of time that included an experience that felt like the opposite of drowning. It was no more pleasant than its reciprocal, but instead of the water coming in, it was flooding back out. Figuratively, that is, since there was no water.

After that... Light.

Merlin worked quite hard to blink, found it to require too much effort, and promptly lost consciousness again.

No time seemed to pass before he was trying again, this time more successfully. He opened his eyes to blinding rays of light. He brought an arm up as a shield, noticing as he did so that it felt equivalent to lifting a ton of bricks.

Still blinded, he focused on what his other senses told him. Beneath him was a surface impossible soft; the air smelled sweet, like jasmine; he thought he heard a breeze.

"Avalon," he breathed.

Someone chuckled. "Not quite, I'm afraid."

Merlin sat up abruptly, groaned, and flopped back down. "How?" he mumbled easkly, cursing the way he felt markedly more aged since he'd last checked. "Is Arthur—don't tell me it didn't work. Gaius, tell me it didn't take—"

"It didn't take him," Gaius reassured him. "Not all of him, at any rate." Merlin observed, having finally adjusted to the sunlight flowing through open windows, that Gaius' face had new lines. He looked tired. Merlin suspected guiltily that he might be at fault for this. "It is safe to say it took considerably less from him than from you."

"Oh," Merlin said as though he understood, which he didn't it. Then— "How d'you mean?"

Gaius sighed. "When I said Arthur wouldn't appreciate taking on the burden of your magic, I never imagined he would be so adamant about it as to give it back. Especially not quite so spectacularly as he managed."

"He what?" Merlin yelped, his spirits raising as he realized what he should have immediately: He felt fine. More than that, he felt whole. His magic, by some miracle, was still there. In his euphoria, he threw his covers back with magic—or tried to. They twitched feebly, the color drained from his face, and he collapsed back onto the pillows, the whole room spinning around him.

When Gaius' face swam back into his vision, it looked torn between amusement and disapproval. "However," he said wryly, "despite the fact that it has returned to you intact, it has still endured a lot, having been ripped from your body and then forced into it again. You might consider what such unconventional circumstances might do to it."

"As in make it not work properly for a while?" Merlin guessed. "Yeah, I think I've got that now." He hesitated. "How's Arthur? Is he... angry?"

"He's coping."

Something about the way Gaius said that made Merlin think "angry" might be an understatement. He tried to visualize this from a perspective that didn't end in Merlin's slow, painful death, and in failing to do so, he conceded that Arthur probably had the right to kill him. It was one thing for a person's friend to lie about magic for years; it was probably a bit of another thing for that friend to pawn his magic off on him without a word.

An awful thought struck him. "He didn't keep any of it, did he?" he asked, horrified at the thought of how much worse Arthur's wrath would be if he still had a sliver of magic at his disposal.

"He can't have," Gaius said dismissively. "From what I understand of what happened, this wouldn't be over if he did."

"And what did happen?"

Gaius sighed and explained. "The Rift apparently required only the equivalent of Arthur's life force - or your life force, as it were, once you had rid yourself of your magic. It did not specifically need Arthur himself. When you stepped into the circle, the draining of your life force was almost instantaneous - but not enough so that Arthur didn't have time to react. I doubt it was at all intentional, but he reacted so strongly to watching your sacrifice - never mind everything else you put him through at the same time - that his magic lashed out, and when it did, it fled back to its original master. Arthur said later that you collapsed, and when he stepped into the circle to see if you were okay, he felt suddenly weaker. In short, the Rift took the majority of your life force, and when you and Arthur once again reversed roles, it took the rest of what it needed from him."

"He's all right, though?"

Gaius arched an eyebrow. "Merlin, I've just told you that the majority of your life force was taken, and you're worried about what little Arthur lost? He suffered the equivalent of a lost night's sleep. You nearly died."

"How do you know all this, anyway?" Hesitation. "Gaius."

The physician's eyes moved to the bedside table where a vase of flowers accounted for the smell of jasmine. There was a note folded up beside it. "Morgause left those," he said. "She didn't seem eager to stay after she investigated the runes on the floor."

Morgause. She'd helped them. Well, no, Merlin supposed; she'd only wanted to make sure there was nothing left to worry about. He guessed she must have felt it when the Rift closed. "Did she say anything else?"

"She hardly spoke at all except to answer my questions. It's, ah, it's probably best you didn't mention to Arthur that she was here. As far as the prince is concerned, all of my knowledge is based purely on observation."

