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“Good morning, Sire.”
The words worked their way through Merlin’s brain slowly, and as he began to wake up he registered the sounds of Morris opening the curtains. It was promptly followed by streams of light falling across his face, and Merlin reluctantly opened his eyes.
He watched Morris move away from the window, coming to stand by a table that had several different types of food laid out on it. “I’ve brought you breakfast,” Morris said.
Merlin, still half-asleep, forced himself to sit up in bed, waving his hand about in dismissal. “Thank you, Morris, that will be all.”
Morris nodded, eyes focussed intently on the ground. “I also laid out your clothes,” Merlin had barely any time to notice said clothes were indeed at the foot of his bed before Morris spoke quickly once more, “and the Court Physician said he would like to see you in his chambers later.”
And with that, he excused himself from the room quickly, shutting the door near silently on the way out.
Merlin sighed, rubbing one hand across his face as he got out of bed and shivering slightly as his bare feet hit the not-yet warmed stone floor. Morris was a skittish sort—though he had been his manservant for years and was very good at his job, Merlin’s very existence seemed to make him nervous, more often than not.
Well, that was the price of being the Prince of Camelot, he supposed.
Merlin settled down to begin eating.
“You wanted to see me, Gaius?” Merlin called, poking his head around the door and looking around for the man, only to frown upon realising the room was empty. “Gaius?” Merlin asked again, stepping into the room.
“How many times have I told you to knock?” a voice rang down, causing Merlin to look up in surprise. He saw Gaius standing up on the balcony, a book in hand, before he tripped (and oh, maybe he should have stopped walking), stumbling into one of the many work benches scattered across the room and sending all the contents crashing towards the ground.
Reacting almost without thinking, Merlin flung his hand out, feeling a familiar heat well up inside him as his eyes burned and he froze all the objects in mid-air before they could shatter.
Smiling in victory, Merlin gently floated them back onto the workbench, making sure nothing broke after all that effort—only to find himself slapped on the back of the head in the next second.
“Ow!” Merlin cried, rubbing at the place he had been hit as he turned to look at Gaius, who had made his way back downstairs since Merlin had first entered the room. “What was that for?”
“Stupid boy!” the older man responded. “How many times have I told you not to do magic here? What if Cedric had been in?”
And, well, Gaius had a point, but the fact was his apprentice wasn’t in, which Merlin was quick to point out.
Only to find himself being slapped on the head once more. “He could have walked in on it. Your magic is a secret, Merlin, how often must I get it through that thick head of yours?”
Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He’d heard the same thing at least once a day since he’d been born, practically, and he didn’t like Cedric anyway.
Cedric was Gaius’ newest apprentice—the man was a complete slacker and obviously only in Camelot to try and curry favour with the royal household, but Gaius was always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, and had given Cedric a chance. Merlin had warned Gaius that Cedric doubtless only there for money and that he wouldn’t last long at all, but the physician refused to listen.
Oh well—he’d see Merlin was right eventually. Until then, though, Merlin just had to put up with Cedric and his tendency to suck up whenever he was in the same room as the prince.
Putting Cedric from his mind, Merlin leaned up against the same work bench he had just walked into several minutes prior, crossing his arms over his chest casually. “Yes, yes, I hereby promise not to do any magic when someone in the vicinity may in fact witness it.”
He hardly sounded serious, but before Gaius could berate him for the fact, Merlin continued to hurry the conversation along. “So, what did you need to see me for?” he inquired.
At this, Gaius seemed to recall that he had indeed requested Merlin’s presence. “Ah, yes.”
He walked away, eyes scanning over the fairly messy room before he began moving things aside, looking under things, and generally making things even messier.
Merlin watched him in confusion for a few minutes as he heard Gaius mutter quietly to himself, asking where he’d put something, but Gaius was doing an awful lot of bending for his age and Merlin was worried he’d hurt himself. “Er, Gaius?”
No sooner had he spoken than did Gaius straighten up with a sound oddly resembling victory. “Not to worry, I’ve found the blasted thing. I have something for you.”
Merlin perked up immediately, straightening up as a smile began making its way across his features. “Really?” His eyes immediately fell to Gaius’ hands, but the physician had one of them closed in a loose fist, which Merlin couldn’t help eyeing eagerly.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked.
Gaius arched The Eyebrow at Merlin, and Merlin felt his smile fall slightly in response. “What?”
The Eyebrow remained, and Merlin desperately tried to remember what he’d forgotten until Gaius finally took pity on him.
“It’s your birthday,” he explained, opening his hand to reveal Merlin’s present. “Your twentieth, if you’ve forgotten that as well.”
Merlin blinked. Well, that explained why his breakfast had been more elaborate than usual. His eyes fell to Gaius’ now open palm.
“I know it’s not much, but I thought you might appreciate it more than a dagger.”
Merlin chuckled, remembering the incident from last year involving a dagger as his eyes roved over the simple leather bracelet. “It’s more than enough,” he said.
Gaius placed the leather bracelet into Merlin’s hand, squeezing his hand briefly in a comforting gesture. “Happy Birthday,” Gaius said, and Merlin appreciated that he didn’t elaborate beyond that as he murmured a soft “thanks” in reply, slipping the bracelet onto his wrist and smiling down at it before he turned his smile on Gaius.
He had always been there for Merlin, not just on birthdays but always, watching him grow, and Merlin looked fondly upon him as a mentor. A simple thanks could never convey his feelings properly, but Merlin lacked the the words to do so.
“Really, thank you,” he simply repeated.
Gaius smiled gently in response, but there was a certain sadness about it that Merlin couldn’t quite decipher. “Not at all, my boy. Now then,” he began, and Merlin had a horrible, sinking feeling about things to come. “I trust you remember the feast later tonight, at the very least.”
Merlin groaned; Gaius laughed.
“Now, now, it will be alright,” he said, putting his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Come, let’s sit down and talk.”
And Merlin really had no choice but to let Gaius steer him toward the table—for an old man, he could be surprisingly strong at times.
“So, how has Uther been?” Gaius asked when they were settled in at the table.
Merlin raised his eyebrows at Gaius in a somewhat impressive imitation of The Eyebrow. “Why ask me? You see him more than I do. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, considering he’d, you know, kill me if he found out I have magic.”
Gaius pursed his lips, but he did not argue the point. He had, after all, been the one to tell Merlin to never tell anyone his secret for fear of what the king would do. Merlin agreed, of course; perhaps most would have thought death a bit extreme considering Merlin was Uther’s son, but Merlin still remembered the time he’d accidentally created the Pendragon emblem in the fireplace as a child, right in front of his father.
Uther had been furious, shouting that sorcery was at work, ready to point an accusing finger at anyone present.
Only Gaius had been able to appease him, telling him it had just been a trick of the light, that there had been no magic. Uther had still sworn that any sorcerer under his roof would burn. He’d stared right at Merlin as he said it.
He had grown even colder, after that.
Merlin sighed, resting his head on his hand as he slumped to the side slightly. “Why does he hate magic so much, Gaius?” he asked with the tired air of someone who had asked the same question many times before.
Gaius frowned. “You know the answer to that as well as I do, Merlin. Your father—”
“Yes, yes, a sorcerer tried to kill him, and magic is responsible for my mother’s death, I know. But not all magic is evil. I know it’s not.”
“Magic is neither good nor evil, Merlin, it’s how you use it,” Gaius gently reminded the prince of the fact yet again (Merlin had lost count of how many times he’d heard it over the years).
“Try telling that to my father,” Merlin mumbled, ignoring the look Gaius sent him.
“Just be patient, Merlin. One day you will be king, and then you can lift the ban and bring magic back to the land.”
Merlin didn’t answer. He didn’t want to be king. He didn’t even want to be a prince.
Merlin found that he was absolutely dreading the feast that night as he lounged about in his chambers, flipping through his book of magic (a gift from Gaius once Merlin had been old enough to read; Merlin had been studying every word of it dutifully ever since). He had never been particularly enthused about celebrating something as simple as his birthday over the years, and the despite the fact that he was now twenty, Gaius was still treating him as if he were a child, nagging him about his magic. It was so frustrating.
Still though, Gaius was right. Merlin had a duty as Prince of Camelot to do whatever was expected of him without complaining (or at least, not where anyone could hear him), and much as he didn’t want to, the feast was a celebration for him, and the people expected to see their prince.
Merlin might not have been very fond of the royal lifestyle, but he did love the people of Camelot unquestionably. He could not let them down.
Merlin was torn from his thoughts by the sound of the door opening, and when he looked up, he sat Morris standing a distance away, hands behind his back as he waited for Merlin to acknowledge his presence.
Well, it would be rude to keep him waiting. “Yes, Morris?” Merlin asked, not unkindly.
Morris flinched, and Merlin wondered not for the first time what had happened to him to make him so jumpy—who he had served before, that would make him so fearful of his master—but unwilling to pry.
“It’s. It’s just. For the feast tonight,” Morris stammered. “Is there anything you need, Sire?”
Merlin hardly needed a moment to think about it, ignoring the feeling of dread that crept over him at the very mention of the feast. “No, thank you, Morris, that will be all. You’re dismissed—I do not require your services at the feast. Take the night off.”
It was something Merlin allowed him quite frequently, and Morris bowed his head quickly. “Yes, Sire. Thank you, Sire.”
And he was out the door before Merlin could say another word.
The feast wouldn’t have been quite so awkward if it hadn’t been a feast specifically for the celebration of the prince’s birthday. At least, that was what Merlin thought. Feasts were always boring, but a feast celebrating his existence was not only boring but slightly mortifying.
Not that it was anything new—Merlin could recall a feast every year celebrating the fact ever since he was five. But it had only become an embarrassing spectacle once he’d become old enough, and sitting through them was a special brand of torture. The chairs were uncomfortable (the clothes more so), the foods too rich for his palate, everyone following his every movement, and his father’s expectations weighed heavily upon his shoulders.
When he had been younger, he’d attempted to express his dislike of them to his father, but Uther had merely turned his nose up at Merlin and called him ungrateful.
Merlin hadn’t tried again since.
Uther attended every single one, of course, but Merlin had never gotten the impression it was because the king wanted to attend, but more like he felt he had to. This one was no different, with Uther making a short speech about the Prince of Camelot and how proud he was. They were words that might have meant more if Merlin hadn’t known his father only said them because he knew the people expected it, but Merlin tried not to think about that.
When Uther sat down again, he leaned toward Merlin (sitting to his father’s right) with a stern look on his face.
“I trust your behaviour won’t disappoint me this year,” he said quietly.
Merlin nodded, plastering a smile onto his face in order to better pretend that nothing was wrong to anyone who might be looking at them.
Over the years, Merlin’s clumsiness had tended to get the better of him, and most feasts in his honour tended to end in some sort of minor (though salvageable) disaster, like the time he had been twelve and accidentally spilled his drink all over the front of a visiting delegate’s dress. Uther had played it off as best he could, offering the woman a sincere apology on Merlin’s behalf and everything, but he had still boxed Merlin’s ears later that night.
He’d made every effort to never to make a mistake like that again.
It seemed to have paid off this year, because nothing in particular went wrong for once. Well, it nearly had when Merlin accidentally stepped on the end of the tablecloth at one point, but the second it and the food started sliding Merlin realised what he’d done and removed his foot. Uther shot him a glare, but at least Merlin had averted a crisis (and a severe punishment).
The troupe hired for the event was, of course, entertaining (if only they hadn’t been hired solely because it was his birthday, Merlin might have enjoyed it more), and Merlin tried his best to allow himself to get swept up in it all, drinking more than he probably should have in an effort to play along as best he could, despite the fact that he was terrible with his drink and everyone knew it.
All in all though, it wasn’t completely horrible (aside from the part where it was horrible), so Merlin couldn’t complain.
He didn’t know why, but even to that day, he still didn’t feel like he belonged there.
The next morning, Merlin awoke with a pounding headache (which wasn’t all that surprising, given the amount of alcohol he’d consumed)—but he’d only been conscious for a few moments when Morris timidly entered the room with a potion in his hand.
“This is from Gaius, Sire,” he said softly, as if he didn’t want to exacerbate Merlin’s headache farther with a loud voice as he came over to the bed and placed it gingerly in Merlin’s waiting hand. “He says not to look at it or smell it—just down it in one.”
“Thank you, Morris,” Merlin mumbled. “You can go.”
Morris bowed his head and left quickly. Merlin stared at the potion with a grimace but plugged his nose and chugged it before he could talk himself out of it. Even then, the taste was foul, but his head cleared almost immediately, so Merlin couldn’t complain too much. Not that he’d ever want to know what went into making them.
Still, he didn’t have the time to sit around. If Gaius was forcing hangover cures at his manservant, Merlin knew training was soon. Training wasn’t particularly his favourite aspect of any day; Uther didn’t even let him lead the knights (no, that honour went to Sir Leon, Uther’s second-in-command), but it was still important, and so Merlin kicked off his blankets and tumbled out of bed.
Aside from Morris, no one would come into his room at such an early hour, and Merlin had already dismissed him, so Merlin dressed quickly and used his magic to help put his armour on (he could have done it without, but he always found putting it on difficult) before he left the room, trying to ignore the annoying constant noise his chainmail made.
He just wanted training to be over as soon as possible.
A few hours later found Merlin in the lower town, feeling slightly battered and bruised. He was hardly the best knight—he wasn’t even the strongest, the fastest, or any sort of –est, despite being the prince, but he at least managed to keep up.
Still, Merlin always liked being able to walk around the town after the fact so he could relax a bit; unless he drew attention to himself, no one ever seemed to notice his presence, which was always nice (the price of being a son Uther didn’t like to show off, Merlin supposed, not that he was complaining); it would have been far too much effort just to have to hide his face to go out among the people.
Everything was going fine, Merlin minding his own business as he dawdled about—but unfortunately he wasn’t paying close attention to his surroundings, and without meaning to he ended up bumping into someone. He stumbled back in surprise as he lifted his gaze to see just who he had walked into.
It was a boy around his own age, but where Merlin was lanky, he was burly, with blond hair in contrast to his own dark hair and with vivid blue eyes that easily rivalled his own—but that was all Merlin had time to take in before he noticed out of the corner of his eye that the beautiful stranger had dropped the basket he was carrying, food rolling out of it onto the dirty ground.
“I’m so sorry!” Merlin blurted out quickly, kneeling down as he began picking up what he could. It wasn’t much good, he knew; the food could be washed, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been ruined. Once he had placed everything back into the basket, he stood up, offering it back to the blond with an apologetic look on his face. “I’m so sorry,” Merlin repeated. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
But the boy didn’t take the offered item—instead, he stared at him in disbelief for a moment before his expression took an ugly turn, his lips curling back into a sneer. “You’re sorry? Who do you think you are?” he asked, disdain lacing his tone.
Merlin blinked, briefly thinking to himself that the boy’s looks had been wasted on him with such a prattish personality before he mentally waved such thoughts away. Clearly, this person didn’t know who he was, but Merlin didn’t find himself in a hurry to straighten that out. “Um, okay, clearly we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here...”
“The wrong foot?!” the stranger repeated. “Do you realise what you’ve done? How much all this cost?” His expression turned darker. “You’ll pay for that!” he shouted, and before Merlin knew what was happening, the boy was taking a swing at him.
Luckily, Merlin had good reflexes due to training, so he was able to dodge the blow easily enough by ducking to the side—and then cringed as the blond ended up slamming his fist into the wooden pole behind Merlin and let out a shout of pain and surprise both.
Despite the situation, Merlin wanted to apologise for the injury, but the stranger seemed to recover quickly enough and without thinking he found himself dodging yet another swing from the blond (thankfully not hitting anything else when he missed).
It became a game of cat and mouse after that, with Merlin backing away and evading every attack, holding the basket close while the stranger continued moving forward, taking a swing wherever he could.
