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"You need to eat."
He was wasting his breath, he knew, but he could not help himself.
Merlin nodded vaguely, and continued to gaze unseeingly at the table, as he had done since he'd first entered Gaius's quarters.
The stew Gaius had left waiting at Merlin's place had long gone cold by the time the latter had arrived the night before. The porridge Gaius had set wordlessly in its place, after still more hours had gone by with the stew untouched, was now beginning to congeal rather unpleasantly.
With a sigh, Gaius took the bowl and scraped its contents into the slop pail.
Merlin noticed neither the brief absence of his bowl, nor its return to the table with a fresh helping of food.
Gaius served himself a portion, then sat back down across from his ward. He forced himself to eat a few mouthfuls. He would be no help to Merlin if he did not take care of himself as well.
He wondered when Merlin had eaten last. He doubted it had been any time recently. If this continued much longer, he'd feed the boy by force.
He eyed Merlin surreptitiously. His hair was lank and unwashed. Several days worth of sweat and dirt were heavily caked into his clothes and skin, making his already pale skin look paper-white. His eyes were red and bloodshot. His clothes hung more loosely on his thin frame than they had mere days ago.
He hadn't had the heart to tell Merlin to bathe, or try to get some sleep, though he clearly badly needed both. He had not asked him what had happened on the journey to the Lake of Avalon.
It wasn't your fault , he wanted to say. You did everything you possibly could.
It would be useless, he knew. A life spent treating the sick and healing the wounded had made Gaius no stranger to grief and its ability to rob men of reason. There was no comfort in a truth that Merlin would not believe—not yet, at least.
Perhaps he ought to be more forceful, to shake Merlin out of the numbness. For he had seen enough death in his many years, and faced enough loss himself, to know that refusing to feel merely makes the pain more felt later on, and can cause far more damage. Uther had gone down that road, all those years ago, and had tried to force his grief down where it could not hurt him. Instead it had clawed its way up to the surface, and twisted itself into rage and bloodlust.
And were Uther’s mistakes not what had brought them here, to this place of so much loss and heartache?
And yet…Merlin was not Uther. Merlin had suffered loss and borne it, time and time again, all for the greater good, for the love of Camelot, for the destiny he had been born to follow…for Arthur.
It had all been for Arthur. And now Arthur was gone. Everything Merlin had fought for, everything he’d given up, was lost now, gone to Avalon. How much pain could Merlin be expected to suffer, how many people could he lose, without breaking?
“Gaius?”
He started. He had been too lost in his thoughts to hear the knock at the door, and Sir Leon’s subsequent arrival. The knight carefully did not look at Merlin, fixing his eyes only on the physician. “It’s nearly time.”
He nodded, and Leon withdrew.
Gaius stood up, wincing at the stiffness in his back. He reached over, lightly touching the warlock’s shoulder.
“Merlin? I need to need to leave for a while. Will you be alright?”
Merlin showed no sign of comprehension. Gaius had half turned to go, when the boy finally spoke.
“Where?”
“To the funeral,” Gaius said quietly. “It’s almost time now.”
Merlin’s head jerked up. For the first time since he’d come back, his eyes were focused. “The funeral.”
“Yes,” he said gently. “Will you come?”
Merlin shook his head jerkily. “I…I can’t.” He stared back down at the table, seeming determined to avoid the old man’s gaze.
This was not simple grief. This was something different.
Gaius sat slowly back down.
Merlin took a shuddering breath. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“It’s understandable if you’re not feeling up to it. No one will fault you. He would have understood. But it is your chance to say goodbye.”
Merlin’s face crumpled. “I can’t do this forever, Gaius.”
“You won’t have to. I know it feels that way, but‒”
“I will,” Merlin interrupted. “I always will. I know that now.”
Gaius stilled. “What do you mean?” he said slowly.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
Merlin finally raised his eyes to meet the old man’s, his expression tortured. “Because it will make it true,” he whispered.
With all that had happened after his encounter with Balinor in the Crystal Cave, Merlin had had no choice but to force the new knowledge back. There had been no time before, as he raced against the clock to reach Camlann, then fought the enemy of time once more to make it to Avalon, for him to dwell on the horrible truth behind his father’s words.
Only as he traveled back to Camelot empty handed, forced to abandon his destiny indefinitely at the Lake of Avalon, could he think about what Balinor’s revelation truly meant for him.
“Merlin,” Gaius said quietly. “Tell me what happened.”
He had not wanted to speak of it. He’d told himself this was merely to spare Gaius useless concern on his behalf. But in truth, he had not been able to bring himself to say the words. For to speak them aloud would make them real, incontrovertible.
And yet, he needed to tell someone. He could not face this new reality alone anymore.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “My father came to me. In the Crystal Cave.”
Gaius’s eyebrow shot up. “You saw Balinor?”
