by GR Griffin
Snapping out of his daze, Arthur pointed silently towards the bottom of the document. Half an hour later, Arthur discovered he didn’t have four signatures on the document – he had seven. It was definitely enough to pass the act. He left the room, suppressing the burst of laughter in his chest and letting it slip out when he entered his old office. He had succeeded. The Druids would forever be free from Camelot oppression.
♦☼♦
At first, Arthur had chosen to stick with denial, because denial was such an old friend of his. He knew it would always be there for him when he needed it. Denial had hovered over him the past six months, weaving its way into everything he did, everything he said. Denial wouldn’t judge him; it wouldn’t remind him of his wrongdoings, if anything it would make him forget them. Right now, it was consoling him. They weren’t going into the labs; they were merely entering a part of Camelot Enterprise that Arthur hadn’t know much about. It wasn’t his fault any of this had come to pass. But Denial’s arguments proved futile; weak. And as Arthur told it to go away, it had the audacity to deny it’s own presence (which was completely ridiculous).
He sought out Fear instead, who delightedly slithered over towards him, ensuring to startle him with its dramatic entrance for good measure. Fear snaked around his body, holding him tightly. It hissed in his ear terrible words. It triggered tremors in his body. It had been hard to shake off Fear, and leave it stranded in the corner to latch onto the next unsuspecting human. Eventually it left his side, crawling back into the dark shadows.
Guilt took its chances, smothering his skin for a few seconds. It’s your fault. When thrown off his shoulder, it skulked away and began to sulk. Then Sorrow bounded towards him in a fit of tears, crashing clumsily into his side. It’s skin was cold, it’s presence so overwhelming sad that Arthur honestly felt like he too was on the verge of tears. But honestly - how were tears going to help him now? Sensing the change in Arthur’s thoughts, Regret regretfully shoved Sorrow out the way and walked passively beside him. Oh the regret he felt, if only he could have done something different. Anger manifested itself, hauling Regret with ferocity across the corridor. This merely upset Sorrow further, and Guilt turned to Anger reproachfully.
Enough. The chaotic eruption of emotions scuttled away, leaving Arthur standing at the entrance to the laboratory. Arthur realised at that moment that there was really no emotion he could possibly feel here. He would have to face it all now. A hand brushed his shoulder. Turning, he met Morgana’s neutral expression.
“I’ve got the teleport devices,” She explained, gesturing to a large bag hoisted over her shoulder.
Nodding, Arthur swallowed-hard and pushed to the laboratory open. No words could describe the sight before him. Leon was rounding up malnourished, skinny, hairless people all dressed in simply robes. Many of them arched over, spines clearly damaged. Many had severe injuries or bruising to their pale, sickly skin. Some were hauntingly silent, some were weeping, some were mumbling to themselves. They barely looked like people any more. There were a variety of ages, some young adolescents, others aged and weary. Some were just strong enough to use magic, disappearing from sight and no doubt returning to their homes and families.
However, a vast majority was not able to perform this simple spell. Lancelot stumbled round the corner, the thin arm of a man draped over his shoulders. Gwaine wasn’t in sight, clearly working on the other side of the ward. All at once, the Druids turned their attention to him. Their wide expressionless eyes stared at him. He could feel their emotions, the sudden swell of hatred. He didn’t blame them one bit. They had all suffered immensely, and it was all his doing.
Despite their apparent loathing, they made no move to attack. Either they were too weak, or stood to the old Druid principles honourably. One druid, barely a man, stared at him blankly.
Arfuera, he whispered in Arthur’s head. Hwý?
Arthur translated the simple word: Why. For a moment he gazed back at the man, unable to react when he fell to the ground. Lancelot knelt beside the young teenager, checking for a pulse frantically. Arthur couldn’t deal with the look of utter sadness Lance conveyed when he found no trace of a pulse. Blinking back tears, Arthur watched as they all suddenly turned away from him, resuming their own company. Morgana held a hand to her mouth, rushing forwards to one of the Druids whose knees buckled. Sympathetically, she lifted the man to his feet. Arthur remained motionless for one more moment, stunned and appalled by what he was witnessing. How could all of this been happening everyday underneath the corporate culture? How could people who knew about this live with themselves everyday?