And surprisingly enough, Merlin found himself somewhat amused by it all—he was far too used to people treating him like the prince he was, and there was no real danger here; it was a nice change of pace from his everyday life.
Not to mention, he was pretty confident that he could keep dodging until the other boy finally ran out of steam.
Which was of course, when the blond finally managed to back him into a corner.
Their antics had attracted quite a crowd by now, and just because his adversary didn’t realise he was the prince didn’t mean he was going to stay anonymous for much longer.
“I’m sorry we took so long, Sire,” the patrol leader apologised. “We’ll have this ruffian thrown into the dungeons immediately for daring to attack his highness.”
The look on the stranger’s face was completely worth all the hassle as the words sunk in and he proceeded to realise just who it was that he had been (one-sidedly) fighting with.
Still, he wasn’t cruel enough to want him to get tossed into the dungeons.
“No, wait,” he told them. “It’s fine, let him go.”
The guards obeyed without hesitation, releasing their grip on the other boy and leaving him standing there with a look of confusion on his face as Merlin dismissed the guards before he offered the blond a half smile, finally managing to push the basket toward him again and then walking past him without offering further explanation.
Part of him expected that to be the end of it, but he found he wasn’t all that surprised when he heard the other boy shouting for him to wait up.
Not that Merlin did.
He smiled to himself as he heard the blond catching up anyway, though Merlin pointedly did not look at him and heard a huff of annoyance in response.
“Why did you tell them to let me go?” he asked Merlin (which to be fair, was the obvious question).
Merlin merely shrugged. “It seemed like the right thing to do,” he said, finally turning to look at his uninvited companion. He looked confused, but it didn’t last very long and he gritted his teeth as they continued walking side by side, obviously struggling to say something as Merlin watched him with curiosity.
“I just...wanted to say I’m sorry for my behaviour earlier. It was uncalled for,” the blond finally ground out, sounding like he wanted to be anywhere else at that moment in time.
But the apology had Merlin laughing, instead. “Is that only because you realised I’m the prince?”
The other boy looked embarrassed, but it didn’t stop him from answering. “Actually, it was mainly because I thought you could have me executed if I didn’t.”
Merlin laughed outright at the blond’s honesty, finding he didn’t mind much. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, picking up his pace slightly as he walked away.
This time he knew without a doubt the stranger was going to keep following him, though how he knew, he couldn’t say. Of course, why he was still following him, Merlin had no idea, but it wasn’t like he minded. Though Merlin had no real destination in mind, whereas the other boy probably did. He stopped abruptly at that thought (ignoring the blond’s grunt of surprise), turning to his temporary companion with a focussed look on his face.
“About the food I accidentally made you drop...was that dinner for tonight?”
The blond looked at him in surprise before quickly growing flustered as his earlier bravado seemed to fade somewhat, glancing down at the basket he still carried, all the food inside it still coated with dust and who knew whatever else littered the ground. “Ah, um, yeah.”
Merlin’s face fell as the guilt began to sink in; he hadn’t meant to make such a mess of everything, and cursed himself for not paying better attention to his surroundings. “I’m sorry,” he said, and it occurred to him that it was rare for him to apologise so many times in one day, to anyone, not since he had been very young. “I’ll buy you more to make up for it.”
The other boy stepped back in shock, staggering slightly as if he had been wounded. “What?!” he asked loudly, but Merlin was already walking off before the blond could even think of stopping him.
“Wait,” the boy said. “You can’t do this.”
Merlin laughed. “I’m the prince. I kind of can.”
The blond wrinkled his nose, making a face like he still couldn’t believe this was actually happening to him, but obviously unable to argue with Merlin (naturally—Merlin had a point and all).
Merlin finished buying from the first stall, now carrying a basket of his own as he turned to the other boy. “So, what else?”
The blond stared at him without responding.
Unsure if his words had even gotten through the other boy’s skull, Merlin stared back at him intently, eyes unblinking.
Nearly ten seconds passed, and suddenly the blond was listing off everything else he needed as if without thinking.
Smiling brightly in response, Merlin turned away, obviously intent on going to all the other necessary stalls, but before leaving he grabbed his companion by the arm, dragging him along for the ride without bothering to ask for permission.
Merlin was willing to bet the blond was a bit flummoxed by everything and was merely allowing himself to be dragged along. Merlin could feel the muscles bunching in the boy’s arm underneath his hand—there was a very strong possibility that the stranger was stronger than him, physically, but Merlin knew he could take him in a fight due to his magic (except for the part where it was banned, so maybe not).
Merlin’s basket was nearly completely full by the time they had finished shopping, and Merlin gently took away the other basket from his companion before he handed the new one to the boy with a small smile. “Sorry again,” he said.
The blond looked puzzled, as if he couldn’t understand why Merlin was still apologising, and Merlin could somewhat see where he was coming from in that regard. After all, Merlin had bumped into him, but it had been the other boy who had started the fight; Merlin had let him off, in the end, and also proceeded to buy all of his food (again) for him—so most probably, the stranger thought he had more to be apologising for.
Clearly, he was following the other boy’s thought process pretty well, though his companion didn’t actually apologise. All he said was, “I’ll pay you back as soon as possible, your highness.”
Merlin simply smiled at him and shook his head. “Merlin.”
The other boy was clearly caught off guard by that, and simply stood there for a moment, stunned as Merlin looked at him expectantly.
The blond, however, just kept staring, so Merlin figured he should move the conversation along a bit.
“And you are...?”
“What?” The question was asked without thought, but hearing his own voice seemed to snap the blond out of his shock. “Oh, Arthur. I’m Arthur.”
Merlin’s smile widened into a grin. “Maybe I’ll see you around, Arthur.”
He began walking away before he paused, turning around and raising his hand in a wave before he finally disappeared into the crowd.
If he had bothered to look back, though, he would have seen Arthur standing there, frozen, looking bewildered beyond all belief.
In a way, he was glad, because it meant he didn’t have to explain what had just happened out in the marketplace. Not that he wanted to keep it a secret but Arthur wasn’t even sure where to begin in telling her that he’d met the prince. The prince! It still felt far too surreal.
He set the basket the prince—Merlin, Arthur mentally corrected himself—had bought him down in the kitchen before slumping into a nearby chair.
Arthur had been surprised to realise all the rumours he’d heard about Merlin were true; he was almost absurdly nice (Arthur didn’t meet very many nice people, but then, he was never very nice to them either), even to people who had nearly punched him in the face.
Okay, so he had a temper, Arthur could admit that. He ran a hand over his face as he sighed, mentally going over the entire meeting. Arthur was surprised that no one had bothered them after their altercation; it seemed that unless Merlin drew attention to himself, he passed by unnoticed.
A nifty trick, when you were someone as important as Merlin was, Arthur figured.
He was torn from his thoughts by the sound of the door opening, and Arthur looked up to see his mother entering the house.
“Oh hello, Arthur, dear,” she said, eyes alighting on the basket in the kitchen. “And you got everything from the marketplace, there’s a good lad.”
Arthur got to his feet and gave his mother a hug in greeting. He’d been prepared to explain where the food came from, that the prince had bought it for them, but the words got stuck in his throat, and instead Arthur stepped away without telling her, watching with a fond smile as his mother bustled about preparing dinner.
When they had settled down to eat, the last words Merlin had said came back to him.
Maybe I’ll see you around, Arthur.
Merlin wanted to see him again, possibly. It was a strange thought—but Arthur couldn’t help thinking that maybe he’d like to see Merlin again, too.
He got what he wanted a week later.
Merlin shook his head ruefully, but he couldn’t help laughing quietly. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he hadn’t been able to get Arthur out of his head since their first meeting—there was no one else quite like him that Merlin had ever met.
Of course, there were other things about Arthur that made him memorable, too (but Merlin was trying not to think about Arthur’s stupid pretty face), and Arthur’s behaviour could always have been a fluke, but from what Merlin had seen of his personality, he didn’t think that was likely.
Wondering what had caused the altercation currently going on a short distance from him, Merlin walked over calmly, coming to stand next to Arthur as he fixed both Arthur and the man on the cart with a piercing stare. “Is there a problem here?” he asked, trying his hardest to be stern and professional about the situation (made harder because Merlin wanted to do nothing more than dissolve into laughter, so he wasn’t sure how well he was actually succeeding).
Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Arthur looked surprised, and Merlin couldn’t blame him. He, himself, had never actually expected to see Arthur around, no matter what he’d said (no matter how much he had wanted to). After all, Merlin was the prince, and they hadn’t met even once in twenty years—so twice in a week was unexpected, but not unpleasant.
The man in the cart was the first to answer the question, his angry expression from before melting into one Merlin had seen many times over the years—someone trying to suck up to him. “Not at all, your highness,” the man practically purred. Merlin forced himself not to cringe. “This...boy is simply giving me a hard time and trying to cheat me out of receiving the full price for my wares. I gave the buyer several days to get me the money, but they still refuse. It’s not this boy’s problem at all, and yet he got involved anyway.”
Arthur was quick to jump in before the man could say anything else. “That is not true!” he protested. “He flagrantly overcharged them, and if they refused, it’s only because the fabric didn’t cost anywhere near that much. I will not sit by and watch this man try to con his way into more money from innocent people.”
Merlin found that he was surprised at Arthur’s passion, at wanting to help even though it had nothing to do with him, and he was forced to hide a smile as he looked between the two of them. Arthur would have no reason to lie when he wasn’t even the one who the man had tried to cheat, but just because the man was a slimy creep didn’t mean it was anything to throw him into the dungeons for; a peaceful resolution would have been much simpler, and so Merlin reached into his tunic and pulled out a small pouch of gold coins, which he proceeded to toss at the man in the cart.
“This will be more than enough, I presume?”
The man’s face transformed into one of absolute greed as he pocketed the gold quickly. “Oh, yes your highness, you are most generous.”
Arthur had a sour look on his face as the man drove off, interrupting Merlin’s thoughts of how much the man had reminded him of Cedric with a short, “you shouldn’t have done that.”
Merlin glanced sidelong at him curiously. “Why?”
“It wasn’t your problem.”
Merlin tilted his head to the side slightly. “Wasn’t your problem either.”
“Yes, well, I was handling it.”
“So I can’t help a friend?” Merlin asked.
Arthur went to respond before he paused, the sour look having been replaced by one of confusion. “...friend?”
Merlin blinked. “Aren’t we?”
Arthur seemed to be at a loss for words, or at least at a loss as to how to react in their current situation, and he pursed his lips (Merlin decidedly did not stare at them. Not at all. Not even a little.) as he thought the question over.
“I guess...we are,” he said slowly after a minute or two.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a friend before,” Merlin teased.
The look on Arthur’s face spoke volumes, and Merlin’s face fell in response. “Oh. Sorry.”
But Arthur shook his head. “No, don’t worry about it. My mother says I never really got on with anyone, even when I was a child.”
Merlin found that he was intrigued—not just by the statement but about the mention of Arthur’s mother. But then, Merlin figured, that was simply because he’d never had one of his own. “And what does your father say?”
Arthur’s brow wrinkled. “I wouldn’t know—I’ve never met him. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”
He paused abruptly, as if what he had said had just sunk in. “Um, sorry. Not sure why I said that.”
Missing a parent, though, Merlin could associate with. Somewhat empathetically, he said, “it’s alright. I never knew my mother either.”
Arthur offered Merlin a tight smile; more of a pained grimace, really. Merlin realised suddenly that there wasn’t much Arthur could say in response, because everyone already knew the story of Ygraine Pendragon.
It was famous, after all—the fact that she had died in childbirth (and Merlin wanted to blame himself; after all, if she hadn’t had him, she wouldn’t have died, but in the end, all Merlin knew about her was stories, and the only feeling he ever had when he thought about her was the dull ache that came with missing a parent), that Uther blamed magic for her death (but he refused to elaborate on the why or how behind it all).
What the people and Uther both didn’t know was how Merlin lived in fear of being discovered every single day of his life, not knowing if his father would execute him or not, and unwilling to reveal the truth because he wasn’t willing to take that risk, and how much it hurt Merlin to stay silent as yet more of his kin were slaughtered day by day.
“I didn’t mean...” he started, biting at his lip and knowing that he’d made the entire situation awkward for both of them by mentioning his mother (for Merlin, especially) when her very name triggered all kinds of emotions in Merlin’s memory.
But Arthur shook his head. Merlin knew Arthur couldn’t read his thoughts, so there was no real reason for Arthur to blame him for mentioning it at all, but Merlin could read Arthur’s face—could read how much Arthur obviously wanted to move past the current topic, and Merlin couldn’t blame him, considering—
“I know, I’m sorry; this is only the second time we’ve met, and here were are discussing our family lives, which is more than a bit odd. But, well, I don’t know, for some reason it’s just so easy to talk with you...which is even odder, and I should probably stop talking now.”
Arthur looked thoughtful, now. “It is odd,” he agreed. “But not in a bad way, especially considering you’re the prince—”
He abruptly cut himself off and took a step back, and Merlin’s features transformed into one of confusion. “What’s wrong?”
Arthur’s face had a bit of a look resembling horror on it. “You’ve probably got some royal duty to attend to or something, don’t you, that’s why you’re out here, and now I’ve gone and distracted you from it. I should go, let you get back to it before you get in trouble, or worse, they decide to execute me over it.”
Merlin, however, merely stared at him in confusion as he watched Arthur take another step back, and then another, and another, until he had finally turned around with every intention of obviously running away.
“I actually just wanted to walk around after my patrol ended, which was awhile ago,” he called to Arthur’s retreating back. “And why are you always so sure these scenarios would end in your death? I wouldn’t let them kill you.”
Thankfully, that seemed to give Arthur pause, and he turned around slowly, scepticism etched across his features that Merlin easily caught.
“What, you don’t believe me?”
“No, no, I do,” Arthur backtracked quickly. “It’s just, you’ve got a castle, really, why hang around here—” the with me went unspoken between them “—more than you need to? It can hardly be the view.”
Merlin couldn’t help dragging his eyes down Arthur’s body quickly for a moment, observing that the view right in front of him was pretty fantastic (that wasn’t exactly something he could say out loud, though), but Arthur had a fair point, Merlin could concede that much.
It wasn’t like he had expected Arthur to understand so easily, but it was just—
“Can I tell you a secret?”
Arthur began walking closer, the scepticism now replaced by intrigue, and Merlin decided to take that as a yes. When Arthur was finally standing in front of him again, Merlin finally let slip what he’d never told another living soul.
“I actually prefer it down here compared to the castle; if I had the choice, I’d want to live here more.”
Arthur gaped at Merlin, obviously shocked by the confession, and Merlin couldn’t blame him for that either as he began worrying at his bottom lip; it had seemed like a good idea in the moments before he said it, but now he was starting to feel anxious as the shock on Arthur’s face had yet to fade. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
Not that he thought anyone would believe Arthur anyway, but it would be nice to have a reassurance of sorts—and apparently Arthur was on the same track he was, if the way he was nodding was any indication. Which just meant Merlin found himself slightly unbalanced when Arthur suddenly blurted out—
“There’s something about you, Merlin.”
Merlin could only blink in response, wondering if he should be worried or not, but finally he just settled on watching Arthur quietly, waiting to see if Arthur had anything more to say.
In return, Arthur simply seemed to be surveying him thoughtfully, resting his fingers and thumb against his chin and his index finger against his cheek. “I can’t quite put my finger on it. I mean, I’d heard the rumours, but...”
Now he most definitely had Merlin’s attention (not that he hadn’t before), because Merlin had never heard anything about rumours, and rumours weren’t always a good thing, so he asked, quickly, “Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”
Luckily, Arthur seemed to get what he meant without having to ask. “Oh, it’s good,” Arthur assured him, and while Merlin thought the fact that they were so easily on each other’s wavelength was a bit odd, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. “In fact, the rumours are so good, that I was starting to think you were made up.”
