The first thing that Arthur did was begin the process for repealing the ban on magic. Except the problem was that it was taking a lot longer than Arthur anticipated. He had thought that he could remove the ban easily enough. Simply sign the document and announce it to the kingdom, that should be all it took. His father had done so enough times. He figured that he could have it done by the end of the first month. But, when he actually found himself seated at the head of the council table with all the council members questioning him about his decision he realized that it would take longer. Much longer. It wasn't that they were against his proposal. Sure, there were a few that showed concern and seemed against the idea, but many questioned him about the parameters that are to be set. Questions such as the types of magic that were allowed and the extent of punishment for practicing dangerous magic. He hadn't considered that far ahead and so spent the next long while teaching himself all he needed to know.
He spent months in his chambers, reading through all the documents, books, and records that Geoffrey had on magic. Often he would fall asleep at the table, waking up to the sight of Gwen standing in front of him with a look of pity and breakfast in her hands. He would find himself wandering the town as well, asking the citizens themselves of their thoughts and opinions on magic. He would question them on Uther's policies too. Asking them to share their honest thoughts without fear of punishment. He made sure to hear from all types of people, even those who had supported Uther. Arthur knew he needed to learn more, he needed to understand not just one side of the story, but of both. He found Gaius to be the best person to talk to in such cases since the old man had not only been a good friend of Uther's but also a sorcerer. He understood both sides and he knew the flaws and dangers of both. Gaius was able to help him much when he worked on the reformed law, advising him of both the good and the bad of sorcery.
His research not only helped him understand more about magic, but his father as well. He learned of the terrible things he'd done, had dug up old documents in Geoffrey's library that recounted some of the horrors that Uther allowed to pass. At some times, he understood what his father had done. Some of the sorcerers were truly cruel monsters. They would kill out of cold blood and convenience. They used their magic to exploit others and were what his father described, but there were also those that his father hunted that didn't deserve the pain they had to suffer through. There were people such as the Druids, who never brought harm to anyone and instead saved travellers who were found injured or the sorcerers who used their magic to heal, such as Gaius. And of course the children. The ones who never even had a chance to live long enough to think a bad thought.
When he had finally learned of the things Uther had done he started to see things in a newer light. He saw why Merlin wanted Uther dead. He saw why many of the townspeople themselves wanted Uther dead. He understood what Merlin had done and he doesn't doubt that if he were in the same situation that he would have done the same. After all, he almost did didn't he? He had held the blade to Merlin's neck. A moment later and he would have done the deed.
Arthur now sits at his desk, tapping the quill against the table as he tries to summon up the courage to bring ink to parchment and write what he wants to say because despite his anger, his hurt, and his sadness he knows that what Merlin had done was justified. He may not be happy with the result, but that doesn't mean he should have been as harsh as he was. He left Merlin alone, abandoned him when he promised he would never leave. He had hurt him with his words, and it's only right that he should apologize too that he should at least let him know that he still cared.
He sighs, looking to the flowers that sit beside him on his desk in a little vase. Merlin had admitted to his wrong doings and it's only right that he does too because the last person who refused to admit to their mistakes had been Uther Pendragon and look where that had gotten him. Still, despite it all he finds it hard to bring the quill down on the page. A part of him still isn't ready to forgive the warlock. A part of him still says that Merlin got what he deserved. But as the butterfly skitters across the surface of the wood, stopping at the tip of his quill it too appeared to be urging him to write and put his feelings down on the page for Merlin to see. The king smiles at the little critter and soon the ink starts to flow across the page.
He tries his best to write what he feels, tries his best to let Merlin know what he's been thinking about. Whether or not Merlin chooses to read his letter is up to him, but he want's to let Merlin know that he's not alone no matter how far or for how long they are apart.
He scrawls the last words on the page with a small smile on his face: I love you, Merlin and I'm sorry.
-----
Merlin frowns at the parchment on his lap, hating the look of his disorganized scrawl. He holds his work up, comparing it to that of Arthur's neat writing on his letter to the warlock and finds his pride deflating even further. How do people write so neatly? How do they not get the ink to smudge all across the page?
