Title: Misery Loves Rain
Character/s: Merlin, Gaius
Summary: The weight of the world crashes down on our fave warlock, so his father figures offers him a bit of hope.
Word Count: 755
Author's Notes: spoilers up to 4.3
He sighed deeply and climbed down to sit on his bed. It really did seem like every tragedy in his life was marked by rain. Heavy, persistent rain that lasted until some other crisis distracted him. And he was sure it hadn’t started until he’d come to Camelot and gained better control of his magic. Ironically enough.
It had stormed at Will’s funeral. It had seemed merely coincidental then.
He’d definitely caused rain when Arthur, his mother, and Gaius had nearly died. At least he’d rid the world of Nimueh at the same time.
When Morgana drank the poison he’d heard rain falling outside. It had been about the same time he’d poured the poison into the waterskin.
Rain had fallen on him, Arthur and Balinor when the latter had died. That had left Cenred with a few less men though.
The sky over the Isle of the Blessed had quickly clouded up once Lancelot had stepped through the veil. Their trip home had been miserably wet. The worst trip ever.
And most recently, Uther’s death. Arthur was sequestered in the throne room with his father’s body, and it was all his- Merlin’s -fault. He’d had the arrogance to think he could save Uther and Arthur would be so glad . . . but no. He’d failed, and once again every magical person and creature would have to wait even longer to be free. If the world rests on my shoulders, all the worse for it, he thought.
Just then a knock sounded on his door and Gaius stepped in. “Oh Merlin,” he said. He sat next his ward on the bed and put his arm around him. Then he reached into his pocket and brought out a handkerchief, which he handed to Merlin.
Merlin blinked. He hadn’t even noticed the tears running down his face. He didn’t feel particularly sad, but apparently his heart had different ideas. Every tragic moment flashed through his mind again and his eyes teared up again. His throat felt closed off, and even though he tried to stop it, a sob welled up through it. Soon his head had dropped to Gaius’s shoulder and tears flowed freely.
Merlin didn’t notice the heavy rainfall develop into a wicked thunderstorm. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, seemingly right outside the window. Gaius startled at the first boom and looked down at the very young warlock in his arms. “Merlin, come now. Uther’s death is not your fault. You know that.”
“I . . . know, Gaius. I . . . can’t . . . help it,” he gasped brokenly.
“What on earth has you so worked up?”
“That cannot be. What is it really?”
Merlin sniffed mightily. “They died, Gaius. They died because I failed.” The sobbing renewed and intensified.
“Merlin! You did not fail.”
“. . .”
“Every time someone has died under your watch, there was a reason, a purpose. Will gave up his life so you could be what you needed to be. Nimueh’s death restored the balance of nature. Morgana lives in order to fulfill her destiny, part of which is to make you grow. If your father hadn’t died, you wouldn’t have gained the power to stop Kilgharrah. Lancelot saved all of Camelot, but specifically you and Arthur. He knew you had to live to fulfill your destiny. And Uther. Well, it was his time. And I believe he earned a small bit of redemption by risking his life to save his son. Arthur may not restore magic tomorrow, but he will do it. And it is because of you, Merlin.”
Merlin stilled. As he sat up he wiped his eyes and used the handkerchief on his nose. “Y-you really believe that?”
“Of course. Merlin, your ‘failures’ are far outweighed by your victories; think on it. Also, those who survive tragedies often feel guilty for living, but that’s unnecessary. Those who have died for you have done so willingly. You’ve mourned them; now accept their sacrifices and live for them.”
“Thank you Gaius.” Merlin threw his arms around his mentor in a grateful hug. Outside the rain tapered off quickly, clouds dissipated and the sun made an appearance.
Both men noticed when the sunlight fell across them. “Merlin, did you . . .?”
“Ah yes. About that . . .”