Caught off guard by the answer, Merlin laughed. No one had ever told him anything like that before, and he was glad that Arthur’s treatment towards him hadn’t been a fluke the first time, that he still treated Merlin like a person, instead of like a prince. All things considered, Arthur was like a breath of fresh air.
Arthur joined in with his own laughter after a moment, and vaguely, at the back of his mind, Merlin figured they were both somewhat aware of the fact that they were standing around like idiots in public laughing rather loudly, all things considered, but it was hard to care when they both found it so easy to just be with each other as their laughter finally began to subside.
They couldn’t stand there forever, both of them knew that—but it was Arthur who broke the comfortable silence between them. “Would you like to come to my house and have dinner?”
The way the question had been spoken so casually seemed like Arthur hadn’t even bothered to think over the question beforehand, but before Merlin could say anything in response Arthur was already backtracking. “You don’t have to,” he said quickly. “It’s just, you paid for our dinner the last time we met, and I feel kind of bad about that, and my mother’s a great cook when she has the right ingredients, and, well, it probably won’t be anything like the food at the castle, but—”
Merlin interrupted him swiftly.
“I’d love to.”
She obviously heard them come in, for she spoke without turning. “You’re a bit early, Arthur, dear. I didn’t expect you home for quite a bit longer—dinner won’t be ready for a while.”
Arthur offered Merlin a semi-apologetic look, but Merlin just grinned at him. It wasn’t like he minded having to wait in the slightest, and Arthur grinned back at him after a moment before the two of them focussed their gaze on Arthur’s mother.
Arthur, however, was the one to speak.
“Mother, we actually have company for dinner tonight, if that’s alright with you.”
Of course, such a statement easily grabbed her attention, and she turned away from the fire, already asking,
“Oh, and who would that be—”
Merlin could see the exact moment she caught sight of him.
His first impression of Arthur’s mother, upon seeing her, was that she didn’t look much like Arthur, but her eyes were very kind. Of course, he didn’t get long to muse on that impression, because she proceeded to grow very pale and sort of stagger back—as if she’d seen a ghost.
Merlin could only stand there, a confused look upon his face as he wondered why her seeing him had evoked such a reaction. He felt worse seeing Arthur rush forward, concerned as he simply stood there unable to do anything.
Arthur placed a gentle hand on his mother’s back to ensure she would keep standing upright and making sure she was okay. “Are you alright, mother?” he asked.
“I’m fine, Arthur,” she reassured her son as the colour started to come back into her cheeks. She looked in Merlin’s direction after a moment, a small but tight smile on her lips. “I was simply surprised to see his highness in my house.”
Merlin flushed, feeling sheepish. That made sense, after all—he supposed most people would be shocked if the Prince of Camelot simply entered their house without warning, and Arthur had the grace to look embarrassed as well. “I’m sorry, mother,” he said. “I know I should have warned you, but I just invited him without thinking.”
His mother blinked. “You ‘just invited’ the prince to have dinner with us? Arthur—”
Merlin felt awkward enough without having to witness this conversation—it felt like he was intruding on a private family moment, but her tone implied Arthur would have been chastised right in front of him if he’d been anyone but the prince, and Merlin couldn’t help jumping to Arthur’s defence.
“I’m sorry, um—”
“Call me Hunith,” she responded, before quickly adding, “if it’s alright with your highness.”
Merlin smiled. “No, no, it’s fine. You can call me Merlin, too. I don’t really need any of those fancy titles anyways.”
Hunith bit her lip—obviously she was unsure if she should, but in the end she merely inclined her head, and Merlin felt his smile widen.
“Right, so Hunith, um. It’s not Arthur’s fault I’m here. I mean, he did invite me, but I told him I’d love to come. We actually met last week—” and oops, he probably shouldn’t have said that if the look Hunith gave Arthur said anything as Arthur ducked his head (but, well, Merlin hadn’t known he hadn’t told her, but in Arthur’s defence, how exactly does someone explain something like that) “—and, well, we’re friends now, so...I really hope you don’t mind. Oh, but if it’s too much trouble, I can go,” he assured her. “I’d hate to be a burden.”
Hunith, however, was already shaking her head. “No, I’m sorry. I was just surprised; Arthur so rarely has company over, you see, and when I realised who you were, well—I was just caught off guard.”
Merlin didn’t know why, but for some reason, he felt oddly safe in her home. It was just, with Arthur there, and his mother, the two of them welcoming Merlin into their home and allowing him to be a normal person to the best of their ability, it felt...well, it felt nice.
“And for that, I apologise,” he said. “So, uh, what’s for dinner?”
Arthur laughed.
Merlin had never had a mother, but if he had to imagine what Ygraine would have been like, Merlin liked to imagine that she would have been a lot like Arthur’s mother.
It helped that Hunith seemed to genuinely love having him over, once she had recovered from the shock of the Prince of Camelot showing up to hang out with her son every so often, and seemed to treat Merlin much like she would a second son.
Occasionally, it would be just the two of them, if Arthur had a chore to run—most of the time, Merlin would stay behind in the house (no point in both of them leaving for menial tasks), and though she was lovely, Hunith could be—strangely cryptic at times. Now and again, she would ask him to take care of Arthur, with the explanation that Arthur wasn’t very good with people most of the time.
During times like that, Merlin could only smile at her in confusion and promise her that he would, and then she would hug him, whispering a soft “thank you” in his ear, and Merlin would blink, because he only occasionally received hugs from Gaius, and those weren’t exactly motherly.
Those times aside, though, Merlin and Arthur would spend time together quite frequently; whenever Merlin didn’t have patrol, or training with the knights, or any of his other princely duties, the two of them were often together, and Merlin didn’t particularly seem to care who saw them in each other’s company, for their difference in standing obviously meant nothing to him.
They balanced each other out; Merlin wasn’t really sure how, but it was almost like they completed each other, ridiculous as it sounded (but he wouldn’t say that, ever, it was far too intimate, far too embarrassing).
He could get Arthur to laugh at things, instead of taking immediate offence, and Arthur was always sure to help out when Merlin’s clumsiness got in the way, wrapping a firm hand around his upper arm and keeping it there until Merlin was the one to pull away (and he never wanted to, that was the problem).
Occasionally their antics got them into spots of trouble, like the time the two of them had tried to retrieve a goat from a tree—it was a long story (“You’re stepping on my neck, Merlin” “It’s okay, you’ve got a lot of fat to protect you.” “I am not fat! Here, let me climb up instead.” “No, wait—” “Ow!” “You clotpole, you landed on my foot!” “Too bad you don’t have fat to protect you then.” “I thought you weren’t fat?” “Shut up, Merlin.”).
Still, it wasn’t anything they couldn’t get themselves back out of. Usually (“Merlin, I specifically asked for tomatoes!” “I don’t like tomatoes.” “Well then I guess it’s a good thing they weren’t for you!” “I won’t get you tomatoes, you can go tomato-less and suffer.” “...Okay, whatever, you can continue your strange vendetta against tomatoes over there. I still need them.” “You’re on your own.”).
The more the two of them were together, the more Merlin could see new sides of Arthur.
It had hit him mostly vividly after the time Merlin had lost the leather bracelet Gaius had given him (how, he still wasn’t even sure) and Arthur had found it for him, but Merlin knew (as Arthur had tied it back around his wrist with a bright smile, and Merlin was lost), that it had been there from the start.
Arthur loved Camelot, to the point of practically singing its praises day after day (it was a bit flattering, actually, given that Merlin was prince of the fine kingdom of Camelot), loyal to a fault—a trait that extended to their friendship, as well; Arthur was always quick to leap to Merlin’s defence if needed.
He would be a great leader, Merlin thought, if it wasn’t for his temper and the fact that Arthur could at times be extremely overbearing; supercilious, even (which actually explained why Hunith had said he wasn’t very good with people), but even despite that, Arthur was still an honest and brave person. Kind, too, though he tried to pretend he wasn’t (it didn’t matter. Merlin had seen Arthur doing nice things for others when he thought no one could see. It was actually quite heartwarming).
With Arthur, Merlin didn’t have to be the prince; they were simply friends. In fact, Merlin joked, they were together so often, Arthur should just get a job in the castle as his manservant. The scandalised look Arthur shot him had been worth the joke, though it had backfired a bit when Merlin ended up imagining Arthur undressing him, and waking him up in the morning, and Merlin had just become flustered, instead.
Although Merlin didn’t care about their difference in standing, if there was one person he knew would, it was his father.
Thankfully, Uther didn’t pay much attention to him, but Merlin knew, if Uther had been aware of their friendship, he had no doubt that the king would likely demand his son “terminate their friendship” or something along those lines, and Merlin was definitely not willing to do that.
It was bad enough that Gaius didn’t seem to approve of their friendship. Merlin hadn’t gone out of his way to inform his mentor about his new friendship with a commoner, but somehow, Gaius had found out anyway.
“Merlin,” he had said, that day. “I’m...concerned about the boy you’ve been seeing.”
Merlin, halfway out the door, froze, turning back to look at Gaius in surprise. “Arthur?” he asked, stepping back into the room and letting the door fall shut. “What about him? He’s just a friend.” Even if Merlin wished otherwise.
“I don’t think you should continue your...friendship, with him.”
“What? Why?” Merlin asked with a frown. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“I know that, but imagine if Uther found out. If word ever reached the king, he would demand this folly end—and you would not get a say in the matter.”
Merlin crossed his arms, still frowning. “I know that. But it's not like Uther cares about what I do, so long as I don't bring shame to the Pendragon name. Having a friendship with a commoner is hardly at that level.”
Gaius pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure, Merlin.”
“Oh, come on. There is nothing wrong with just having a bit of fun.”
Gaius, however, didn’t seem to agree, and from then on, whenever Merlin managed to get out of the castle, Gaius was always standing there he returned, no matter what the hour was, with a disapproving look on his face and the Eyebrow.
But for all his threats he had made, Gaius never actually went and told Uther. Why, Merlin didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to question the small stroke of luck he’d been given.
And besides. Gaius tended to say the exact same things almost word-for-word whenever he found Merlin doing magic, and Merlin was pretty sure that befriending Arthur wasn’t quite as drastic as using magic where he could be seen—or at the very least, it wasn’t going to get him killed.
Of course, telling Arthur about his magic might do just that. In all honesty, Merlin wanted to tell him—and rather desperately at that.
But there was no changing the fact that magic was banned, and if Arthur let it slip, even accidentally, to the wrong person...it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Arthur, but thanks to Uther’s speeches on the evils of magic poisoning the minds of everyone in Camelot, Arthur seemed very sure that magic was evil, said that it wouldn’t have been banned otherwise.
Besides, even without that not-so-small issue, Merlin wasn’t even sure how to broach a topic like that. But despite all that, it was starting to kill him inside. It was made worse, because he knew Gaius knew he wanted to tell Arthur, if the way Gaius was reminding him at least three times a day that he could not tell anyone about his magic was any indication—before he’d met Arthur, it had only been once a day.
In the end he had tried—more than once, despite it all, starting with,
“Hey, Arthur...”
But before he could get the words out, he would always change the topic, often off of the top of his head, meaning there were occasionally awkward topic changes.
Like the time he’d commented that Arthur didn’t actually look much like Hunith, which had had Arthur staring at him in disbelief and slight offence as Merlin apologised quickly before Arthur shrugged it off, responding that he’d always assumed he looked more like his father—and then turning it around and Merlin and pointing out that Merlin didn’t look much like Uther, either, and Merlin had laughed awkwardly in return, glad that he hadn’t caused any damage (lasting or otherwise) to their friendship.
Not that Arthur wasn’t sending mixed signals like crazy at times in that regard, making Merlin doubt even something as simple as their friendship. It wasn’t much, honestly—a brushing of shoulders here, a hand on the small of his back there, stares that lingered far beyond the norm—all the time. It was an almost constant touching that left Merlin simultaneously wanting more while feeling cold inside, because really, Arthur seemed oblivious to it all, despite being the instigator, and Merlin could never bring himself to do anything first; could barely bring himself to reciprocate, afraid his actions would be too obvious, in return, afraid that acting on anything would destroy their friendship, but unwilling to put a stop to it in the first place—because despite the feelings it caused, he placed his friendship with Arthur above everything (even his own feelings).
It started with a request from Gaius—he had asked Merlin to help him pick some herbs he needed. Rare (he felt the need to impress upon Merlin), important, very much so needed herbs which grew in a forest that could be found beyond The White Mountains.
And Merlin, though he was the prince, had of course agreed, because ever since he’d been a young boy he had always assisted Gaius with things like that. Uther rarely trusted him with things like council meetings, or affairs of state, and seemed happy to pass Merlin along to Gaius whenever the physician needed him.
Merlin also asked Arthur to come with him—for the sake of company, if nothing else, because the journey would be a long one, and picking herbs was not a very exciting business; especially not when he was forced to travel much farther from Camelot than normal.
Arthur seemed to be of a similar mind, and was hardly thrilled as the aspect of such a long journey only to go tromping about in the forest searching for herbs of all things, but in the end agreed to go anyways, “as a loyal friend should.”
Despite the fact that the two of them left at first light; the sun was already down by the time they arrived at the forest, and the two of them agreed that the herbs, no matter how important, could wait until the sun had risen the next day.
If they could even manage to sleep that night.
“I cannot believe you forgot the sleeping bags,” Arthur said, not for the first time.
“I wasn’t thinking about it!” Merlin protested (also not for the first time). “Gaius had me packing up books and pouches and every other little thing needed in order to find the herbs in question. Sleeping bags weren’t exactly on my list of priorities.”
“They should have been,” Arthur argued. “We’re in the middle of a forest, Merlin. It’s going to get cold.”
Merlin pointed at the fire they had made emphatically. “It’ll keep us warm.”
Arthur gave Merlin a look. “Yes, it will. Up until it goes out in the middle of the night. Seeing as how we’ll be too busy sleeping to keep it going.”
Merlin had a sinking feeling as to where the conversation was headed, and he searched his mind desperately for another idea.
“We could, uh...sleep in shifts?” That could work, Merlin thought.
“I’m exhausted, and you don’t look much better off. I don’t think either of us could actually manage to stay awake for half the night.” Or not.
Well that just wasn’t fair, Merlin thought. His magic could have kept the fire going all night, but seeing as how Arthur didn’t know about the magic, that was definitely a no go.
“Fine,” Merlin gave up. “Do you have any better ideas?”
Arthur nodded. “Body heat.”
“Um,” Merlin balked. “What?”
“Body heat,” Arthur repeated. “If we maintain physical contact throughout the night, we won’t get cold.”
Merlin winced inwardly. He’d been afraid of that solution, but nothing better was coming to mind, and he knew Arthur had a point, but that didn’t make it any less awkward. And Arthur was waiting impatiently for his answer.
“Oh fine,” Merlin snapped half-heartedly, and that was how they ended up sleeping back-to-back (Arthur had tried to wrap his arms around him, but Merlin had firmly argued against that—he most definitely would not be able to handle being in Arthur’s arms).
Merlin had a hard time falling asleep that night, feeling Arthur’s back against his the entire time.
“Does Gaius make you do this often, then?” Arthur asked, sounding curious.
Merlin made a small noise of assent. “Sometimes. I’ve been helping him since I was little, so whenever his apprentice is busy he asks for my help; I don’t mind. Not that he usually sends me this far.”
Thankfully, Gaius had gotten rid of Cedric some months prior, once he had finally realised that the man actually was a greedy slimeball who had only been interested in trying to win favour with Merlin so that he could climb higher up the ranks and eventually reach a position that allowed him to steal from the royal household.
Merlin had absolutely not said “I told you so.”
If only because Gaius had cut him off mid-sentence.
Gaius’ new apprentice was a man named Matthew, who had travelled from one of the outlying villages looking for work in Camelot. He was clumsy and awkward, but he did know his herbs, and he definitely didn’t have any sort of hidden agenda—he was one of the best apprentices Gaius had had in a long while, Merlin thought.