“One person left,” A voice called.
The dead Druid on the floor was hauled in Lancelot’s arms. This was so fucking wrong, because that kid was younger than Arthur was and didn’t deserve to die this way. This was genocide, cruelty matching the despicable acts of humanity in the past. How did the kid get caught? Who had turned him in? Did the people actually know what would happen to him? Arthur shuddered because something told him they did know. Holding a hand to his throbbing temple, he stared blankly at the hundreds of Druids flocking towards Leon and Lancelot, clearly desiring comfort, love and basic human kindness that they had been completely stripped of.
“We can’t leave him here of all places, I will take him back to Albion where he can rest in peace.” He heard Lancelot say to Leon.
As he opened his teleporting device, Druids muttered their condolences to the lost soul. Arthur watched morbidly, wondering how many Druids had died in this foul place. Arthur…Arthur? Stroking his necklace, Arthur grimaced. Someone was calling him. Arthur. Mother? No. Merlin – never. Arthur-
“-Arthur!” Gwaine’s voice broke him out of the trance. The rugged man appeared from round the corner, complexion pallid and face severe. “I need your help.”
Arthur knew who it was. There was no question about it. He knew there was one final Druid left to save. He spared one final look to Morgana who was spilling tears from her eyes whilst distributing teleporting devices to the crowd of thin hands. Then reluctantly he trudged forwards and followed Gwaine down the hallway. He knew whatever was behind that red door was his fault. All those months ago, he and Morgana had stormed into Uther’s office, Arthur had demanded – not to Morgana’s knowledge- that Gaius was at least granted a fair trail. There was nothing he could do. Gaius had been taken away, six months ago. All this time, he had been down here suffering.
The pair of them reached the final door, it was the only one left unopened. Gwaine cast Arthur a dejected look, about to step forwards and open it. Abruptly, Arthur clutched the door handle and shot his friend an intense look, praying Gwaine would understand.
“Wait here.” He commanded; his voice was too brittle to sound like a convincing order.
Nonetheless, because Gwaine understood Arthur – almost as much as Morgana did, or M- he made no motion of following the blonde. He didn’t make Arthur explain, because that much was obvious. Instead he sighed, patting his old friend on the back supportively. With that, Arthur clutched the doorknob and stepped inside to face the consequences of his father’s actions, the result of his own negligence; his worst fear.
Gaius.
Gaius hardly looked like Gaius. He had the minor injuries of many of the other druids. Bruising blackened his arms, his shoulders. The left side of his crippled arm was bandaged. He was fragile, his bones protruding from his skin in an ugly fashion. His face seemed to have aged, his eyes lost and hazy. His skin was beaded with sweat, gesturing fever or something or a similar kind. Like the others, he was bald and chained down to the table. It was a horrific sight, to see a man so compassionate, and loving in such a state. A man who had read Arthur bedtime stories, looked after him since a young age. Gaius was the man who had told him secrets about Igraine when Uther wasn’t around to scold Arthur’s curiosity; he was the one who had nursed him when he was sick, taught him that issues within Camelot weren’t simply black or white. Gaius had taught him a great deal
.
Arthur recalled Merlin’s first reaction to Arthur admitting he knew Gaius. Merlin had seen Gaius in this state many months ago. No wonder he had been furious, no wonder he had hated Arthur – still hated Arthur. Arthur took a tentative step towards the table, unsure how to approach the old man. He didn’t want to startle him. However, Gaius seemed almost impassive to the motion in his peripheral vision, as if he had been expecting it. In fact, he didn’t seem to care. This hurt far more than Arthur could say. He tried to find words, but words failed him. His lips trembled, and before he knew it he was kneeling by the table, hands clasped together as if he were praying desperately. His father had let this happen to Gaius. Gaius had been his lifelong friend.
“Gaius...” he whispered through the lump in his throat.
The man made no motion to turn his head or look over to the source of the voice. An element of surprise flickered in his features, gesturing perhaps he hadn’t heard his name for a long time. Blinking slowly, a soft smile dusted the man’s face. His breathing was heavy and laboured, concerning Arthur greatly. As he gazed up at the man on the table – imagine what that table had done to his spine, to lay on that for months on end – anger flushed through Arthur’s veins. Did they feed the druids, or provide them with water? Or did they treat them like lab rodents, only caring about the results gained from the tests. A small sound came from Gaius’ mouth, lips moving mechanically up and down as if to test them out. Then a word slipped past them, and it destroyed Arthur.