It was doubtful that it mattered one way or another whether Arthur knew Morgause had been here. What was one more secret in the growing pool? And now that most secrets were out, why not bare all? There was little point in hiding anything now.

"Can I see him?" Merlin asked. "Although—I suppose he doesn't want to—has he said anything about me? He hasn't happened to tell you what he plans to do with me now that..." He gulped.

Gaius stared down his nose at him, a peculiar glint in his eye. "Merlin, have you even stopped to consider where you are?"

For the first time, Merlin allowed what his senses were perceiving to connect to something fluttering loose in his brain. The soft blankets, the open window that was larger than any given wall in his room, the jasmine flowers that didn't have to compete with the smells of brews and potions from Gaius' workshop...

"This is Arthur's room!" Merlin realized. "Have I been in Arthur's room the whole time I was - how long was I out, anyway?"

"Yes, and four days, in respective relation to your questions."

Bewildered, Merlin asked, "Where has Arthur been sleeping?"

"He has taken up temporary residence in the antechamber. The king is unaware of this, of course. Gwen has been serving him in order to keep any outside party from prying. As far as the rest of the castle is concerned, you are under the weather and everything else is as normal."

"Uh-huh." The enormity of what had gone on was threatening to overwhelm him. He was still mentally stuck in the immediate aftermath of doing magic in front of Arthur and of closing the Rift. For the rest of the world, life had gone on.

Gaius peered at him. "I bring up your sleeping arrangements, of course," he said, "because while Arthur has not said anything to me about how he intends to deal with you—" Merlin flinched "—I find it highly improbable that he has bothered giving up his royal bed for four days if he intends to throw you straight to the fire now that you're awake."

That did seem like a good sign, even Merlin's pessimistic side had to admit. There were other things too, little things that Gaius had said, which gave Merlin hope that his entire friendship with Arthur hadn't just shattered. Fractured, maybe, yes, but fractures could be healed.

It took Merlin a long time to learn for sure whether his and Arthur's friendship was at all salvagable, because for a week, he didn't see Arthur at all. Gaius had moved Merlin back to his own chambers shortly after he'd woken up, confining the weakened warlock to bed rest until he declared otherwise. Merlin had spent most of his time flipping through some of the spellbooks he'd hoarded from the library, gratefully avoiding The Crafte of Darke Magick but discovering some borderline dark magic nonetheless. He learned to skim over anything that looked gruesome.

Occasionally he attempted to cast spells - none of the new ones he found; simple ones, old ones he could perform wordlessly - only to inevitably black out and hit the pillows. Just as inevitably, Gaius would berate him at length about the damage this was inflicting on his recovery, and Merlin would try to make him see that he couldn't help it, he had to check if it was any better, he had to hope that something had changed, or he'd be mad by the half moon. Heck, he was there already; he was stir crazy and losing his mind from frustration.

Gwen visited him. The knights, too, and they always managed to make him laugh, but Merlin mostly looked forward to seeing Gwen. Any trace of fear she'd had of him was gone, replaced by quiet admiration, which in turn faded until she looked at him the way she used to before she knew about the magic.

"Has Arthur said anything?" he'd ask whenever she kept him company. She'd bite her lip, and he'd know the answer.

"I'll talk to him," she always promised before she felt. "He'll come around, you'll see. He's not even very angry, I don't think... he just needs time."

After a week, Merlin was of the opinion that he'd had about enough time, thank you, and if he didn't show up soon Merlin was going to have to drag himself to Arthur's chambers and push the issue himself.

Only he wouldn't, because deep down he still fretted over what would happen when they finally did confront each other. Perhaps execution was still on the table after all - maybe Arthur was waiting for him to provide a sufficient explanation, and if he didn't have one, it would be off to the gallows, or worse, the pyre. If Arthur decided to arrest him, he didn't have a single hope of escape, not in this state.

Eight days after he'd woken up in the prince's chambers, Gaius returned midway through his routes with the news that Arthur was coming.

"How soon?" asked Merlin.

"Any minute," Gaius said, and left to deliver the rest of his potions.

The second the door closed behind him, Merlin frantically grabbed as many spellbooks as he could reach without getting up and shoved them under his bed. It was stupid - Arthur knew he had magic, so there was nothing to hide. All the same, he doubted it would help if the first thing Arthur saw when he entered the room was a small library's worth of spell material.