It took a few hours, but eventually Merlin found that he had successfully collected enough of the herbs Gaius needed. Feeling rather satisfied with himself, he placed the last of them in the pouch hanging from his waist and stood up, offering Arthur a smile.
“You’ll be happy to know my job here is officially finished, and we can go now.”
He chuckled as Arthur completely failed at hiding his groan of relief, and the two of them began walking back to where they had left the horses.
There wasn’t much to say on the way back, both of them caught up in their own thoughts—or at least, Merlin was, up until Arthur suddenly bumped his shoulder against his own, and Merlin couldn’t help but laugh as he shoved Arthur back.
After that, it was a race of sorts, as Merlin dashed away from Arthur and Arthur gave chase. Merlin wasn’t particularly focussing on where he was going—but before he knew it, he couldn’t hear the sounds of Arthur following him anymore, and he was alarmed to find that a thick fog was settling in around him—so thick that he could hardly see in front of him.
“Arthur?” He called, somewhat tentatively, but there was no response.
Merlin bit his lip. He had no way of knowing when the fog would eventually lift, but he knew he couldn’t stay where he was—due to the fog he barely knew where he was, and his top priority was finding Arthur.
As that didn’t leave him many options, Merlin could do nothing but continue walking, trying to see through the fog as best he could. It was useless though; Merlin could barely see his own hands, let alone anything farther away. No helping it, then.
“Gespyrian,” he whispered, just in case Arthur was nearby. It was a risk, using his magic, but the fog had come so suddenly, and if Arthur was in danger...
The tracking spell was simple enough; all Merlin had to do was keep walking and it would lead him straight to Arthur, at least in theory (the price of never having used the spelled before).
Still, just walking and hoping the spell had worked made Merlin restless, so in the end Merlin settled for shouting Arthur’s name as he continued moving forward.
No matter how much he shouted, though, no matter how often, there was never a response, and Merlin was growing worried. Surely they hadn’t wandered that far from each other? And even if they had, the tracking spell was supposed to guide him.
The tracking spell led him to—what its name was, he couldn’t say, but...just looking at it filled him with dread; the magical power he could sense coming from it was absolutely immense, and it gave Merlin a horrible, uneasy feeling.
The fog was too thick for him to make out any details about it, but Merlin didn’t need to see it to know that the place before him was cursed. His magic may have guided him there, but it was screaming at him now, telling him that the place was cursed and Merlin knew he was better off not going anywhere near it.
Except that Arthur was possibly in there.
So Merlin tried to ignore the feeling to the best of his abilities, and forced himself to continue forward despite his instincts screaming at him.
It didn’t escape his notice that the farther in he walked, the more the fog started to lessen, but it still hadn’t fully receded when Merlin saw the outline of a person in it just a short distance away from him.
Merlin ran toward them without hesitation. “Arthur?!” he shouted; desperate, hopeful that the spell had worked. But by the time he reached the figure the fog had dissipated fully, and standing before him was not Arthur, but an older, kindly looking man Merlin had never seen before in his life.
The realisation brought Merlin up short, and he took several steps back, eyeing the stranger before him warily. His magic did not sense anything evil about the man, and despite his caution over the spell having clearly failed, he was (mostly) sure he had nothing to fear, and so Merlin’s determination to leave the area and find Arthur overcame any lingering hesitation he had.
“Who are you?” he asked. “And where am I? How do I get out of here?”
But the man did not seem to care much for his plight, for he merely smiled and said,
“My name is Taliesin, and you are in The Valley of the Fallen Kings. Come; there is something I must show you.”
Which wasn’t really the sort of answer Merlin wanted in the slightest, because he wasn’t even really sure what was going on, and he couldn’t think of a reason as to why he should follow the stranger before him, but Merlin was willing to give Taliesin the benefit of the doubt. “What?”
Instead of answering, though, Taliesin simply turned around and began walking away, gesturing for Merlin to follow him. “You must wait and see,” he said without looking back; without even slowing down, as if he had every confidence that Merlin would indeed follow him.
And really, Merlin knew he didn’t have to listen; didn’t have to follow this man. He could turn around right that second and continue looking for Arthur—but something deep down inside him told him that the man, Taliesin, meant him no harm, and that he should follow him and see what he had to say, and before he could second-guess himself Merlin found himself doing just that, following Taliesin deeper into the valley quietly.
Merlin raised his head to see a cave of some sort, or at least that was what it seemed to be, and he frowned, already anxious and worried about Arthur (couldn’t help wondering if he was alright, if he hadn’t gotten lost in the fog as well), and even though he had made the choice to follow Taliesin, he was starting to regret it.
“Why have you brought me here?” he asked, perhaps a bit more sharply than he would have otherwise.
But Taliesin just smiled gently at him; though if Merlin wasn’t mistaken, the smile held a hint of sadness in it.
“In good time, you will discover all.”
For a moment, Merlin found he could only stare at Taliesin in utter disbelief, but before he could actually find his voice once more to question him, Taliesin had gestured toward the cave before stepping inside, obviously meaning for Merlin to follow him.
And this was it, Merlin knew, this was the moment where he could choose to walk away, and no one would stop him. But, in the end, his curiosity won out; the magic in his blood was telling him to move forward, as if compelled, and Merlin entered the cave before he could rethink his decision.
What he saw—
Merlin’s feet came to a stop as he stared at his surroundings in a certain amount of awe.
The entire cave was filled with crystals, from top to bottom, and he could feel the magic emanating from them—but it wasn’t a particularly good feeling of magic, and Merlin hesitated.
“What is this place?” he asked, almost breathlessly.
“It is the Crystal Cave,” Taliesin responded.
Merlin glanced back at Taliesin in confusion, for he had never heard of such a place. But Taliesin did not elaborate on the statement—wasn’t even looking at him, was instead observing the crystals, and after a moment, Merlin did the same.
The crystals called to him, really; unwelcomely so, for they created a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach, but they called to him nonetheless, singing to him, asking to be looked at, to be looked into, and almost against his will, Merlin began walking forward, closer to them.
One on his right sang particularly loudly, and before Merlin could even consider stopping himself he was turning his head to look at it.
And there, in the crystal—
Arthur stood before the corpse of Uther, the king’s eyes open, blank and unseeing. A look of disbelief was clear on his face and his cheeks were wet with tears as he stared down at his open palm; down at the same leather bracelet that was currently on Merlin’s wrist.
Merlin pressed his other hand firmly against his bracelet as he ripped his gaze away from the crystal with a gasp, now feeling like he might actually be physically ill; the feeling of looking into the crystal, of witnessing what he had, was almost beyond horrific, and he shakily turned to look at Taliesin, who looked rather expectant; concerned, too, but it did not stop him from asking, “what did you see?”
“Images. A vision? What...”
“The crystals can tell you what is, what has been, and what will be,” Taliesin said. “You must look into them—really look. Much will be revealed.”
Merlin, already jittery and still feeling nauseous from his first glance into the crystal, looked at Taliesin with surprise and more than a little bit of apprehension; but as much as he wanted to say no, he knew he couldn’t, and so instead he turned back to the crystals.
But their magic was almost overwhelming, this time, and he tore himself away before he could see anything. “I can’t,” he said, vehemently.
Taliesin looked troubled and confused, but Merlin didn’t care, not after the images of what he had seen (a future in a time that would hopefully never happen) continued flittering through his mind.
“Take me out of here. I need to find Arthur.”
“You will not be able to find your friend until your task here is done,” Taliesin said, “for the Crystal Cave was the one that separated the two of you and brought you here, not I. It drew you toward it. Once you have done this, you will easily find him again.” He looked almost searchingly at Merlin before he continued. “Perhaps there is a reason you were brought here at this moment in time.”
That brought Merlin pause—halted his thoughts in their tracks. “What reason?”
“Only the crystals can tell you,” he said. “The power of the crystals is hidden to all but a very few. You are one such person. The secrets they reveal are unique to you...and you alone. Look into them.”
Merlin shook his head, feeling his eyes burning with unshed tears due to the power of the crystals; they were irresistible in a terrifying way, and the thought of looking into them again was sickening.
But Taliesin would not so easily give up. “Really look,” he repeated, but when Merlin shook his head again Taliesin merely raised one arm, pointing at the crystals beyond Merlin.
“Do not let what you see change who you are.”
And it was that; that triggered something in Merlin. What exactly could the crystals show him, that would cause such a thing? He stared at Taliesin, who looked right back at him, unblinkingly, and Merlin knew then that this was something he had to do, no matter what, no matter his feelings.
So it was with great reluctance that he turned back to the crystals slowly, stepping down the shallow stairs and walking further into the clusters of them, looking for the one that sang loudest with power; for it would be the one to show him the truth, he knew that much.
And there it was, to his lower left, and Merlin stared as the images began to brand themselves into his mind.
The shadows stirred as a man in a green cloak came forth, face covered by a hood. “High Priestess Nimueh,” he said, getting to one knee and reclining his head in greeting before standing up once more.
“Iseldir,” Nimueh greeted. “What brings one of the Druids here? Have you Seen something?”
“I have, High Priestess,” he confirmed. “And I’m sorry to say I bring no good news.”
Nimueh frowned, her bright blue eyes narrowing slightly. “That is most unfortunate indeed. What was your vision about?”
Iseldir hesitated for a moment—he had seen the consequences of this, should it go wrong, but a vision of this magnitude was not something he could keep to himself. “Queen Ygraine. She will die in childbirth.”
Nimueh stiffened. “But the queen is not yet with child.”
Iseldir nodded. “She will be, soon, and with her death will come great tragedy.”
Nimueh was a good friend to both Ygraine Pendragon and her husband Uther both, and at all costs, she knew she had to stop this from happening. “Thank you for informing me, Iseldir. You will not go unrewarded.”
Iseldir bowed his head again, before stepping backwards, melding back into the shadows as quickly as he had arrived.
Nimueh, meanwhile, had no time to waste; donning her cloak, she made way for Camelot.
“Nimueh, how wonderful to see you,” Ygraine Pendragon greeted her dearest friend later that night with a hug and a kiss to the cheek.
Uther nodded his own greeting. “A pleasure, as always.”
Ygraine ushered Nimueh to a seat next to her, placing her hands over her friends and squeezing them gently. “Have you been well?”
Nimueh, however, did not smile. “I myself am in good health—but I bring grave news for the two of you.”
Uther frowned deeply, and Ygraine looked concerned. “Whatever is the matter?” Ygraine asked, softly.
“I was informed of a dreadful vision this past night—Ygraine.” The queen blinked, gazing at her friend with worry etched across her features. “You will die in childbirth.”
Ygraine gasped, and Uther immediately pushed himself out of his chair, fury etched across his features as he approached the two women. “What is the meaning of this?” he thundered. “The two of us have not even conceived a child yet.”
Nimueh remained calm, however, even in the face of Uther’s wrath. “But one day you will, and that will be Ygraine’s doom. The consequences would be disastrous. So I’m here, asking you both as a friend—please, don’t lead Camelot down that path.”
It would not be that simple, Nimueh knew—Uther desperately craved an heir, and Ygraine desperately craved a child, but she hoped, somehow, that she would manage to get through to them, to convince them otherwise.
But it failed.
Ygraine said it would be fine; not all visions of the future came true, after all, and though they understood Nimueh’s fears, neither could agree with her wishes.
The argument caused a rift in their friendship; Nimueh firmly believed in the prophecy that had been declared, and if the two of them refused to do anything to stop it, the High Priestess would take matters into her own hands.
So it was not long at all before she attempted to kill Uther, her now former friend, in order to prevent the future from coming true.
She did not succeed though—perhaps it was lingering sentiments, or her own conscience, but she did not manage to kill her former friend.
But that in itself had dreadful consequences. Uther locked the High Priestess up in the dungeons; swore that she would burn at dawn. Said she had brought this on herself—and he banned magic across the kingdom, in case anyone else got it into their heads to try what Nimueh had. But while standing on the pyre, Nimueh managed to escape, but she left with them a promise—if the vision came true, she would take revenge on both Uther and the child.
The force of it all overwhelmed Merlin. He was seeing the past, he knew that much; the past rang with a different sound than the future, like the first crystal he had seen—and Merlin jerked back away from the crystal, falling back against one of the walls of the cave. The emotions, their feelings, it had all been so real, almost as if Merlin was inside their heads.
The vision wasn’t over though, the crystal next to his head was singing, now, and Merlin turned to look at it without meaning to, finding himself being sucked back into the past.
Ygraine tried desperately to get her husband to lift the ban; they were not all like Nimueh, she said; magic could be used for good, as well, but Uther could not be dissuaded.
And as it turned out, amidst the chaos of it all, as Uther hunted down those of magic, humans and creatures alike, Ygraine fell pregnant.
Of course, it was a cause for celebration, but what Nimueh had said lurked heavy at the back of their minds, no matter how hard they tried not to think about it.
When the time eventually came for Ygraine to give birth—the vision came true. She lived just long enough to bestow upon the child its name—Arthur—before her life slipped away.
Once again, the power of it all overcame him, and Merlin again ripped himself away from the crystals, this time falling to his hands and knees. Arthur, no, it wasn’t possible, there was no way it was his Arthur, but at the same time...
He felt tears brimming in his eyes, and Merlin found himself wishing it was over, but knowing deep down that it wasn’t. He turned his head to the side; there was another crystal, and then he was back again.
Ygraine’s death broke Uther, as he sobbed over her corpse, but even still, he remembered Nimueh’s words, her vow—of revenge, against both him and their child. He didn’t care much about his own life, not now that his heart had already died, but the child did not deserve such a fate.
And so, having formed a plan, he entrusted the child to Gaius, the Court Physician.
“I was right, in the end. All magic is, indeed, evil. I was right to ban it—because of magic, that prophecy, Ygraine is—” he broke off abruptly as his throat seemed to close, and after a moment of struggle, Uther cleared his throat, forcing himself to straighten up to his full height. “Hide the boy,” he said. “Somewhere Nimueh will never find him.”
Gaius inclined his head. “I know just the place, Sire. My sister just recently sent word that she has had a child of her own—I think taking Arthur there might very well be the wisest decision among the choices we have at the moment. He will be in good company there.”
Uther merely nodded, still preoccupied by the loss of his wife not even an hour prior. “Of course. And you know this mission is to be undertaken with the utmost secrecy,” he pressed, fixing Gaius with a hard stare that not even his grief could break.
Gaius once again bowed his head. “I will leave without delay.”
And he left with the child before the sun had even set on the day Arthur had been born.
Gaius knew he had to be quick for Arthur’s sake—his sister lived in Ealdor, a village that lay outside of Camelot’s borders, but even without much rest the journey still took almost three days, for he’d had to stop now and again to care for Arthur, and he was growing older; the horse would be able to handle a breakneck pace, but his bones could not.
His sister, Hunith, welcomed both him and Arthur with open arms, introducing Gaius to her own son in return—a boy named Merlin, a week older than Arthur. Unfortunately, the happy reunion between brother and sister was interrupted fairly swiftly; for unbeknownst to Gaius, Uther had sent someone to follow him...and take the other child.
So caught off guard were the two of them, that they could offer no resistance as the tail snatched Merlin from his crib.
The action, of course, startled them both back into action; Hunith had a look of horror on her face even as she continued clutching Arthur to her chest, and Gaius stepped forward with a thunderous expression upon his face.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked. “This is madness!”
The knight, however, was unrepentant. “Your sister is to give up her child for the good of Camelot in order to keep the real prince safe from harm, until the day he can finally take the throne again.” His face darkened. “The king has expressly ordered that you are never to tell his son the truth of his origins. The less he knows, the better—for his own protection.”
Hunith clapped one hand over her mouth in order to stifle a sob even as her eyes welled up with tears, but Gaius would not be swayed so easily.
“This is madness; the boy is hardly even a week old, you can’t simply take him from his mother! He needs her to care for him!”