“…Merlin?”
That prompted the tears to fall from Arthur’s stinging eyes, because he was sure life was laughing at him now. Gaius truly believed that Arthur would never be here. Merlin had come to try and rescue him; Arthur hadn’t – until now. Merlin was a better man than he ever could be. Wiping his eyes, Arthur inhaled a ragged breath. Gaius then seemed to freeze, panic as his eyes flashed with realisation.
“Arthur.” Gaius turned his head slowly towards Arthur. Their eyes collided.
“I’m so sorry.” Arthur stammered, clearly distraught by everything he had seen. To think that apparently this lab wasn’t the worst one either… Lifting his hands, Arthur reached for Gaius frenziedly, to ensure he was still alive. Because he didn’t look very alive, he looked very much like he was dying and incredibly weak. The skin was rough on his fingers. “This is all my fault. I should have saved you, I should have come for your sooner.” Gaius stared at Arthur silently.
“I tried to tell my father he was making a mistake,” Arthur explained, wishing that there was something he could do other than beg for mercy. “He was adamant, I c-couldn’t change his mind. I…I didn’t try hard enough.” Sigh.
“You are not to blame for your Father’s mistakes.” Gaius replied firmly, refusing to believe otherwise despite Arthur’s inconsolable expression.
“Don’t defend my actions Gaius,” he responded with the same tone. “Nothing can excuse the fact that I allowed all of this to happen.”
A bitter laugh escaped his lips as he gazed around the dull room.
“Merlin was right about this place.”
Gaius stirred once more at the name, attempting to sit up.
“You know Merlin?” Once the question sprouted from Gaius’ mouth, he appeared to be unable to stop. “Merlin. Is Merlin alright?”
Cradling the man in his arms, Arthur gently aided him to a sitting position. Gaius coughed violently and Arthur couldn’t help himself. His eyes instinctively flashed silver, and the cough dwindled to a minor spluttering. Eyes wide, Gaius studied the man before him.
“You have magic.”
Nodding, Arthur bowed his head. He felt the wave of sadness swallow him whole and then spit him back out on a raggedly shoreline full of deceit and more secrets and lies. Clasping the Merlin-bird necklace around his neck, Arthur grimaced.
“I have come to understand so much. I…I now know what caused the Great Purge…” His words trailed absently into the air, his mind too preoccupied in ensuring Gaius was safe and as well as he could be at the present time. Turning to Arthur sternly, the man tried to lift himself off the table and failed. Arthur soothingly held his shoulders, enforcing him to sit for a few moments longer and regain control of his body.
“I felt it.” Gaius muttered. “The Crystal Cave of Ealdor is gone forever.” For a moment Arthur pondered on Gaius’ choice of words, but quickly cast it aside in order to focus on the present matter.
“Ealdor is gone too.” Arthur reluctantly said, averting his eyes to avoid committing the look of complete desolation on Gaius’ face to his dark memory. He had seen the expression too many times, and all were caused because of him. It had literally driven him close to insanity. Shaking his head, Gaius tried to stand up once more. This time he was successful, although Arthur still held onto him warily.
“Hunith, Balinor, Merlin-”
The worry in his voice unnerved Arthur. Gaius had been through so much emotional and physical toil; he didn’t need this level of trauma right now. But telling him what he wanted to hear…Arthur had learnt his lesson from trying that before on many. Sometimes the truth had to be spoken, because the truth was what people deserved to know. For the first time in months Arthur spoke the truth and nothing but the truth, afraid if he diverted from it some kind of evil would sprout from his treachery.
“Hunith is safe, Merlin is leading the people to Ioanem.” he said slowly, hoping Gaius would comprehend the implications before having to spell it out. It appeared Gaius figured out the true message behind the words.
“Balinor was a revered leader,” Gaius spoke fondly, emotion seeping back into his eyes. “Merlin will lead the people with the same determination and courage in this time of darkness.”
