There can be no place for magic in Camelot

Leaving Camelot

"There can be no place for magic in Camelot."

The words echoed in his head, searing their way into his brain permanently. When he had said them, he had thought that Mordred would die and Arthur would be safe. After all he had sacrificed to protect his King, surely this time he would be able to breathe. When they rode back into the courtyard, Arthur was subdued and Merlin was trapped in his own mind. When he looked up and saw Mordred descending the stairs to reach the King, Merlin felt his heart stop. His chest felt like it was tightening and he couldn't breathe. His hands gripped his saddle so hard his fingers had gone white. He forced his gaze away from the pair who had reached each other, Arthur hugging Mordred and smiling brightly. Happily, Merlin noted. Relieved. Merlin set about undoing his saddle bags, putting the horses back in the stables, brushing them down, before turning to head to Gaius. When he got to the physician's chambers, his mentor was giving him a small smile. A sad smile. Merlin guessed that his face told him how he felt, though he had tried to put his mask back in place. He'd never been able to maintain it around Gaius; but the Knights, the King and Queen, they hadn't noticed his change in demeanor.

Merlin set his belongings in his room, not unpacking. As he entered his small room, the words he'd said to Arthur the previous night reverberated through his thoughts. He went to sit with Gaius for dinner, not wanting to see Arthur right now.

"How could I have been so stupid," Merlin asked, not looking up.

"You did what you thought was best", Gaius answered.

"I assumed the best way to protect Arthur was to kill Mordred."

"Perfectly natural assumption."

"All I did was make sure he lived. That was the Disir's judgement. Mordred's life is Arthur's punishment. For rejecting magic."

"You mustn't blame yourself, Merlin."

"But it is my fault. Mordred is alive and well. He's free to play his part in Arthur's death. And there's nothing I can do to prevent it." Merlin sighed. "Nothing."

Gaius patted Merlin's hand on the table, trying to reassure his boy. But he had seen the hopeless look in Merlin's eyes the brief second he had looked up.

"Why don't you go get some rest? You've had a long few days." Gaius told him. Merlin just nodded numbly and went to his room. Gaius watched him go, and was reminded of how much Merlin had lost since coming to Camelot. Though no one other that Merlin and Gaius knew, Merlin's mother had passed almost a year ago. She'd fallen ill and was unable to recover. Merlin had snuck away for a few days to see to putting her spirit to rest and clearing out his childhood home. The village had been helpful and offered words of consolation. Merlin knew he couldn't stay in Ealdor. There was nothing for him there now. He had felt like Camelot was his home after being there for a few years. But after ten, now, it felt like more of a prison. Merlin felt compelled to stay just to make sure Arthur was safe. Destiny was waiting, he'd convinced himself. Gaius had tried to show him how well his physician training was coming along, and encouraged him. But Gaius could see that it wasn't enough anymore. Merlin had stopped spending time with the Knights outside of missions, patrols, or hunting trips. He'd become withdrawn and built up a mask to display for everyone so they would stop asking him if he was alright constantly. Gaius could see that it was exhausting him. He only hoped that after a few days, his boy would be ok. Maybe he just needed a few days to accept what had occurred. He sighed and prepared to go to bed himself.

Merlin sat in his room, on his small bed, staring at nothing. No place for magic in Camelot. No place. In Camelot. He was so very tired of carrying this burden. That he was meant to bring about some golden age with Arthur bringing magic back to the land. A few thoughts crossed his mind. Options, really, not just thoughts. He could end his life, in essence telling destiny to go screw itself. But he'd tried it before. A long time ago now. His magic wouldn't let him go so easily. He was absently running his fingers over the long scar on his wrist where he had used the dagger. There was a messier one on his left arm since he'd done his right first his hand had been a little unsteady when he went to make the second incision. It had been a few weeks after his father had died in his arms that he'd tried. Not being able to openly mourn any of those that he kept losing was unbearable. He'd said he was going to collect herbs, and found a small peaceful spot by a stream. It was a very lovely place to see as his eyes drifted closed while the blood ran freely down over his hands, dripping into the water. When he had woke and it was night, he knew then that he would not be able to rest until his destiny had been fulfilled. That was when he had started constructing his mask. He completed it after Lancelot had sacrificed himself to close the veil between worlds. Another friend gone to protect him.