“The boy will be well taken care of in the castle,” the other man retorted, and Gaius knew he could argue with him forever and they would still get nowhere—the man was following orders, just like Gaius had been, except Uther had not informed Gaius about his plan.
In the end, though they had tried to stop it, Hunith and Gaius were forced to watch the man leave with Merlin, to take him to the king, and Gaius sighed heavily even as the tears spilled down his sister’s cheeks. “You have my most sincere apologies,” Gaius told her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I did not know—I did not mean for you to get involved in all this. Had I known, I would never...”
But Hunith merely shook her head; even as she cried over the loss of her own child, she continued to hold Arthur close, and she placed a soft kiss upon the boy’s brow. “I promise to at least take care of Arthur,” she told Gaius, remaining strong as best she could, and her brother knew he could not just let it end there.
It wasn’t right, after all, to separate a mother and child like that. “Come back to Camelot with me; you and Arthur both.”
She looked troubled at the offer, but Gaius knew it would be a good decision for her. “You won’t be able to see Merlin of course, I’m sorry to say, but you can live in the lower town; at the very least, you will have a proximity to him.”
Hunith still wasn’t entirely sure, but deep down she knew it was the best she was going to get, and so with a quiet sigh, she nodded her head. “All right, Gaius. We shall leave at first light tomorrow, if that is fine by you.”
The two of them together packed up her belongings that very night, and by morning the two of them were on their way to Camelot; for Hunith, she would be living under a new king, but even she could not say if he would be a better one, given the circumstances.
Her and Arthur would have new lives there, that much was certain.
For Uther’s part, having sent his only living connection to Ygraine away for the boy’s own safety, found he could not—or perhaps simply would not—care for the boy that had been given to take Arthur’s place. When Gaius returned to Camelot, Uther did not hesitate to give the unfamiliar child—Merlin—to him.
“Take care of the boy; raise him; he is your responsibility now.”
Gaius looked at the small child now nestled in his arms, and with a frown, he looked back at his king. “Sire, the knight who followed me said my sister is to keep your son safe until he takes the throne again.”
“Of course,” Uther said. “This boy will not remain on the throne forever. As soon as Nimueh is found and killed, Arthur will be brought back in as my proper heir. As for this boy...” he sneered slightly. “I could not care less what happens to him.”
The crystals stopped singing.
By the time he raised his head again, Taliesin was gone; but that didn’t matter, because Merlin didn’t even need to ask just what it was that he’d seen. Because now he knew the truth behind it all, and gods it all made so much more sense. Why his father—Uther—ignored him, why Arthur didn’t look like Hunith, just why Merlin had always felt so uncomfortable in his position as the prince...
When Merlin finally managed to stand up again (he had lost the feeling in his legs long before), he was pale and still gasping for breath—but he had to find Arthur.
He all but stumbled out of the cave, struggling to get away from the magic emanating from the entire area as fast as he could even as his legs refuse to cooperate properly, not relaxing until he had finally left The Valley of the Fallen Kings far behind him.
But even though the feeling of magic and curses was gone, Merlin himself had not recovered, quite the opposite, really; he felt jumpy and skittish and only half-aware of his surroundings. Caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t even notice when Arthur first came across him again.
“Merlin!”
Arthur’s voice sounded relieved, and Merlin had to force himself not to jump in surprise upon hearing it. He raised his gaze to take in the sight of Arthur walking over, and then almost stiffened in shock (and perhaps not of an entirely unpleasant kind) as Arthur suddenly but unexpectedly drew Merlin into a brief but firm hug, wrapping his arms around him as if he wasn’t even thinking about it.
“Where have you been?” he asked, pulling away from the embrace but not stepping away from Merlin. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”
Merlin mentally shook himself, trying to snap himself back onto the proper plane of reality as he offered his friend a shaky smile. “Sorry. I just got lost, in the fog, is all.”
Arthur laughed, clapping him on the back once before he finally did step away. “Trust you to get lost in the woods Merlin, really. You have no sense of direction at all,” he teased.
Merlin, however, could barely hear Arthur; had no reaction to his taunts as he stared off into the distance with an almost empty look in his eyes, and so he missed the way his lack of reaction caused Arthur to frown slightly.
“Well, come on then,” Arthur said. “It’s going to be a long journey back to Camelot; let’s find those horses and get the herbs to Gaius as quick as we can.”
Merlin honestly wasn’t sure if he was even in a fit state to ride, but really, he could do nothing more than simply allow Arthur to lead him away from the area.
The knowledge he had learned had upset his entire world; everything Merlin had ever known. The true irony of it all—the fact that Arthur, his best friend, was the true prince...it felt like their entire meeting was a cruel prank. A slap in the face, really; like the world was laughing at them. The decoy prince and the real prince, and they hadn’t even known it—whereas the people around them had.
His father (though he was not, Merlin knew, but after twenty years the habit was too hard to break), of course, Merlin did not even have to wonder about; hardly let a thought cross his mind about the man. He had always considered the king’s heart to be cold as stone, so the fact that he had chosen to keep it a secret did not hurt nearly as much in comparison to the others; the two adults Merlin cared for most in the world.
Hunith had known. Merlin could hardly entertain the thought that he actually had a mother; the concept was foreign to him, and hard to grasp. The closest he had ever gotten was Hunith herself, when Merlin had wished Ygraine had even been a bit like her, and then it turned out...
It was all too confusing, so Merlin simply allowed himself to focus on memories of the past instead. Knowing the truth now explained her reactions from when they first met—of course she knew Merlin was actually her son. Part of Merlin found that he wanted to hate her for it, hate her for lying, but at the same time he knew that the entire reason neither boy had been told was for Arthur’s own safety. And Merlin couldn’t begrudge her for that, because that was all Merlin wanted, too—to keep Arthur safe.
Gaius, however, would not be so easy to forgive. He had only met Hunith six months prior; he had known Gaius for his entire life, and the betrayal of a man he had viewed as a father figure for his entire life cut all the more deep. And Merlin knew it was unfair, to be able to understand where Hunith was coming from but unable to identify with his mentor’s reasons, but the fact that he had not trusted Merlin, of all people, to be able to keep the truth secret, when Merlin continued to keep his own biggest secret every single day of his life—it hurt.
But despite all that, or perhaps because of it, Merlin couldn’t bring himself to tell Gaius he knew, when he finally emerged from his room properly again. Of course, against his better judgement, he didn’t tell Arthur either—but really, telling Arthur would ruin the entire point of it all.
Merlin had no real idea of how Arthur would react; he could imagine Arthur would be furious (beyond furious, Arthur didn’t take kindly to lying), but even though the plan had been Uther’s and Merlin had no obligations to keep it from Arthur—part of Merlin could still remember Uther’s emotions from the crystals. He could understand the motivation behind a man wanting to protect his real son, even if that stung.
Because it was Arthur.
Nimueh had to be found and killed before Arthur could take his place on the throne again, and informing him of that before the fact wouldn’t change anything; if anything, it would only raise the possibility of putting him back in danger in the first place. Really, as much as Merlin hated being the prince, he was more than willing to remain as a decoy in order to draw the danger to himself instead, rather than allow his friend to be in harm’s way. He cared for Arthur, far more than he wanted to admit.
And to see her there, to understand that she was in fact his mother—Merlin found that he couldn’t help pulling her aside just a few weeks after the fact, during one of the times Arthur was off doing his chores.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked, voice low, as if he was afraid Arthur would come back ahead of time and hear everything.
Hunith blinked. “Of course you can, dear,” she told him warmly, and Merlin relaxed slightly. He could do this.
“It’s just...I know,” he told her, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat.
Hunith’s face was uncomprehending, however, and Merlin bit his lip. “I know,” Merlin pressed, attempting to make her understand. “I can’t explain how I know. It’s...it’s complicated. But I wanted to tell you...mother.”
He choked slightly on the word, and in that moment, realisation sparked in Hunith’s eyes as she gasped, and Merlin was left standing there awkwardly for a moment before Hunith took him into her arms.
Merlin could do nothing but let himself fall into her embrace as she hugged him close.
“My son,” she whispered into his ear; and Merlin politely ignored the feel of what were obviously tears against his skin, because honestly, he was crying too.
Of course, they still had to maintain something of a distance when around other people (luckily not much of one, especially around Arthur, who knew Hunith adored Merlin)—and unfortunately, while Merlin had indeed managed to grow closer to Hunith due to his knowledge of the truth, it didn’t change the fact that his own relationship with Arthur was starting to pull apart at the seams; because the truth, bearing down over Merlin, was putting an extreme strain on their friendship.
Naturally, Merlin thought, that despite Taliesin’s warnings that he should not let the truth change who he was, unwillingly he had changed just how he viewed Arthur. Of course he still wanted to be friends—and yes, okay, he still wanted to jump his friend’s bones like crazy—but if Merlin had been unwilling to admit his feelings for Arthur before, now it was painfully obvious that he couldn’t.
Arthur, whether he knew it or not, was the true Prince of Camelot. One day, he would be back on that throne, and he would be expected to one day marry and have an heir. There would be no room for Merlin in his life by that point, not when Merlin knew that Uther didn’t want him anywhere near them once he wasn’t deemed useful anymore (would probably toss him out, Merlin could guess), and Merlin wasn’t sure he would actually be able to handle being friends with the prince at all once the truth came out; especially when he had no idea how Arthur would react to it all.
But none of that changed the fact that with all his knowledge, all his feelings on the subject, being forced to keep yet another secret hidden deep down inside—Merlin was much more detached from everything than before, often being somewhere in body only while his thoughts got tangled together, and it showed. And though Merlin often teased that Arthur was almost horrendously oblivious at times, he was well aware that Arthur wasn’t actually stupid.
“You seem...” Arthur paused for a moment to think about how to word his next statement. “Well, I don’t know...more...distant, these days.”
Merlin had known, logically, that Arthur had been bound to notice eventually, but deep down he had hoped that Arthur wouldn’t. Unfortunately, though, he obviously had, and all Merlin found he could do was try and brush it off as best as he could, offering his friend an apologetic smile.
The excuses varied day-to-day; small half-lies about pressures from the court, royal duties he had to attend, and how his father was breathing down his neck. None of them were true lies, though—especially not the ones about Uther. Merlin understood it all, now. His father (and that was proving to be a difficult habit to break) was hard on him even on the best of days, and Merlin knew it was because the king might have wanted Merlin to be a prince for the people—but he hardly viewed the boy as his son.
It repeated only one word, again, and again.
“Merlin...”
Not knowing where it was coming from, Merlin ignored it to the best of his ability for several days, uncomfortable with the idea of someone being inside his head; but night after night, it would continue, repeating his name, and eventually it just became too much.
And so, curiosity burning and feeling like it was something he needed to do, Merlin snuck out of the castle, following the direction of the voice (and no, it didn’t make any sense to him, either) until he came across a clearing a long way off from the castle.
In the clearing, there was a—
Dragon.
Merlin could do nothing more than stare in awe at it for a few moments. Part of him knew he should be terrified, but the dragon was just so...it was a majestic creature, with burning amber eyes the same colour Merlin’s were whenever he did magic. They were eyes that told of centuries lived and wisdom beyond anything Merlin could imagine.
Its majesty, though, Merlin found, extended only to its appearance. He had hardly been standing there for a minute when the great beast dived right into conversation, not even bothering with any sort of introduction.
Merlin might have called it rude, but he wasn’t exactly keen on (literally) poking at a dragon about its manners, and so he stayed silent.
“Young warlock,” and Merlin didn’t even question how it—he—knew, not when he had been in Merlin’s head, “there is yet more I need to explain.”
Merlin frowned up at the dragon; for some reason, it did not surprise him that the creature knew—what confused him was, “how do you know about it?”
The dragon laughed. “Of course I know. I even know exactly when you first came across the Crystal Cave. You are, after all, a creature of magic, just as I am. We have a bond, Merlin.”
Merlin found that he wasn’t really keen on the idea of having a bond with the beast, but it seemed the dragon was done wasting time.
“Now if you will be silent, I am done with trivialities at the moment. I am here to explain, after all.”
Against his will, Merlin felt somewhat contrite. “I will. Sorry.”
The dragon bowed his head in thanks, and then began explaining to Merlin the reason he had arrived at all.
“As you already know, when Nimueh tried to kill Uther, he banned magic, and so began the slaughtering of innocents. But,” the dragon rumbled, “this included creatures born of magic; people like you, of course, but others as well—and the dragons.”
Of course, Merlin knew that Uther prided himself on having hunted the dragons to extinction—even though here was a dragon, right in front of him, so either his father was wrong, or he was outright lying. “The dragons...”
“I am the last of my kind, Merlin. Uther hunted us down, relentlessly, by using the Dragonlords.” He noticed Merlin’s questioning look. “Warlocks, who also have the power to control dragons. We are kin. Those that did help Uther were either tricked or forced into it, or did so in the hopes that Uther would spare their own lives; not that he ever did.
“There was one among them—Balinor. He was one of many Uther attempted to trick into helping. But Balinor was special; like me, he was the last of his kind, and though Uther told him that he wanted his help in finding the last living dragon—me—in order to try and make peace with it, Balinor knew it was not so. He fled, with the help of Camelot’s Court Physician—Gaius is his name, if I recall—to a village called Ealdor.”
Against his will, Merlin sucked in a sharp intake of breath, uneasily realising that he had a sinking feeling as to just where the story was going. The dragon, however, continued as if there had been no interruption.
“He stayed with a woman named Hunith, during that time, and made a life with her. And they were happy, or so I’ve gathered, in the few months that he managed to stay in hiding—but then Uther heard word of his whereabouts, and sent knights to give chase. Balinor, against his will, was forced to flee once more, leaving the woman behind, unknowing of the fact that she had grown heavy with child.”
Merlin backed a few feet away from the dragon in shock, even though part of him knew that it had been exactly what the dragon had been leading up to. “My father...?”
The dragon inclined his head in apology. “Yes, your father. The last I heard, he was hiding out in the Kingdom of Essetir.”
Merlin almost didn’t ask further, but something compelled him to; the dragon had more to say, Merlin knew, and he would not linger on the topic forever. “Where in the kingdom?”
The dragon made a thoughtful sound. “In a cave, I believe, at the foot of the Feorre Mountains, which can be found through the Forest of Marendred.” He allowed Merlin to process the knowledge for a moment before he continued on. “I am sorry, Merlin, to burden you further with all of this so soon after you have learned the truth of your birth, but you and the young Pendragon’s destinies have been entwined since long before you were born. You must never let Uther find out the truth of this, for I fear what he may do if he learns of your true heritage.”
Well, that was kind of a given, Merlin thought. The hell he was ever going to tell the king anything, ever, anyway, but Merlin chose to ignore the last part of what the dragon had said, looking up at him as his mind latched onto the part before that—
“What do you mean, destiny?”
But the dragon shook his head. “Now is not the time, young warlock. One day—but for now, you must continue to keep Arthur safe until the time is right.”
And really, Merlin was getting sick of people requesting that of him, as if he wasn’t willing enough to do so himself, but getting angry at a fire-breathing dragon wouldn’t be the best idea he’d ever had, and so instead Merlin nodded. “I swear I will,” he said simply.
The dragon seemed to rumble with a sort of pride at the words, but instead of responding he merely nodded and opened his wings, flapping them quickly and rising up as Merlin tried his hardest not to fall over from the strong winds such caused.
The dragon had already begun flying away by the time he turned his head back to look at Merlin. “None of us can choose our destiny, Merlin—and none of us can escape it. Remember that.”
And then he was gone.
Merlin had to wonder, as he stood there shivering in the now noticeably colder night air, why people, caves, and even dragons had suddenly decided to go rather unbearably cryptic on him. But obviously, he was not going to get an answer, and with a sigh Merlin headed back to Camelot that night, sneaking back into the castle and curling up in his bed as he wondered why life had become so complicated—missing the times when it had been so simple, in comparison.