Arthur had the worst timing ever. He arrived at the same time Merlin decided recklessly to stretch far enough to grab The Crafte of Dark Magick. He misjudged the distance and, though he succeeded in touching his fingertips to the book's spine, he got no further before he toppled sideways off the bed with a loud thump and somewhat pained, "Oof."

He lay there dazed, blinking at the ceiling, trying to convince his body it would be all right if he got back up. He hadn't quite persuaded it before suddenly the world tilted and strong arms guided him - more like manhandled him - back into bed.

"You're even a buffoon when you're half-dead, I see."

Merlin's tunnel vision cleared to reveal a mostly exasperated, partly amused, partly something else Arthur Pendragon. It was the something else that made Merlin want to crawl into a hole and wait to die. Would have made him want that, anyway, if that wasn't already his base situation.

"What's so important that you decided to throw yourself at the ground, anyway?"

Merlin panicked quietly as Arthur leaned over and picked up the dejected book on the ground. His expression remained unreadable as he read the title. "Is this what you were trying to pick up?"

"A bit, yeah," Merlin said in a small voice.

"That's..." Arthur looked like he was struggling with himself. In the end he exhaled deeply and ran a hand through hair that seemed to have undergone such treatment quite a lot lately.

"You saved my life," Arthur said when Merlin had given up expecting him to say anything.

Merlin nodded. "I do that."

"You saved my life, and you've got a book of dark magic in your room." He laughed a little, as though something about that was funny, except his laugh didn't have any color in it, so it was more like he'd told a joke that he himself didn't actually appreciate.

"That's the book that told me how to save you," Merlin pointed out. He couldn't resist adding: "Well, it had a spell that helped me do it, anyhow. I figured the rest out myself."

"Of course you did." Merlin opened his mouth to protest, because he was pretty sure that was an insult, but Arthur made a vague jabbing motion with his hand that Merlin took to mean shush. "No, you just sit there and get comfortable, because I've had almost two weeks to come up with exactly what I want to say to you, and I won't have you ruin it by talking circles around the subject."

Merlin obediently fell silent, and Arthur disappeared into Gaius' workshop, reappearing with one of two rickety old chairs. He placed it as close to the bed as possible while still allowing leg space, on the end next to Merlin's head. He leaned forward, hands clasped.

"So," he said. "First things first. If you can't get that garish design off my floor, I'm putting you in the stocks until you die."

Nonplussed and completely taken aback, Merlin blinked stupidly while struggling for a more appropriate response.

"Furthermore," Arthur breezed onward without regard to his manservant's distress, "we need to do something about your hero complex. Facing a dragon with me is one thing, but really, this is getting ridiculous. Just what makes you think I want you to die for me? No, don't." He glared when Merlin opened his mouth. "No talking yet! Good grief, Merlin, I know you're terrible at following orders, but there is a line. Next is the subject of your compulsiveness to hide things from me. The next time something is trying to kill me, or the next time you consider killing me, I'd like a little warning in advance, rather than finding out about it afterwards, if you don't mind.

"Lastly—here you go, this is the part you'll like—lastly, you'd better tell me everything, you enormous self-sacrificing idiot, from the beginning and without leaving anything out, and if you do and I find out about it, you will wish you'd never been born."

It was easier than Merlin had expected. He found that when he opened his mouth and began to let his deepest, most guarded secrets spill, stopping became unthinkable. He rushed and stumbled through parts of it, and took his time with others, depending on how much he remembered and how much it hurt to talk about. His voice cracked occasionally, from overuse and from other things.

Most of the time he kept his eyes fixed on his sheets, but each time he owned up to something he knew the prince especially wouldn't like, he forced himself to look Arthur in the face. His jaw tightened sometimes—about Morgana, about the dragon—but he never interrupted and he never did anything with the fist bound tightly at his side, which Merlin thought was probably more than he deserved.

And in the end it felt like someone had rolled a boulder off his chest, and there was something to be said for that feeling of a lifted burden, even if it translated to a growing pit in his stomach.

"You've done a lot of incredibly stupid things," Arthur observed. Merlin felt like he'd been kicked. Then he continued: "Nothing new there then, I suppose. And I suppose it has to be said that I've been pretty stupid myself."

"Oh, I don't know," Merlin said. "I'm not sure it has to be said. It's basically taken as read."

Arthur pinched his arm, Merlin yelped and scooted to the other side of the bed, and the throbbing in his arm suggested pointedly that this was a good sign.