He sighs, tossing the half finished letter aside as he stands and stretches. The candle flickers on the ground beside him, lighting up his tent with shadows of the books that remain piled along the edges. He picks up the candle, taking it out with him into the night as he wanders around the camp. Most of the druids are already asleep, their candles extinguished and their tents dark as they huddle together for the night. He's always envious when he sees the contented smiles of the families. Envious of the tight hold they all have on one another. It's something he's always wanted back and once upon a time he thinks that he may have found it. That he may have found it in the form of a certain prince with blond hair behind the grate, but even that is gone too. Whisked away by the wind almost as quickly as he had found it, just like everything else in his life.
He looks back to his tent, seeing Arthur's letter resting on the ground through the flap. He had been surprised when he read the prince's - or actually king's - letter. He didn't expect him to apologize, nor did he expect him to say 'I love you'. He had thought Arthur hated him. That he never wanted to see him again and that knowledge of Arthur's hatred hurt. It hurt him more than he thought was possible. He had watched his mother and father die in front of his very eyes and yet, somehow, that one act from Arthur had been able to hurt him just as much.
He spent his first few months with the druids in hopelessness. He refused to talk, to learn, to do anything that wasn't staring off into the forest. He didn't see a meaning in anything anymore. He had gotten his revenge and the people he cared about had left him. He didn't see much of a point in anything. There was little hope, but Morgana kept telling him otherwise. She stayed by his side. She talked to him, told him that she cared and that if Arthur was too much of an idiot to realize what he had done was stupid then he wasn't worth it. She said that he could find new friends. New people who cared, like the Druids that took care of him now. But despite what she said about Arthur she still told him to have some hope for the king. She reassured him, telling him that she knew Arthur well enough to know that he still cared because after all he was still working towards creating a kingdom where sorcerers can live freely. He didn't believe her at first, but when he noticed a group of red clad knights patrolling the area of the Druid camp every night, eventually he did let himself hope that perhaps Arthur did still care. Just a little bit.
So, when Morgana had walked up to him that one morning with a letter he let himself hope. He tore it open and seeing those words had helped him. It made him feel... happier, a little less hopeless because now he had something real. Something that was really there that he could hold onto. Something that wasn't just someone else's word. Arthur still cared for him. Still loved him and Merlin knew that he felt the same. He knew that if Arthur was ever in trouble that he would rush to his aid and he was sure that Arthur would too, but he also knew that neither of them wanted to see the other. Not yet. Not so soon. He felt that he was contradicting himself, for how could he love someone but also dread seeing them. The druids and Morgana though made sure to tell him otherwise. They told him that sometimes loved ones fight. They might argue and disagree. They might hurt one another in the process, but in the end they can come back, can still love each other. They can apologize and make up. They can learn to understand one another better than they ever had before. Then, in the end, they can make their bond stronger. So Merlin had run to Morgana the next moment, asking her to teach him how to write so that he could send Arthur a letter back. He wanted to let Arthur know that it was alright. He wanted to let Arthur know that he won't return because he knew it was what was best for them. They needed some time to think, and Merlin hopes that through this he can learn to understand Arthur better and that Arthur can learn to understand him.
Merlin yawns, stretching once again before turning back to return to his tent. He seats himself down on the grass, picking up the quill and returns to his writing, responding to the lengthy letter he had received a few days ago. Though it is long and a good few pages of it were about Arthur's thoughts, the second half of the letter contained nothing but rambling. From what he's gathered from the second half Arthur seems to be rather stressed about the new reform and doesn't take very kindly to a certain council man named Wilfred. Merlin chuckles to himself, finding the letter rather reminiscent of the times when Arthur came to visit him simply to complain about his training. He tried his best to write a legible reply and when he finally finished he sets the candle down beside his pillow. He climbs underneath the blankets and doesn't bother to extinguish the flame as he goes to sleep. He wants the light there because it helps to remind him that he wasn't in that hole anymore. That the all encompassing darkness is something that is long gone and, despite everything that had happened, it was thanks to Arthur that he's here at all.
-----
The pair continued to send letters as the months went by. Sometimes, they consisted of nothing more than senseless retellings of their days and at others there were important discussions on magic. Arthur was happy to have Merlin's help in creating the new laws regarding magic, and Merlin was more than happy to give his input.
Arthur would find himself spending countless nights awake in his chambers, sitting at his desk with the candle lit and the butterfly fluttering around him as he wrote and rewrote his letters to the warlock. It wasn't odd for Gwen to walk into his room one morning and find him either asleep at his desk or asleep on the floor as he had tried to make his way to the bed in the middle of the night. The maidservant would just sigh and leave his breakfast on the table before leaving the room quietly. On other days though, she would walk over and give him a good whack on the head to rouse him.