And really, a large part of him hated himself for it, because he had always, always viewed Gaius as the father he’d never had—but in the light of recent events (not so recent; twenty years ago), Merlin felt that Gaius had kept far too much from him.
It wasn’t just the truth of his birth or his past, or even the fact that Gaius was actually his uncle, and not even that he had known the truth of Merlin’s real father, had helped Balinor escape—it was a mixture of all those things, of the fact that Merlin had been living a lie his entire life; had been putting all his faith into the one person who had always been there for him.
The one and only person who had always been there, and the one who had lied the most. The one who hadn’t trusted that Merlin would keep the truth a secret, even though he was the only person in turn to know of Merlin’s magic.
He had never learned if Hunith knew about his magic. He’d been taken away from her too soon after his birth, before his “gift” had ever manifested, but he had always assumed Gaius had kept in contact with her when he could (or that’s what he liked to think, anyway, hoped it was true).
Perhaps she knew, if that was the case—but it was just as likely that she didn’t, and Merlin couldn’t risk telling her. She already had enough to hide. He didn’t want to burden her with anything else. Not his magic, and certainly not his father. It was too muddled, too hard for him to explain; he’d never even told her how he’d learned of his past in the first place, and she hadn’t asked.
And the worst part was that amidst it all, his relationship with Arthur was still steadily declining as well. It was obvious to everyone that Merlin appeared off; paler than usual, and far more withdrawn, growing increasingly distant with every passing day, or so it seemed. But despite that, he continued to say he was fine, that it was nothing—no matter what Arthur would say, and Arthur, though sceptical, could only accept that, in the end.
Of course, Arthur knew that wasn’t the truth, and Merlin knew that Arthur knew—but Merlin made it very clear that he wasn’t going to tell Arthur just what the truth was. Merlin was affected though, in a bad way, and though Arthur desperately wanted to know what was wrong, it seemed he wasn’t willing to ruin their friendship over that; and Merlin tried to appreciate Arthur’s presence as best he could as his friend continued to stay by his side, offering what little comfort he could manage.
It all finally came to an end in the weeks leading up to when the two friends would both finally turn twenty-one.
The date loomed over Merlin, particularly; before he had learned the truth, he and Arthur had always thought it unusual that they shared the same date of birth, found it to be an odd coincidence—but now Merlin knew better, even if Arthur and the kingdom didn’t, knew that his birthday was a week earlier. It was just yet another thing Gaius had refused to tell him; his entire life was a lie, even his birthday—but all thoughts of birthdays were forgotten when Merlin heard the news.
Nimueh had been caught.
Nimueh didn’t look any different then she had in the visions of the past he had seen; had maintained her youthful appearance even in this day and age.
That wasn’t the part that was strange to him, though, for Merlin knew—as a person of magic—that such a spell would have been exceedingly simple for her to maintain over the years.
No; the strange part was that she hadn’t bothered with changing her appearance when she came to Camelot. That, Merlin knew, would possibly have been even easier for her to manage; and yet, she had not, and she had been caught for it.
But, well, Merlin wasn’t going to complain, really. The past he had seen in the crystals was still vivid in his mind even now, and remembering how she had threatened to kill Arthur caused Merlin’s blood to run cold. If anything, he was relieved she had been caught.
He couldn’t actually bring himself to watch her die, though. When her screams of agony reached his ears, Merlin found himself turning his head away, refusing to look even when they finally cut off with a choking sound, and the smell of burning flesh reached his nose.
He had never felt comfortable, watching those with magic die, the ever present knowledge that he could very well be next always lingering over his head. And it was selfish of him, he knew; they were kin, after all, but Merlin had never been able to do anything about it. Helping them in any way would have been enough to sign his own death warrant—and so he did nothing.
He was uncomfortable with the burning; could only gaze at the smoke billowing up from the pyre with a feeling of nausea in the pit of his stomach, but beyond even that, Merlin was just relieved that Arthur would no longer be in danger.
It was the end of it all, he knew. His last day as the prince.
With Nimueh’s death would come change.
That was okay, though, because Arthur belonged on the throne, deserved to know the truth, and now that he wasn’t going to be in danger, Merlin could finally breathe out of sheer relief.
Oh.
Merlin knew, deep inside and with absolute certainty, that this was the moment.
But they weren’t to know that he knew; so he played along, nodding his head in greeting to the king. “You asked for me, Sire?”
Uther and Gaius both looked grave—not that that was anything new, Merlin reflected.
“Merlin,” Gaius began, and Merlin directed his gaze toward his mentor. “There is something we have to tell you.”
Clearly, Gaius wanted to ease into it, but Uther apparently did not see the point in doing so, for he was quick to interrupt Gaius.
“You are not my son.”
And, well, even if Merlin had known that for almost the past year, he was almost caught off guard by the abrupt confession, by the harsh tone of Uther’s voice. Though he had never cared for Merlin before, not that the truth was to be known, he obviously didn’t see the point in even trying to pretend anymore.
Surprised to find that the confession actually hurt to hear, Merlin took a step back as if he’d been struck, a look of shock upon his face. “Father...?”
“You will not call me that,” Uther said coldly, and Merlin flinched unwillingly. Though he had never considered Uther his father, even as a child, he had always, always called the man that, even after he’d discovered the truth, because it had been the word he had grown up with—saying it had almost been a reflex.
“Please, Sire,” Gaius cut in quickly; his tone and expression showed that he was obviously unhappy with the way Uther had started out the conversation, but Uther was unrepentant.
“The truth has been kept hidden long enough. For nearly twenty-one years I have waited for this day, and I will not have this puppet remain in my son’s place for a moment longer than necessary.”
That. Upon hearing that Merlin was somewhat astonished to find that he actually wanted to cry. Despite having known that the events unfolding would indeed one day happen; that one day, he would not longer be needed, that he would be removed from his place—the fact that Uther so obviously viewed him as a tool to be used, that Merlin was such a worthless person in his eyes now that he had outlived his usefulness; that he basically viewed the boy as no better than the dirt on his shoe...it cut Merlin deeply.
Seeing that Uther’s pronouncement had obviously stunned Merlin beyond words, Gaius finally stepped in properly. “I am sorry, Merlin,” he apologised (and though it wasn’t enough; wasn’t nearly enough, Merlin knew it was the best he was going to get). “The sorceress caught today, her name was Nimueh. Twenty-one years ago, or thereabouts, she made a vow to one day get revenge on both the king and his—at the time—newborn child. It was too dangerous to keep the boy in the castle, so it took him to live with my sister. She had just had a child of her own, you see, and I thought it would be the best place for him.”
And hearing it all again brought back memories of the Crystal Cave in near full force, and Merlin squeezed his eyes shut. He could tell them right then, he knew, if he wanted to; it would make them stop, but all Merlin could do was stand there, his head bowed, unable to admit it as Gaius continued.
“What I did not know was that the king planned to take in my sister’s son as a decoy prince. That boy...it was you, Merlin.”
It actually hurt less to hear than it had been to see it. When he had seen it in the crystals, he had almost been able to feel the emotions of the past washing over him. Compared to that, simply hearing the words merely left him feeling numb inside as he opened his eyes again, raising his gaze up to look up at Gaius with utter emptiness visible in their depths.
His lack of reaction obviously troubled Gaius, but Uther, in turn, was just as obviously impatient about the entire situation, and like the king he was, took charge once again as he spoke up once more. “I am going to bring my son and his guardian here before the sun sets upon the day. You may stay here until then, but no longer.”
A slight pause.
“You are dismissed.”
Merlin found that he could do nothing more but bow his head in deference, hands behind his back as he backed away, finally turning away from the two of them when he was closer to the door than not, and making a swift but silent retreat.
He didn’t bother to undress before he collapsed onto his bed—which also wasn’t going to be his for much longer, and he struggled to swallow against the lump that was forming in his throat as he pulled the blankets up around himself. Merlin would be the first to admit that he might not have liked the royal lifestyle very much, but everything that was happening was still an upheaval of his life; a change from everything he had ever known, and in a way, it scared him.
More than scared him—in all honesty, it terrified him.
Yes, of course he was glad that Arthur would be taking his rightful place as the prince, but Merlin found himself wondering if he would even be missed. The people of Camelot seemed to like him well enough, but Merlin was sure once everything was explained to them they would grow to love Arthur unconditionally, just as he did. Although he supposed the people wouldn’t love Arthur in quite the same way he did, which if he was honest with himself was slightly more than platonic.
After all, even without knowing of his royal heritage and birthright, Arthur genuinely seemed to love Camelot. Merlin supposed it was just in his blood.
Merlin pressed his face into his pillows, refusing to let himself cry; he absolutely would not allow his eyes to be rimmed red due to endless sobbing when he was finally removed from the castle for good (by force or otherwise) later that day.
He finally fell asleep at some point (which point that was, he couldn’t say), into a thankfully dreamless sleep—but when a knock at the door roused him from his rest, Merlin still felt as drained as if he had been crying.
“Who is it?” he called out, voice closer to a mumble than not as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He knew it would be politer to get up and answer the door himself, but Merlin was unable to muster up the energy as the events of the day settled heavily into his heart.
There was no response to his question, but instead the opening of a door, and there stood the Court Physician, his face solemn.
“Gaius,” Merlin straightened up quickly, despite the fact that he was still sitting in his bed with the blankets pooled around his waist.
“Arthur and his guardian have arrived. The king has asked that you are witness to this,” Gaius said, and Merlin knew, without even a shadow of doubt, that this was it.
It was cruel, that Uther was forcing him to watch, though the action hardly surprised Merlin. After all, Uther didn’t even know the two of them were friends, and Merlin wondered if he would have demanded the fake prince stay out of there instead, if he had known.
But, well, it was best not to delay the inevitable, and Merlin clambered out of bed quickly, nearly tripping over his own feet as he made his way to Gaius, who merely turned and walked away once Merlin had reached him, leaving Merlin forced to follow along behind him quietly.
There were many things left unsaid between them, and Merlin knew this was possibly their last chance to get it all out before he was forced to leave. But the air was heavy with the awkward silence, neither of them knowing what to say.
When they reached the doors that led into the council chambers, though, Merlin stopped Gaius from opening them by placing a hand upon his shoulder lightly.
It was too soon for forgiveness, but at the very least he could say—
“Thank you for taking care of me all this time,” he murmured in a low voice into his mentor’s ear before he stepped forward and pushed the doors open himself, striding into the room with purpose and his head held high—just like the prince he had been raised to be—as Gaius trailed along after him.
Merlin could sense Arthur in the room; could feel his gaze upon him, but he firmly did not look in his friend’s direction, his eyes instead upon Uther.
“You summoned me, Sire?” Merlin asked politely, as if he had no idea what was going on. He assumed the king would prefer it that way, but his faux father’s face betrayed nothing as he nodded.
When Merlin got closer, however, he leaned forward, his tone harsh as he spoke to Merlin in a voice that obviously only Merlin was actually intended to hear.
“Just find somewhere to stand and stay silent. You are not to speak unless addressed.”
Merlin nodded his head and walked smoothly away from Uther, taking his standard place a generously respectful distance away from the king of Camelot.
When he had stopped moving, he finally allowed himself to look in Arthur’s direction. His friend looked confused, but when Arthur opened his mouth (obviously intent on asking just what was going on), Merlin was quick to catch his eye, and he shook his head minutely.
Arthur, thankfully, caught onto the hint quicker than usual and remained silent.
Hunith, in turn, looked worried, and Merlin knew that she (like him) knew exactly what was about to happen. In fact, the only person left in the dark was Arthur himself—but, well, that had been the point, hadn’t it? Still though, Merlin knew telling Arthur the truth would not be so easy.
Not surprisingly; unlike how he had with Merlin, Uther actually attempted to ease into it all, the second time around.
Clearly, Merlin thought, Uther held Arthur in higher regard than he ever had Merlin, despite the fact that he had not seen his son in over twenty years.
“Arthur...it’s good to see you again after all this time.”
Arthur raised his brow and wrinkled his nose in confusion for the briefest of moments before he remembered who he was talking to, and his face smoothed over, replacing the look with one of polite puzzlement. “I’m sorry, My Lord, but I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”
Uther chuckled—chuckled! Merlin had never even seen him smile—gently for a moment before it was taken over by a look of regret, wistfulness clear in his eyes. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t remember. You were just an infant at the time, after all, not even a day old.”
There was silence for a moment as the meaning behind Uther’s words were obviously not sinking in at first, and Arthur stared at the king with an uncomprehending look upon his features.
There was no reaction from Uther as he stared right back at Arthur, and Arthur hesitated.
“What exactly are you telling me?” he asked, looking for all the world like he would rather be anywhere else in that moment and somewhat desperately really not wanting to hear the answer.
Uther stepped forward, approaching Arthur even as the blond looked increasingly wary, tensing up immediately when Uther raised his arms and placed them upon Arthur’s shoulders with an almost warm (if not slightly subdued) smile.
“Arthur, you are the true prince of Camelot; my son.”
Arthur jerked back away from Uther as if he’d been burned, and the look of hurt and disbelief upon his face made Merlin wish more than anything that he hadn’t been commanded to stand and be a spectator to something like this; made him wish he could at the very least go over to his friend to try and comfort him.
The look of hurt didn’t remain for very long though; Arthur’s face closed down quickly even as he maintained his distance from Uther. “You’re lying,” he said, voice harsh, even as his eyes sought out Merlin. “Merlin, he’s your son, he’s the prince! You can’t say I’m the prince, that doesn’t even make any sense!”
But Merlin couldn’t bring himself to maintain eye contact, and he turned his head away, closing his eyes to resist looking back at Arthur.
Aside from Merlin’s reaction, though, none of the other three people in the room had any sort of response, and Merlin could almost see in his mind’s eye the moment Arthur faltered and turned to look at Hunith instead.
From the sound of it, she seemed to be suppressing tears, and he heard Arthur swallow heavily. “Mother...?”
Merlin couldn’t help it; he opened his eyes, only slightly, seeing Hunith shake her head even as she trembled.
“I’m sorry, Arthur.”
The apology said it all. Though Merlin had opened his eyes, he found he still couldn’t bring himself to look at Arthur; but he knew his friend well enough to know that the disbelief had turned into shock—that the initial feeling of betrayal would soon be settling into his skin.
And though Arthur had been raised a peasant, he still had the blood of the Pendragon dynasty running through his veins, and Merlin cringed when Arthur began to speak.
“What is the meaning of this?” Arthur asked, his tone cold (but never, never as cold as Uther’s) and with a hint of warning behind it.
Merlin kept his gaze focussed firmly on the ground (just like a coward, he knew) as he listened to Gaius and Uther explain everything to Arthur. And if it rankled him that Uther was far less harsh about it all to Arthur, well, Merlin tried hard not to show it.
“Please understand, Sire,” Gaius said, and it took both Merlin and Arthur a moment to realise that he was speaking to Arthur. “Neither of you could have known about this. It had to be kept a secret, for your own safety.”
Clearly, such an explanation did not sit well with Arthur, and he raised his voice to almost a shout in response.
“Oh, so it was alright that Merlin was in danger instead of me? Because he was expendable? Because he was less important than I supposedly am?”
Merlin’s head snapped up quickly in surprise, taking in Arthur gesturing vehemently in his direction as he glared at both Gaius and Uther (mainly Uther, really, considering it had been his idea in the first place).
Arthur looked furious, and Merlin was actually shocked that Arthur cared about his wellbeing so much. He knew Arthur cared, of course (even if Arthur pretended he didn’t, most days); they were best friends, after all, but Merlin hadn’t thought that Arthur would even spare a thought to Merlin’s part in the entire situation, had thought that he would be more concerned about the fact that he had been lied to for his entire life.
Merlin chanced a glance at Uther, but the man was, as usual, completely unapologetic, his face like stone as Arthur continued on, not losing any steam (if anything, he was gaining it).