Merlin nodded.
“How?”
“After Morgana attacked me. He came to me. He…he spoke to me,” said Merlin.
“What did he say?”
“He told me not to let go. To fight. That I could not lose my magic, because…because I am magic. And then‒” he faltered. “He told me…he told me to believe the truth. That I always will be.” His voice broke.
Gaius was silent.
Merlin stared at him. “You knew.”
“No,” said Gaius. “Not for sure, at least, until now. But I guessed.”
“How?”
Gaius sighed. “You asked me once, years ago, about the name the Druids had for you. Emrys. When the Cailleach called out to you. Do you remember?”
Merlin nodded.
“I did not know what it meant at the time. When I finally learned its meaning, I could not bear to tell you. I did not wish to burden you with what was only a guess on my part, not without substantial proof.”
Gaius looked older and more tired than Merlin had ever seen him. “Your name, Merlin, the name the Druids call you, ‘Emrys’, is an ancient Welsh word. It means ‘immortal’.”
“Then it’s true.”
“I’m afraid there is no doubt,” said Gaius sadly.
“‘ Always will be’, Gaius. ‘ Always’ . Everyone I know will be gone. I’ll have to watch you all die, bury you all behind me, as I go on. I can’t do it, Gaius!”
“You can,” said Gaius quietly. “You can, and you must.”
“How?” Merlin burst out. “How can I? How can I grow to care for anyone, love anyone, when I know that I’ll lose them? How many people will I have to bury? How can I live this life with no end?”
“Do you think the only meaning to life is its end?”
Merlin said nothing.
“Merlin, the end means nothing. It is our actions, our choices, that give our lives any sort of meaning or purpose.”
“My actions,” Merlin repeated bitterly. “My actions led to all of this! I left Mordred to live all those years ago, and he did what he was destined to do. I traded my destiny for his. This is my punishment.”
“Perhaps not. Perhaps it is an opportunity.”
“For what?” Merlin demanded. “To make more mistakes? To cause the deaths of more people I care about? To destroy everything I touch? To watch more people die that I can’t save?”
He buried his face in his hands. “I can’t do it. I can’t do it, Gaius. I can’t feel this again.”
“Merlin,” said Gaius gently. “You’re grieving. We all are. But it is the cycle of life. We are born, we learn, we grow, we love…and we lose. If we love, it is inevitable that we will lose. But what other choice is there? If you cannot grieve, you cannot love. Would you be like Uther, like Morgana, refusing to love out of fear of pain? If you are afraid of pain, you are afraid of love, and you cannot truly feel. And you will still lose in the end…you will lose yourself.”
He stood up. “I must go to the funeral,” he said quietly. “There’s still some time, should you choose to come.”
Merlin did not answer. He listened to the old man’s heavy footsteps slowly fade away as he left and made his way down the stairs. Only when he could not hear them anymore did he take his head out of his hands.
The funeral would be sparsely attended, he knew. Not out of ill will, but because of the timing. To those who did not know him, Gwaine’s death was merely another of the many nameless casualties of the battle. There were too many burials, too many funerals, for the people to be busy with yet another, as they tended to their own dead.
He had tried not to see, the night before, as Gaius prepared the fallen knight’s body for burial. It had been painful enough to see Will, Freya, Lancelot, Arthur…all the friends he could not save, as they took their final breaths, closed their eyes for the last time. It had been enough to meet Percival at the entrance to the citadel, clutching a lifeless Gwaine in his arms. It had been enough to realize he would never again see the cheeky grin Gwaine was famous for.
Gwaine had accompanied him to the Cave, no questions asked. Apart from Lancelot, of all the knights, Gwaine was one he’d been closest with. He wondered if Gwaine had known the truth. He would never know.
How many more people would he have to bury, until he did not feel this way anymore? Until he was numb to the pain of loss?
And yet…did he want to truly be numb? To not feel anything?
Part of him, the part that was still at the Lake of Avalon with Arthur, wished for nothing more than this to be.
But another part of him, the part that could still hear Gwaine’s easy laugh, see the reborn Gwen emerging from the Cauldron, returning to Arthur’s embrace; feel Freya’s soft lips on his own; the part of him that remembered, seemed to say otherwise.
He thought of what Kilgharrah had told him. You will remember me.
Perhaps this, after all, was his destiny, as he waited for Arthur’s return. To remember. To remember the ones he’d lost.
But, could he truly lose them? Would they not be with him? If he would always be, as Balinor had promised, would his other promise not take hold as well?
There are no goodbyes, Emrys. For I will always be. As you will always be.
No, Merlin thought, as he stood up, wiping his face. There were no goodbyes. Not for him. And perhaps, he mused, as left the room and made his way downstairs and outside to join the small crowd of mourners, this was indeed what Gaius had said; an opportunity, a blessing in its own way.