When the king wasn't writing letters he spent his time either perfecting the new law or by sifting through the lists of sorcerers his father had killed. He went through each name, searching for documents that would pinpoint where each of their homes were and where their families are now. After finding the information he needed he would send his knights there with a personal letter of apology from him and enough money for the family to construct a proper grave. He knew is wasn't enough to compensate their loss. Nothing would ever be enough, but he still wanted to do it. He wanted to show the sorcerers that he cared. That he really wanted to make a difference. That he wasn't his father. Uther had never allowed sorcerers to have any marked graves, and Arthur wanted to be sure that all those who had fallen to his father's tyranny were properly honoured. There was one pair of names that he was searching for though. One pair that he wanted to find above all else. He hadn't found them yet, but he hoped that he would eventually. He desperately hoped that he would.
Meanwhile Merlin spent most of his days practicing magic with the Druids. He would sit out in the sun, Morgana by his side, as Iseldir taught them how to master their talents. The Druids always praised them on their abilities, telling them how they were fast learners and had the potential to do great things in the future. Morgana would always smile at him when she heard the words, proud that the powers she once feared could one day be used to protect others and they would do just that.
Sometimes, when merchants or farmers wandered a little too close to bandit camps they would find that suddenly a convenient sign would appear along the road, pointing towards the closet town. On other occasions, when perhaps a group of knights - and a king - dressed in red stumble upon a group of thieves they would find that these particular rogues were rather clumsy. They would trip over their own feet and drop their weapons whenever they were about to swing. Sometimes, they would even suddenly fly off into the depths of the forest as though grabbed by an invisible hand. During those times Merlin would always catch the king look around after the fight, as though searching for something that he can't see before smiling with a grin that brightened the world and turn away to lead his knights. Merlin would smile in return, before looking to Morgana and returning to the Druid camp.
It was by the second year that Arthur finished creating his new law and he had announced it to the kingdom, but it was not until the fourth year that Arthur sent Merlin a letter asking him to meet him at a certain village in the outskirts of Cenred's kingdom.
-----
Merlin, with Morgana behind him, follow the path marked on the map in his hands. He can feel his fingers shake with nervousness with each step he takes, with each step closer that he takes to Arthur. He doesn't know if he's ready. Doesn't know what he'll do once he sees the king. Maybe that hurt will return or he won't feel the love he used to have. He still loves him now. He knows he still does, but he also knows that when he sees Arthur again, face to face for the first time in four years, he'll remember that look the king had given him. He'll remember those eyes filled with hate and betrayal. He'll remember what he had done to Arthur and remember what Arthur in turn had done to him.
He's scared. He's afraid of what might happen, but when he feels a hand rest on his shoulder, a comforting touch that seems to tell him 'don't worry, I'll always be here' he finds the fear subsiding briefly. He turns to give Morgana a smile though he knows she can probably tell it's somewhat forced. "You know you don't have to go if you aren't ready," she says with a worrying look, "I'm sure Arthur would understand."
Merlin nods, "I know. I'm just... nervous."
Morgana returns the smile, patting him on the back in reassurance. "If you want to leave then let me know," she snaps her fingers and a small flame appears, "I'll light his trousers on fire and then we can run."
A laugh escapes the warlock's lips, "Thank you, but don't go too far. We don't want him hating both of us."
Morgana just winks at him, "He already hates me. I have nothing to worry about."
As they continue on the path soon opens up into a large clearing where houses and fields of crops can be seen near the centre. Merlin looks around, wondering at first why Arthur had chosen this village as the place for them to meet. There's nothing special here. Just a small village with small houses, but as they approach he starts to feel a sense of familiarity about the place. He walks along the main trail that leads through the town and he feels as though he's walked here before. As though he's run along these paths a long, long time ago. The houses and trees that surround him have a nostalgic air. Sometimes, when he glances at a nearby building or structure, he feels that he does remember the place, that he has been here before, but the feeling is always short lived. Just as he's about to grasp the memory it seems to pull away, laughing in his face as he tries desperately to reach it. It's there, he knows it's there in his mind, but he can't place why. It's like there's a word on the tip of his tongue except far worse because he can't find any other words to describe the one he's searching for.
