Merlin: The Loneliest Hour

Chapter 14: Things are worst

Chapter 14: Things are worst

The worst thing about Merlin’s death was that now Arthur Pendragon was actively looking for a new manservant, and everyone in Camelot knew about it.  At any given time, the prince would look out of the window to find at least a dozen young men waiting by the servants’ gate, all of them eager to serve in the royal household.  Gwen was the person whom he had appointed to interview them. Every morning, a new servant would bring breakfast to the prince, help him dress up, and then the servant, most of the time a young man of eighteen or twenty, would be sent home with invariably the same comment: not good enough.  They were always not quiet enough, not outspoken enough, not polite enough, not clean enough, not smart enough, or not strong enough. In short, they were not Merlin and he hated each and every one of them for reminding him of what he had lost.

Such had been his routine for the last two weeks; exactly fourteen days to be precise.  Finding a new manservant was the most frequent topic of conversation with Sir Leon, along with Gaius’ fragile state.  Even Gwen often spoke about the need to find another manservant for practical purposes, though she had made a habit of avoiding saying Merlin’s name.  Everyday, someone would mention the urgent need, and it was really beginning to get on his nerves because he didn’t want a new manservant.

But that wasn’t the worst thing about Merlin’s death; it was getting up in the morning.  The first morning had been the worst. He had sat on the edge of his bed just before sunrise and been quite unable to move away from that position for the longest time.  And then, when the knot in his stomach had reached a point where he couldn’t take the pain anymore, the tears had begun to flow silently from his eyes. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had cried.  It must have been when he was just a small boy. And the worst part of ithad been to see Gwen walk in with his breakfast tray, her eyes red as well, and her face drawn as though she had not slept at all.  She had sat quietly beside him until almost midday, until their eyes had run dry. In the end of the afternoon, he had welcomed King Alined’s first knight to Camelot and received Sir Leon’s report. That had been when he had first heard the news that magic was, for lack of a better word, dead.

But that wasn’t actually the worst bit, he thought as he was walking down the stairs towards the throne room on the fourteenth day after Merlin’s death.  The worst of the situation was the way in which Gwaine was behaving. They had searched for him for almost a day after he had left to follow the dragon.  When they had found him, sitting alone near the Round Table, he had seemed vacant, empty, and desolate. And then, following Gwaine’s indication, they had found Merlin’s body lying in one of the stone coffins lined up against the wall.  Arthur had stared at it in shock, feeling at that moment as though his heart had turned to stone. He had just stood there, motionless and dazed, unable to cry or speak or move. It had been Lancelot who had called the other knights to help him take the body out so that they could burn it according to the proper rites.  And then Gwaine had completely lost it. He had screamed and thrashed and struggled and punched, until Arthur had agreed to leave the body and seal the tomb instead. After that, though Lancelot tried again and again to reason with him, Gwaine had refused to go back to Camelot. Two weeks later, he was still acting strange, dividing his days between the tavern and the old ruins where he could be seen crying and drinking and sometimes at the same time.

And the worst of it all, Arthur was thinking bitterly in the empty corridor just next to the throne room, was to have seen Merlin’s body, to have peered into his white lifeless face, to have gazed down at his extensive wounds, and to know now without a doubt that he wasn’t coming back.  He hadn’t even said goodbye. He hadn’t even been able to tell him what he thought of him, really, without sarcasm or false arrogance.  And now Merlin would never know because he was dead.