Merlin - Arthur struggled to digest the word. Yes, Merlin would lead his people; he would protect them no matter what. But Merlin was fighting a complicated war here. This was Uther Pendragon. There was no way Merlin or his powerful magic could defeat the malicious army. Camelot Enterprise had the ferocity to abolish everything.
“Arthur,” Gaius murmured insipidly, losing strength. “It is not the past that defines us, or what we chose to do in light of the present…” He rested is head on Arthur’s shoulder eyes pressed closed. Arthur dragged him out of the room; Gwaine rushed to his side to help support the man. Gaius kept talking, despite his body becoming more limp. “It is the once and future that…unmasks…the Dragon’s heart.”
Once and Future- Arthur had no idea what on earth that meant, but it sounded important and somewhat ancient. Expecting Gaius to elaborate, Arthur panicked a little when he realised the man had become unresponsive.
“Don’t worry Arthur.” Gwaine consoled as they walked down the corridor towards the hub of freed druids. “They all have been slipping out of consciousness. They are exhausted and need rest. But Leon said their magic will return and heal them.”
Leon was tutoring some of the weaker Druids on the art of the teleporting device. Arthur recalled Merlin’s words about magical teleporting with an injured passenger – it was not a good idea. Taking the Druids back via magic was out of the question. Morgana ran to Arthur’s side, studying Gaius in fear. Cupping his face, she met Arthur’s eyes.
“He will be okay Morgana,” he said, not able to calm down the despairing woman. “I promise he will be okay.”
For now, Arthur’s reassuring words were all she had. Silently, she took one of the teleport devices from the bag, pressing it into Gaius’ hand.
“I will take him over to Albion.” She hauled Gaius towards her, supporting him with her arms.
Arthur couldn’t deny her of this request, even if he wanted to be the one to do it. Nodding, he watched as the pair disappeared into thin air. Arthur wasted no time, ushering the remaining druids towards the teleports. When certain everybody was through safely, Arthur cast a dismal look around the bland corridor. Camelot Laboratories – it would be the last thing he ever saw of Camelot Enterprise. It would be the final memory, the final spark to ensure s
omething of this magnitude would never happen again. Arthur twisted his vision away from the corridor, offering Gwaine and Leon a forced smile.
“Come on,” eyes flashing silver, he grabbed both of them. “Let’s get out of here for good.”
Chapter 46
Gwen awoke, slowly and peacefully, a few hours later to the sound of Calhoun and a few children playing amongst the resting Druids. Laughter laced her ears, the voices full of the promise of joy and happiness, everything that had been missing from the People. Opening her eyes, she gazed down at the sight fondly. The Children appeared to be reanimated, almost as bright and cheerful as they had once been. The sun had risen over the horizon, shining down radiantly over the lush landscape. As she walked past them, Calhoun bashfully waved at her and presented her a timid smile. She returned the smile knowingly, leaving them to continue playing.
They were chasing each other through the sleeping Druids, offering warm smiles to those who had woken. It sent a thrill of elation through Gwen’s body when she noticed most of the Druids smiled back. It wasn’t a big, broad smile, but it was nonetheless a smile. Yet, it confirmed her hopes, eased her worried soul. Perhaps Merlin knew that this would happen, knew that the People would find a simple, beautiful reason to not give up and continue to live. For a moment, she frowned and allowed concern to wash over her skin. She’d expected Merlin to return by now, praying that whilst she was asleep he would creep back into the settlement.
Hunith was worried about him; Gwen could tell. The widow sat underneath the majestic white tree of Iaonem in solitude, caressing the glowing leaves that fell from its branches. It had been hard for Hunith the past few days. She had lost her husband, the man she loved, the leader of her people. And then days later her own son had left with no explanation, other than words that were ridiculously optimistic and brimming with confidence. Hunith hadn’t spoken a word since the cataclysmic event. Not even Will – who many times she had stated was her ‘second son’ – couldn’t coax a word out of her. Will was worse though, Gwen admitted to herself. The young man was hunched in the shadows, not allowing the sunlight to touch him, or taint his sickly complexion and make it healthy again. Part of Gwen was angry at Will for completely absorbing himself in self-pity.