He continues to wander the town, looking around in confusion as the villagers pass him by without so much as a glance in his direction because all their eyes seem to be focused on a figure nearby and Merlin can already guess who it might be. He feels a push from behind him, and he turns to see Morgana smiling at him while mouthing the word 'go'. His step quickens as he follows the people's gazes, leaving Morgana behind as he rushes towards the back of a man with blond hair dressed in armour and with a blue butterfly on his shoulder. He stops a few buildings away from Arthur, feeling his legs unable to move forward. His body shakes a little, trembling with nervousness at the mere sight of Arthur standing so close. He notices that Arthur's gotten much taller in the past four years, though he doesn't seem to be any taller than himself. His shoulders appear broader from the back, contrary to his own lanky frame, and if possible he looks to have gained even more muscle than before. He armour suites him much more than it used to. He seems more comfortable in the gear, more at home, and as he looks down at the sword that hangs beside him he doesn't doubt that Arthur has become an even better fighter.
The king has yet to notice him. His attention seems to be on his horse who's reins he had just handed to the stableboy. Merlin knows that this is his last chance, his last chance to turn back. If he doesn't want to see him he can turn and go. He can leave and send Arthur a letter saying he wasn't ready, but as he stares at Arthur's back he knows he won't leave. Nothing will change if he keeps hiding. If they discover they're still unforgiving of one another they can leave. They can turn around and try again another time. It'll hurt seeing him again. He knows that it will. He won't forget the anger in Arthur's eyes, but he misses those smiles that Arthur used to give him and that's reason enough for him to reach out.
He takes a few steps closer, the gravel crunching under his boots and the sound seems to catch the attention of the butterfly. The creature turns around, appearing to spot the warlock before fluttering into the air and in front of the king's face. Arthur frowns, eyes following the blue butterfly as it dances through the air towards Merlin.
The warlock smiles, holding out a hand for the butterfly to land on. It scuttles excitedly across his palm, seeming to have missed it's creator as it scampers up to his shoulder. When Merlin looks back up he finds Arthur staring at him. The king's eyes seem to say a million things all at once. There's sorrow in them, brought about by the shame of having hurt the one he loves. There's joy and relief from the sight of Merlin safe, but underneath it all there's a hint of betrayal, of discomfort as though he wants to turn away. Merlin doesn't blame him for that look because he knows that the same emotions must be shown across his own eyes as well.
Arthur slowly walks over, his body tense as he makes his way to where Merlin stands. The warlock feels his shoulders tense as well, his body wanting to turn and take a step back, but he wills it to stay. He's ready to face Arthur. He's thought long enough.
Arthur stops in front of him, not too close, but close enough. He smiles a little shyly, looking unsure of what to do as his eyes linger over the warlock. "Merlin," he says, voice deeper than Merlin remembered, "I'm... happy to see you again."
The tone makes Merlin frown. It sounds professional, as though he weren't speaking to a friend but rather to a councilmen. "Um... it's a pleasure to see you too," he says, unsure now of what to say. He had tried to prepare himself for this moment on numerous occasions, but now that he's standing here, right in front of Arthur, everything seems to have escaped his mind.
They stand awkwardly beside each other, both unsure of what to do. They look around, neither meeting each others eyes. "So, um..." Merlin begins, eyes turned away from Arthur, "why did you bring me here?"
Arthur smiles, but this time the smile is sad. "I'll show you," he says and holds out a hand.
Merlin looks at it for a moment and he almost takes it. Almost. Instead though he looks away and Arthur can tell with that one movement that he shouldn't pressure him. He doesn't comment on the action, knowing that Merlin will take it whenever he's ready. So, he turns around and leads the way, the pair attracting many odd glances as they weave through the streets.
They come to a stop in front of a small house. The walls are made of stone like many of the other homes nearby and the roof is straw. The door is old and broken down, just barely hanging on its hinges. As Merlin stands outside he can feel his insides grow cold because unlike the rest of the village he recognizes this place. He recognizes the walls, the small garden on the side of the house. It's his house. It's the place where he used to live. Arthur has brought him home.
Merlin can feel tears in his eyes, can feel them prickle at the corners as he remembers the laughs and smiles he used to share in the house. He remembers his mother greeting him at the front door, his father holding his hand as they walked home together. This is where it all began and this is where it all ends.
"The village is called Ealdor," Arthur says, standing beside him as he stares at the house as well. "I searched through all the old records my father had on sorcerers to find it. I wanted to show you. I know you've always wanted to come back home."