"Not going to kill me, then?" he ventured with a hopeful smile, though the fact that he even dared to ask such a question was evidence enough that he knew the answer already.

"Not unless you keep lazing about in this bed," Arthur mock threatened. "I mean it, Merlin, you've got three days before I decide you're too useless to keep taking up all the air you waste."

Merlin grinned. "Understood."

"I guess I was worried for nothing," Merlin thought aloud while Gaius bustled around his smoke-filled workroom, searching for the stock of hornbeam he'd gotten from traders a month ago, which he kept insisting under his breath that he'd "put it in this cupboard, I'm positive..." When Gaius had come home from doing his rounds and given Merlin a cursory look-over, he'd deemed it acceptable for the warlock to eat supper at the table. So far this hadn't happened yet, thanks to the hornbeam concoction that Merlin thought was too far gone to be saved.

"It went well, I take it?"

"He wasn't even angry."

Gaius halted in his fruitless efforts in order to raise his eyebrows at his ward. "No? I hardly wanted to mention it earlier, but he was positively furious once I assured him you would survive. He did his fair share of shouting, and I understand from the knights that training has been an absolute nightmare. The prince's aggression when he's angry is something to be passed on in legends, I'm told."

"Nobody bothered to tell me any of this!" Merlin exclaimed.

"No one wanted to scare you. It would seem it was not necessary for you to know. It would seem the collective harassment of every knight in Camelot was enough to get through to him. And by 'every knight in Camelot,' I am of course referring largely to Sir Gwaine."

Merlin frowned. "I thought we were trying to keep this secret?"

"It is a secret," Gaius confirmed. "Excluding Sirs Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, Elyan, and Leon, as well as myself, Gwen, and the prince. There was only so much I could keep from them when they came to me in a flock demanding to know where you were and why Arthur is being - to quote Gwaine - 'a royal pain in the buttocks.' I assumed if anyone had the right to know about your predicament, it was the Round Table."

"And they've all had words with Arthur?"

"I believe Gwaine did not so much have words with him as threaten his life and, er, more private things, but yes, that is the general idea."

Merlin's heart swelled with gratitude for the knights who'd become his extended family of sorts since the foundation of the Round Table. He should've known they would have stood up for him if it came to this; he'd been too busy hiding things from them to consider that he might not have to. Gwaine, at least, he should have known he could count on to the death.

Eventually Gaius gave up and used the boiling vat of unfinished potion for the base of a stew, insisting that its herbal contents wouldn't kill either of them. Maybe not, Merlin thought as he forced spoonful after spoonful into his mouth, but that didn't mean it was pleasant.

Gaius had to help him back to his bed, since the art of walking had not returned to him yet. "Give it a couple more days," he said when Merlin whined about it. "There is a good chance something in that stew might serve to speed up the process."

Merlin collapsed gratefully into the mattress, which wasn't half as soft as Arthur's but still felt like heaven after having to stay upright in a chair for over an hour. He waited until Gaius bade him good night to do what he always did before he went to sleep: for the eighth night in a row, he pulled the note from Morgause from beneath his pillow and turned it over in his hands.

It was the last bit of the ordeal that had been plagueing him for a month. He'd gotten to the root of the problem, brought everyone out alive, and Arthur didn't even hate him for it, though he couldn't be sure how that was after what Gaius said. Once he read this final message, it would all be over.

In that case... maybe it was time.

He carefully undid the delicately (magically?) folded parchment, holding it up to the candle at his bedside so he could read the words printed in ink.

There weren't very many. The message was short and to the point, and even though it was slightly anticlimactic after all the time spent waiting to read it, it did at least have that sense of finality about it, and Merlin couldn't keep his lips from quirking up into a wry smile.

You did well, Emrys, it said. Don't think that means I'm not still your enemy.

As if he would have expected anything less.

Satisfied, Merlin extinguished the candle with a puff of breath, rolled over, and went to sleep.

Phew. Never thought I'd finish this fic. The anticlimactic letter may have been a metaphor for this chapter... I'm not really thrilled about it, if I'm honest, but I want some sort of closure on this story. Thanks a million to the awesome readers and reviewers who kept up with the story through a whole year of questionable update habits! I'm sorry I made you wait over and over again, but I'm super grateful to you all for your kind words! Extra special shout-out to Kitty O, who reviewed every single chapter. Oh, and Laugh-Taffy the Grape, you are totally the reason Morgause was in this chapter. ;)

Until the next story!