“You lied to the both of us, unwilling to trust us with the truth—” Merlin flinched, because he was just as guilty of that as anyone else in the room, but luckily, all eyes were upon Arthur, and no one noticed “—and that left us both far more vulnerable than we could have been otherwise. What if he had died? Would you have felt no remorse so long as I was alive and well?”
It seemed he had taken it too far, though, for Uther cut in, his voice far louder than Arthur’s own could ever hope to be. “Be damned! I believed you would die. And that was a risk I could not take. You are too precious to me. You mean more to me than anything I know, more than this entire kingdom, and certainly more than my own life, let alone the life of a peasant.”
And that confession had Arthur coming up short. It was obvious to everyone that he wanted to argue; that Merlin was far more than just some peasant, but at the same time, Arthur had clearly not expected Uther to say anything like that.
Most probably, it would not keep him silent for long, though, and Merlin felt it was high time to speak up, regardless of what Uther had said. “Arthur...it’s all right.”
“You will be silent!” Uther raged.
“Don’t speak to him like that!” Arthur snapped back; for even though Uther was his father, and his king, to Arthur, he was still just a stranger. “Maybe you see Merlin as nothing more than someone—something to be used, but the fact is, even if he didn’t know it, he was in danger every single day of his life just to keep me safe. Just because you see his life as worthless—”
“No, I view his life as worth less than yours,” Uther corrected, before he paused. “But I see you feel strongly about this. Merlin and his mother will be welcome in the castle as honoured guests whenever they so choose, if you would like, but for now, he needs to leave.”
Arthur froze. “...What?”
Uther was as impassive as ever. “Obviously, the boy cannot stay here. This isn’t his place.”
Arthur looked almost wounded at the notion. “But...but this has been his home for his entire life!”
Uther, however, would not be swayed. “And now he will have a new home.” He glanced between Merlin and Hunith for a moment, both whom were watching the proceedings before them silently. “He won’t be alone, at any rate.”
Merlin could see the exact moment Arthur gave up. Even though Arthur wanted to fight it, he could see that it was a battle he was not going to win, no matter how unfair he thought it was, and so instead he merely sighed and nodded; the sign of his giving in.
That was all Uther needed before he was directing his cold gaze upon Hunith once more.
“You have my thanks for taking care of my son for all these years. Now take your own and get out.”
The utter finality of it all, the harshness of Uther’s tone, made Arthur want to protest; Merlin could see it in his eyes, how Arthur wanted to argue against what Uther was doing, but as he looked at Hunith, and saw that she was once again near tears, all the fight seeped out of him before he turned to look at Merlin.
For Arthur’s sake more than his own, Merlin made sure to keep his face completely unreadable. Merlin knew, far better than Arthur (perhaps because he had grown up with Uther), that fighting the decision would help nothing; he did not speak, for there was nothing he could say.
Merlin walked over to Hunith quietly, and the two of them embraced for a moment before they both turned to leave.
Before they did, though, Hunith paused, and looked over her shoulder at Arthur.
“Arthur, please know that you always were, and will always be, like a son to me.”
Arthur was stunned, Merlin could see that much, and Arthur nodded. Merlin could understand that much; though they were not related by blood, Hunith very obviously loved Arthur. She had been kind to him over the years, Merlin knew; just as he knew Arthur, in turn, loved her completely without question despite all that he had learned.
Merlin could feel Arthur’s gaze upon his back as the prince watched the two of them leave, and the feeling ceased to fade even as the doors shut soundly behind them.
Eventually the silence grew too heavy.
“Show Arthur his new quarters,” the king—Uther—his father commanded Gaius, and the Court Physician nodded and took Arthur’s arm gently. It took everything Arthur had not to yank away from the man on reflex.
Uther attempted to offer Arthur a smile, but it fell flat and Arthur could do nothing but stare blankly back at him, unsure how to respond, before he began walking away with Gaius.
“I’m sorry,” Gaius said when they arrived outside what had to be Arthur’s new room. They were the first words he’d said since Merlin had left, and Arthur didn’t know how to take them—he just nodded awkwardly at Gaius and entered the room without a word.
Only to come up short when he saw a boy standing in the middle of the room wringing his hands together.
“Who the hell are you?” Arthur asked, knowing he was being rude, but feeling far too emotionally exhausted from everything he’d learned that day to care at that moment.
“M-my name is Morris, Sire. I’m to be your manservant.”
As if the day couldn’t get any worse. He had a manservant.
“Fantastic,” Arthur breathed, sarcasm dripping from the word.
“Is there anything you need?” Morris asked, sounding timid.
“How do I get you to leave?”
“Oh, um,” Morris headed for the door. “Just send word if you need anything,” he said, and then slipped out, shutting it quietly behind him.
It didn’t really get any better from there.
For the first time, Arthur could get how Merlin had felt so uncomfortable as the prince—it was strange having people wait on you hand and foot. Uther had made a grand announcement to the people, introducing Arthur to them, and it had been awkward, but well, it had also been expected. Naturally the people had to know the reasons behind keeping the true prince hidden all these years.
They handled it well, or at least Arthur thought so. No one was horrible to him, at least, though he wasn’t sure if that was because he was the prince now or if they just genuinely liked him (Arthur was inclined toward the former; he’d never been much of a people person).
Being the prince was far more than just standing around and letting the people like you, though—it took effort. Uther, it seemed, was determined to mould Arthur into the role; court etiquette took priority over all, with how to stand, how to talk, how to remain emotionally distant from others (he was their ruler, not their friend), and how intimate physical contact was frowned upon in most cases.
It was difficult to adapt, but slowly but surely Arthur did.
“You’re a Pendragon,” Uther told him. “You always had it in you.”
Arthur knew that it was slightly pathetic how hard he worked solely to hear Uther compliment him. The man had lied to him, but Arthur had never had a father, and so despite his mixed feelings he continued trying to make his father proud.
Having a sword in his hand felt natural, even though Arthur had never even held one in nearly twenty-one years. Compared to court etiquette, training felt much easier, even on the days he was barely able to walk from the pain of being beaten around. It was something he excelled at (Pendragon blood? He didn’t know), and Arthur easily won the knights over with his rough but obvious skill.
“Soon,” Uther said, “you will be able to lead them.”
One thing truly bothered Arthur though, and that was the fact that he hadn’t seen Merlin even once since that day. Every time he even considered being the one to visit instead, something would come up—and with Arthur’s coronation coming up (set to happen on the eve of his twenty-first birthday), Merlin would have to make the first move.
He didn’t.
Merlin’s birthday, of course, had been the week prior to the event, but as he wasn’t the prince anymore, there had hardly been a grand celebration over the fact (and really, he did not miss that in the slightest, but his mother had baked him a cake, which may or may not have made Merlin cry as she held him close).
It wasn’t like he thought it mattered anyways; Arthur deserved everything, deserved to be named crown prince of Camelot and heir apparent after all that time, and though Merlin didn’t attend (could not attend anyways; he had no invitation, and it wasn’t hard to guess who was behind that), he had never been more proud of his friend.
Just as Merlin had predicted, the people of Camelot had taken to Arthur almost immediately, once the situation had been explained to them. Perhaps, in a way, the reason they took to him so quickly was his background; a prince, disguised as a peasant, rising to take the throne that had always been his—but Merlin knew that for the most part, it was simply the fact that Arthur was so easy to love.
Merlin hadn’t been forgotten, in turn, but he had been sure to stay out of the way of common folk (not as easy as it had once been, considering he was one, now) and to keep to himself in the time that they slowly adjusted to having Arthur as their prince—as Arthur adapted to the role of prince. Soon enough, the people would forget him entirely, and Merlin found, unsurprisingly, that he was absolutely fine with that.
He’d never wanted to be a prince anyway.
Merlin had moved in with Hunith, naturally. The only thing that was somewhat awkward about it all was the fact that it was the same house Arthur had once stayed in, and Merlin tried not to drive himself mad thinking about all the things Arthur had once done in that very house.
The first night had been the worst. Tired and upset, the emotional turmoil of the day had gotten to him, and all Merlin could do was curl up in his lumpy bed and try to will himself to fall asleep.
His mother had known, though. She’d sat down next to him quietly and stroked his hair until Merlin finally calmed down, and then she made him soup.
But it had gotten better after that; the two of them lived a simple life, and Merlin knew that him being so comfortable with such a life spoke volumes; he had never been designed to be royalty.
Arthur was never far from his thoughts though, no matter what Merlin did; he wanted to visit, had even been given permission to do so. He could.
But Merlin knew that he really couldn’t. Despite what Uther had said, he did not actually want Merlin there.
And besides, Merlin reasoned that Arthur was likely a bit (very) busy with all his new princely duties along with being saddled with every other task Merlin had ever had to do over the years as royalty. Really, Merlin wouldn’t have been surprised if he never actually saw Arthur again except from perhaps at a distance. It bothered him, obviously, but Merlin had been preparing for that exact scenario for the better part of six months anyways.
Though, he hadn’t exactly planned on Arthur showing up on his doorstep.
It was a pleasant shock, of course.
“Arthur!”
“Good to see you, Merlin.” Arthur moved in as if to hug Merlin, but when Merlin attempted to reciprocate, Arthur backed off abruptly, and Merlin realised with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he had vastly misunderstood the action (when had he stopped being able to read his friend, he wondered), and offered Arthur a sheepish smile. Luckily, the awkward moment didn’t last for very long, and when Arthur moved in again Merlin did not move in kind, allowing Arthur to clap him on the shoulder strongly but gently, shaking it for a moment before squeezing it lightly.
His thumb brushed gently over Merlin’s neck, the gesture more intimate than friendly, before finally withdrawing, and the two of them stood there, finding it hard to look away from each other after having been apart for so long. The awkward moment had passed, but it still lingered over their heads until Hunith, who was still in the house, finally cut through their silence and forced them to tear their gazes away.
“Well, I think I’m in dire need of some supplies, so I’ll be at the marketplace,” she said, offering her son a subtle but knowing grin, and Merlin worked hard not to blush furiously in response.
“It’s lovely to see you as well, Prince Arthur,” she said as she passed them.
Arthur looked quite vulnerable in that moment. “Of course mo—Hunith—” he stammered, wincing at his own mistake, but Hunith simply smiled gently at him before she left the house, and the two boys were left standing there as silence descended upon the house once more.
Finally, though, Arthur cut through it.
“I didn’t see you at the ceremony.”
His voice was hesitant, because even asking the question alone spoke volumes, and Merlin knew more than well enough how uncomfortable it made Arthur to have to ask it at all—but Arthur wasn’t the type who would back down from anything. In addition, the fact that he had come all the way there just to ask proved how desperately Arthur wanted to know why Merlin hadn’t been there.
“My...father,” clearly, Arthur still wasn’t comfortable calling Uther his father, “said he sent you an invitation, but...”
Ah, so Merlin had been right in thinking that Uther was behind the lack of an invitation. But telling Arthur that would change nothing, and so instead he nodded slightly, an apologetic look upon his face. “Yeah, he did, but I figured you had already had enough on your plate without me showing up and getting in the way.”
Not to mention it would also have been entirely awkward; more so than their current conversation, which was already far more awkward than any conversation they’d had in their entire friendship, but Arthur was quick to correct him. “You wouldn’t have been in the way.”
“Oh,” Merlin said, simply, because though he knew Arthur well—had, once upon a time, been able to read him (but no longer, clearly)—one thing he had never been good at reading was the mixed signals Arthur continually sent him, and it had been far too presumptuous to think Arthur had actually wanted him there.
Hearing that Arthur had wanted him there, though, broke something within Merlin.
“I’ve missed you,” Merlin said quickly. Part of him wanted to take the words back just as fast—but no, he owed Arthur that much. He couldn’t even bring himself to regret it when Arthur smiled widely in return, a breath of what seemed to be relief escaping his lips.
“That’s um, that’s good to know,” Arthur said, and Merlin felt something in his chest loosen in response. This was good, a good start to rebuilding their friendship back to the way it had been before.
Arthur, it seemed, had the same idea. “How’ve you been, Merlin?” he asked softly.
And, well Merlin could give him that much.
Or he could try, anyway.
“I’ve been—” Nerves, unfortunately, had turned his throat dry, and the words came out far raspier than he intended. Merlin swallowed quickly, looking embarrassed, before he cleared his throat. “I’ve been good.”
At face value, it was a lie, but beyond that, it was only something of a mistruth. He’d had better days, of course—better months, really—but there was no need to put his own problems upon Arthur’s shoulders, not when Arthur’s were already so weighed down with new responsibilities.
Besides, he wasn’t feeling bad or anything...just not good. Then again, just yesterday he hadn’t thought he would ever see Arthur again, so Arthur showing up out of the blue kind of changed things.
And the look on Arthur’s face told him he knew Merlin was lying, but Merlin hoped Arthur wouldn’t call him out on it. For a long moment, though, he thought his friend might, but then Arthur just smiled a little, inclining his head slightly. “I’m happy to hear that.”
Merlin knew he could have responded with the same question in turn; asked how Arthur had been as well, but Merlin basically knew the answer already: he was busy, he probably had hardly had a moment to himself in the entire time since he had come into his birthright, and Merlin didn’t want to ask him such an invasive question.
When Merlin had been the prince, they had had an easy friendship. But things were reversed now, and in light of the lies they’d been raised on, Merlin wasn’t sure they ever would be able to settle back into what they’d had, no matter how hard they tried. They could be friends, probably—possibly—but it would never be anything more (and if that had already seemed unlikely beforehand, now it seemed to be impossible), and never again would they have the same closeness that they had shared before.
But despite all that, Merlin knew he had to give Arthur something to work with, or else he wouldn’t have any sort of friendship with him. Searching his mind for a topic quickly, Merlin blurted out the first thing to come to his mind—
“So, I’m sure your bed in the castle is luxury in comparison to this.”
Merlin froze. Of all the things to say, that definitely wasn’t the topic he would have chosen. If anything, he had wanted to keep all talks of the castle and their background off the table—but in the end, Merlin supposed that it was somewhat inevitable anyways; their entire lives had been turned upside down, after all.
Arthur looked surprised too, by the comment. But after a moment he seemed to recover, and leaned in close, a conspiratorial look in his eyes that most definitely caught Merlin’s interest.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Arthur murmured lowly.
And Merlin felt a smile quirking up at the corner of his lips as he recognised his words from their second meeting echoed back at him, and he raised his brow in question, causing Arthur to say—
“It’s too soft. I’m not used to it; I have trouble falling asleep more often than not. Not that it isn’t comfortable, but...”
Caught by surprise, Merlin laughed outright before he could think to do otherwise, and just like that, it was as if nothing had changed between them, and Merlin was sure he looked just as relieved as Arthur did at that realisation even as his friend continued on.
“But you, you must be pleased. You told me you would prefer to live in the lower town than up in the castle, after all.”
Merlin bobbed his head in agreement. “And I trust you never told anyone.”
Arthur looked mock-offended, holding one hand up over his heart as if Merlin had physically wounded him. “I beg your pardon, Merlin. I would never!”
Merlin grinned, feeling cheeky as the two of them easily fell back into their original banter despite the weeks apart, and he invited Arthur to sit down, considering the two of them couldn’t keep standing there forever.
Arthur accepted, in an overly gracious fashion, and Merlin found he couldn’t stop smiling, now. “I see court etiquette is rubbing off on you.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Well, that is my job, Merlin. To learn these things.”
Merlin shrugged. “I never did quite get the hang of it. Just another thing Uther didn’t like about me.”
Arthur frowned slightly, and Merlin looked at him hesitantly. “Sorry,” he said haltingly. “I know he’s your father.”
But Arthur shook his head. “It’s not that. You still put in most of the work. You deserve the crown far more than I do, no matter what he thinks.” He paused. “And he was your father once, too.”