Merlin doesn't reply, he takes a step forward then suddenly Arthur steps in front of him, blocking his path. His eyes are full of caution and worry as he meets Merlin's gaze though the warlock's stare remains trained on the house behind him. "Are you sure you want to go in?" he asks.
"It's my home," Merlin says, his voice quiet, "I want to see it again."
Arthur nods then steps aside, letting him pass. Merlin presses a hand against the rickety door then, gently, pushes it open. The hinges creak as he steps through the threshold and suddenly he feels like a child again. Like he's that little boy who had been showered with love and affection. He looks around, seeing the thick coating of dust that covers everything. His mother would have been furious had she seen it. He walks further in, instinctively turning towards the little kitchen where he expected to see his mother. He could almost hear her humming, filling the house with music as she cooked. He looked to the dining table, picturing his father sitting on the bench with a book in hand and a candle flickering beside him. The room is untouched, appearing almost the same as he had remembered it except for one large difference. There's a stain. An old one that looks almost black now with age. He knows what it is. Of course he knows what it is. He can see it in his mind now. Can see the blood that had spilt across the floor and furniture. The peaceful scene in his mind warps into one of terror. His mother's humming morphs into horrid screams. His father's seated figure is now slouched across the table, unmoving.
Merlin trembles, his whole body shaking as he gazes at the walls around him. He drops to his knees and the tears fall. They trail down his cheeks as his breath hitches in his throat. He knows he can't bring them back. He knows that there's nothing he can do to bring back those happy days. This is the home where he had everything and the home where he lost everything. This place will always be in his heart, but he needs to let it go. He needs to move on. He needs to say goodbye.
-----
Arthur waits outside the house, arms crossed over his chest as he stares back at the people watching him. He can hear the sobs from Merlin inside, can faintly here the things he says to his mother and father. The sound makes the last bit of anger melt away. Merlin killed his father. He knows that, but this is what Uther had done to Merlin. This is what Uther had done to so many others. Hearing Merlin now, he truly realizes how stupid he was to hate him. How stupid he was to send him away. He wants to just run inside and throw his arms around the warlock and tell him it's okay, but he knows he shouldn't enter. No Pendragon deserves to enter that house after what had happened. It would feel wrong. Like he's tarnishing a sacred ground. Besides, this is something Merlin has to do. It's something personal, private, and he shouldn't interfere.
It's another few minutes before Merlin appears form the house, eyes red and puffy from crying. He looks to Arthur then smiles, "Thank you," he says, wiping at his eyes, "I... I really appreciate it. you didn't have to do this."
Arthur returns the smile, "There's one more thing I want you to see."
He leads him out into the forest, following a lightly worn trail as they pick their way through the underbrush. The moment they break through the line of trees they're met with the sight of a vast lake. The water glitters in the afternoon sun, the surface still with no ripples disturbing the beauty. It almost appears to be a mirror, reflecting all the world around them. Merlin lets out a little gasp, amazed at the scenery before Arthur walks forward, leading him towards the water's edge. There, not too close but also not too far from the shore is a pair of marked graves. Two names are inscribed in the stone: Balinor and Hunith.
Merlin stands before the graves with a smile. A pile of lilies lie before each, and without even asking he knows it must have been Arthur who laid them there. He kneels down bowing his head in a silent prayer for them both before getting back to his feet. He looks out over the lake, admiring it's view and knowing that if his parent were here, they would love it as well.
He glances to Arthur, seeing him stand there beside him. He's staring out at the lake as well and Merlin wonders whether he's thinking about his mother and father as well. He reaches a hand out, taking Arthur's hand in his own. The king looks down at their intwined hands, then tightens his grip because this time, this time he won't leave. He won't leave ever again.
"Let's go home," Merlin says as he gives an affectionate squeeze.
"Home?" Arthur asks, a little confused.
Merlin turns to look at him and again their eyes meet, except this time neither look away. Arthur sees so many things in Merlin's eyes. He can see forgiveness, gratitude, and apology. But most of all he sees love. He sees the love in Merlin's eyes and he only hopes that Merlin can see the love in his as well.
"Home," Merlin says again with a smile that's more beautiful than anything, "let's go home to Camelot."
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A/N - And this marks the end of The Blue Butterfly! Thank you all so much for reading this story! I love each and every one of you! <3