Merlin offered him a smile, but in all honesty it was more of a pained grimace. “In name only, really. Gaius was the one who always took care of me. I guess that’s why, when I found out the truth, I wasn’t as hurt as I could have been by Uther’s behaviour.”
Neither of them wanted to discuss it, really, but they had to get it out at some point, and Arthur pursed his lips. “It’s still annoying that they lied to us for all that time, though.”
And that moment was when he should stop talking, he knew, but instead Merlin shrugged, responding without a second thought—
“Yes, well, I was almost relieved when the truth finally came out. It was killing me, keeping it to myself for so long.”
He cut himself off after that, his eyes widening as he’d realised what he’d just said, had known he should have stopped talking—but it was far too late to take it back.
And just like that, as quickly as the tension had left them, it returned full force.
“...What?” Arthur asked, voice deceptively calm as he obviously struggled to keep himself in check, waiting for Merlin to explain himself before he lost his temper.
“Arthur—”
Unfortunately, Arthur’s patience didn’t extend that far.
“You knew?”
“I wanted to tell you—”
“Oh? That’s funny. All this time, you knew, and you didn’t tell me!”
Distantly, in the back of his mind, Merlin marvelled at how everything had gone so wrong, so quickly.
“Please, Arthur, just let me explain!”
“Explain? Explain what? That you betrayed me? That you knew all this time and you didn’t tell me?”
“I had to protect you!”
“Protect me? You lied to me! Just like my father, and Gaius, and my mo—” his voice broke, and Merlin’s heart broke right along with it, but Arthur soldiered on, recovering as best he could “—Hunith.”
His voice still cracked, as he said her name, but Merlin pretended it hadn’t, and he responded as best he could, wanting to defend himself as best he could, even though every word Arthur spoke was the absolute truth.
“It was for your protection.”
Arthur laughed, the sound almost hysterical, and he stood up, facing away from Merlin. “My protection,” he said flatly. “Of course. Just the same as everyone else.”
He turned on Merlin abruptly, rage flashing in his eyes as his tone went from flat to near-shouting. “The only difference is, you were supposed to be my friend! You were supposed to tell me things like this!”
And the worst part of it all was, it wasn’t even the only secret Merlin had kept from Arthur, all that time, and just thinking about that made Merlin feel even worse. But now was not the time to bring his magic up; not while Arthur was already so enraged.
“You were in danger, Arthur.”
“Clearly not in enough of it, or someone might have thought to warn me about all of this, to ensure I was prepared in case something ever went wrong.”
“Why?” Merlin bit back. “So you could do something stupid? We had our reasons for not telling you, Arthur.”
“To make me look a complete fool, I can see that.”
Growing angry in turn at how Arthur refused to be reasonable (not that he had any reason to be, Merlin knew, but by then he was too angry to care), Merlin stood up as well. “You are not listening to me!”
Arthur practically snarled as he stepped closer to Merlin, and Merlin found himself almost absurdly glad that he had almost an inch on Arthur height wise as they stood almost toe to toe, staring at each other viciously.
“If you’re going to shout anyway,” Arthur finally responded coolly, no longer shouting himself. “Then I can see I have no further reason to be here.”
And before Merlin could even think of anything to say in response, Arthur had left, slamming the door shut behind him hard enough for it to rattle on its hinges.
He stood there, unmoving, but it seemed to be mere seconds later when the door opened again.
For one wild moment, he entertained that it was Arthur, coming back to apologise, but such hopes were dashed the moment they spoke—
“Merlin? Why did—the prince,” it sounded forced, “just storm out of our house? I could hear shouting...”
And Merlin, upon hearing his mother, founding himself struggling not to let himself cry; could feel the tears welling up already, and all he could do was merely stand there before her, head bowed, the very image of guilt and sadness.
Hunith, like any mother would, knew without having to be told that something had obviously gone wrong, and she set down what she’d bought in the marketplace gently, approaching her son and enveloping him into a hug as best she could with her shorter stature.
Merlin’s arms came around her quickly, and she could hear him suppressing sobs into the shoulder of her dress. “I’ve ruined everything, mother,” he choked out, and Hunith sighed.
“Oh my dear boy,” she murmured, resting her chin against his head. “I am so sorry, for everything.”
But Arthur never did, and after two weeks, Merlin knew he had to do something beyond sitting around and moping. It was worrying his mother, for one thing, but for another, it most certainly wasn’t healthy.
At the very least, he had managed to avoid crying himself to sleep (at least, not every night), but the fact of the matter was, whether or not he had meant to, Merlin had betrayed Arthur. He had caused his friend a great wrong, and if Arthur would not come to him, Merlin would go to Arthur to try and fix things himself.
Which was how he found himself sneaking into the castle in the dead of night.
And yes, okay, there were probably much better ways to go about such a thing (he had been told he could visit whenever he wanted, after all, but considering Uther had been lying through his teeth, Merlin didn’t really want to push his luck with the man), and Merlin felt sufficiently creepy sneaking around through his former home; but, well, the guards were as easy to get by as they had been before, and Merlin had had more than enough practice sneaking in and out of the castle since he had first met Arthur, which meant it was the easiest way he could get in without alerting anyone to his presence.
Of course, there was the problem of Merlin not actually knowing where Arthur’s room was—but he figured starting with his old room was as good a place as any, considering he had been the prince once upon a time; he doubted Uther would actually care that the room had once belonged to Merlin in the slightest.
He wondered if Arthur knew, if it was indeed the same room that Arthur was inhabiting, and decided it was probably best not to tell him, if such ended up being true.
When Merlin finally reached his former room, he reached out to open the doors—
Only to discover they were locked.
Well, Merlin had never been one for locking his room, but if he needed any sort of proof someone was living in there, a locked door would most certainly be it.
Not that a locked door was much of a problem for him.
Merlin had seen Gaius only once since he had been removed from the castle, when Gaius had come to deliver Merlin’s book of magic and an apology. Merlin had nodded in thanks, but he wouldn’t have needed the book for such a simple spell.
“Allinan,” he whispered, moving his hand as he spoke and feeling the heat inside and the burn of his eyes as the magic flowed from his fingers. The lock slid open slowly in response, far too loud for Merlin’s comfort in the darkness and silence, but when no one came running and there was no response from inside the room, Merlin slipped through the door quietly before shutting it behind him.
He looked to the bed before anything else, and sure enough, there was someone in the bed, and as Merlin crept closer, he could see it was most definitely Arthur, sprawled out on his back and a loose nightshirt rucked up around his waist.
Against his better judgement Merlin couldn’t help pausing for a minute to stare intently at the expanse of skin that was on display before him, wanting to touch and knowing he couldn’t.
And then Arthur let out a snore and the moment was ruined.
Merlin stifled a laugh as he continued to approach the bed, because despite the situation, despite the reason he was there, despite the fact that even in the darkness he could see shadows under Arthur’s eyes—Arthur snored.
And perhaps, he could admit to himself, he was possibly getting desperate for a reason to laugh in recent times.
Whether it was the sound of Merlin’s muffled laugh, or because he was merely restless (he had confessed he had trouble sleeping, after all), Arthur rolled over suddenly.
Though his eyes were still closed, Merlin paused, eyes wide as he covered his mouth, as if that could prevent the noise he had already made from emerging even as he glanced toward the antechamber quickly, hoping Arthur’s manservant wouldn’t emerge to find out what was going on—only to realise it was empty.
Merlin blinked; Arthur, it seemed, did not seem to keep his own servant anywhere near the proximity (much like he hadn’t), which was most certainly good news for Merlin as he relaxed slightly, looking back to Arthur.
Who had opened his eyes.
Merlin stared in horror as Arthur stared sleepily back at him, but then it occurred to him that Arthur waking up was actually a good thing that worked out in his favour, considering he’d been planning on waking him up anyway.
Neither spoke, and for a long moment it didn’t seem like Arthur was truly registering Merlin’s presence at all as he continued blinking sleepily up at him, but then Merlin could see the moment when it clicked. Arthur’s eyes widened and he shot up abruptly, scrambling backwards away from Merlin in alarm.
“Merlin, what the hell are you doing here?!” he practically yelped, and Merlin winced slightly.
“I, uh...came to talk to you?”
Arthur blinked once, twice, before he suddenly seemed to remember that he was indeed angry at Merlin, and his face abruptly closed down.
“I believe we’ve said all that we needed to already.”
Merlin cringed. So, not off to the best start, then, not that he had really been expecting any differently.
Before he could continue speaking, though, realisation began to dawn on Arthur’s features. “Hang on, how did you get into my room? It’s locked.”
Oh, right, there was that small issue to contend with.
“Well, it was my room before,” Merlin said in a desperate attempt to get Arthur’s mind off that small detail—and then remembering he hadn’t actually meant to reveal that, had even told himself that it would be a bad idea, but there was no point regretting it; especially not when the shock on Arthur’s face told him that now Arthur’s mind was definitely not focussed on just how Merlin had gotten into his room anymore.
Merlin saw his chance and all but leapt for it, bypassing that part of the conversation entirely and getting to his original point.
“Arthur, I am so sorry.”
Arthur peered up at him owlishly as Merlin’s apology worked its way through his still slightly sleep-addled brain, and he frowned. “An apology is hardly enough, Merlin.”
Well, Merlin could understand that well enough; he had felt the same way with Gaius when the physician had apologised, but at the very least Arthur wasn’t yelling at him this time.
“I know that,” Merlin said. “But it’s all I have to give.”
Arthur sighed as he finally settled back into a sitting position, and he patted the part of the bed across from him to show that Merlin was welcome to sit.
It was more than Merlin could have asked for, really, and so he sat—tentatively—offering Arthur a weak smile that Arthur did not return.
“You hurt me, Merlin.”
“And I am so sorry for that—”
But Arthur held up his hand to signify that he wanted silence, which Merlin gave quickly.
“You hurt me,” Arthur continued, “and I don’t know if I can forgive you. We were supposed to be friends.”
At that, though, Merlin could not keep silent. “We are friends, Arthur.”
“Are we? Could you be friends with someone who has lied to you for so long?”
Merlin squeezed his eyes shut; because in the end, the question was one for Arthur to answer.
“I am your friend. And because I’m your friend, I’m going to tell you the truth.”
When he opened his eyes, he saw Arthur had fixed him with an intense stare, as if he was trying to read into the statement, and Merlin clarified.
“Not about our pasts. You’ve already heard it all from Gaius and Uther—but the truth about me. A secret I’ve never told anyone.”
The intense look faded slightly, but Merlin still felt like Arthur was scrutinising him, was trying to read Merlin’s intentions to discover if Merlin was, in fact, being completely honest with him.
“Arthur...”
And there was no going back now. If he wanted Arthur to trust him, to forgive him, Merlin couldn’t let there be any more secrets between the two of them on his part.
“...I have magic.”
The confession hung heavy in the air between them for a long moment as they looked intently at each other.
And then Arthur huffed out a laugh of disbelief, turning away from Merlin; as if he was disappointed with Merlin for joking at such a time.
But it wasn’t a joke, and Merlin needed Arthur to realise that. The entire thing was risky, of course; Merlin had, after all, tried to tell Arthur more than once over the course of their friendship, and he still remembered vividly that Uther had poisoned Arthur’s mind like he had so many other citizens of Camelot; that Arthur thought magic was evil, thought it deserved to be banned.
Merlin knew, that over the years Arthur had watched the king execute sorcerer after sorcerer in the square, and had developed a deep distrust toward magic in response—and now that Arthur had come into his power as the prince, Merlin had no way of knowing if he wouldn’t run and tell Uther immediately.
But Merlin wanted Arthur to know the truth, and that alone was worth the risk.
“I’m serious, Arthur,” Merlin said; and perhaps it was his tone, but Arthur turned back to look at him, and Merlin stared right at him, fixedly, trying to make his (possibly former) friend understand that.
But Arthur merely stared back, uncomprehending.
“This isn’t funny, Merlin.”
And Merlin loved Arthur, he did, but sometimes it drove him mad that the prince could be so insanely dense when he wanted to be.
Which only meant one thing left, really.
Not taking his eyes away from Arthur, Merlin stretched his hand out, and without hesitation said the words of magic that would show Arthur he wasn’t lying.
“Fromum feohgiftum on fæder bearme. Fromum feohgiftum.”
Again, Merlin felt his eyes burn with power, and he heard Arthur’s breath hitch as it occurred; knew that Arthur had seen his eyes change from blue to gold in the darkness of the room.
And there, fitting perfectly in the centre of Merlin’s palm, was a flawlessly formed orb of bluish light, lighting up the darkness of the room and throwing Arthur’s face into sharp relief.
The orb seemed to shimmer slightly, as if it was light itself; strands of its radiance chasing after each other from where they were contained inside it, as if they were dancing, and Arthur couldn’t seem to look away from it. But Merlin, who had used the spell before, had seen the orb, was far more focussed on taking in Arthur’s reaction.
And to Merlin’s surprise, Arthur looked upon it with a sense of wonder on his face, rather than fear or hatred.
But Merlin wanted to get out what he needed to say before Arthur could break the silence, and so he spoke in a rush of breath, words tumbling from his mouth quickly as he tried to explain himself.
“I wanted to tell you, all this time—so many times—but Gaius said—” he broke off. “I was the prince, and magic was—is¬—banned. You’re the only person—Gaius knew before I did, he said I was born with it. He said—if anyone had known—”
“Merlin,” Arthur interrupted calmly, bringing Merlin’s ramblings to a halt. He didn’t sound angry, but his resigned tone still worried Merlin.
Merlin worried at his lip nervously as he listened to Arthur speak.
“You know I don’t...like magic. But your magic is...it’s calming,” he said quickly. “I won’t tell my father.”
Merlin inhaled sharply. “Arthur,” he breathed out upon exhaling, Arthur’s name more a huff of air than anything, but Arthur shook his head swiftly, obviously trying to get out everything he needed to. “Regardless of my feelings toward magic,” he paused, haltingly, before forcing himself to proceed. “Thank you for telling me. I know you took a great risk in doing so, despite everything. I don’t know if I can forgive you for lying, about everything, but I just want you to know I—I understand.”
And it wasn’t forgiveness, not by a long shot, but it was something Merlin had been wanting to hear for a very long time, and almost without meaning to, Merlin found himself leaning closer to Arthur, whispering his friend’s name again.
And Arthur was leaning closer to him, in return. “Gods, I want to forgive you, Merlin. I really do,” he said softly. “I just want to leave this all behind us and move on.”
“I want that too, Arthur,” Merlin all but whispered.
The two of them found themselves physically closer to each other than they had ever been before (and that was saying something, really), the both of them paused before the other, their lips almost touching, each feeling the other’s breath, as their breath mingled together, and Merlin was almost certain that they were about to kiss, that everything had been leading up to that exact moment, when Arthur broke away suddenly, turning his head to the side.
“But I can’t,” he whispered brokenly. “I want to, but I can’t. Not yet.”
Merlin tried to swallow back the pain of merely hearing that statement.
“Arthur...”
“You need to leave, Merlin,” Arthur said, still unable to look at his friend.
Merlin didn’t move, though; couldn’t have even if he wanted to in that moment, but Arthur could clearly still feel his presence hovering next to him.
“Please,” Arthur begged, obviously hoping Merlin would understand just what it took for Arthur to lower himself to that level. “Please, just go.”
Arthur would never get a response; by the time he would turn back and open his eyes, Merlin would be long gone.
Merlin saw he clearly had no more place in Arthur’s life, that both he and Hunith didn’t belong there anymore. Arthur was where he belonged, after all; Nimueh was dead, and Merlin could go home, back to where he’d been born, could finally get to know his mother properly, because they were all safe. There was nothing more to do or say.
Hunith had agreed, when he’d told her that.
Ealdor was waiting for them.
Ealdor wasn’t in Camelot; it was a small village in the Kingdom of Essetir, mostly forgotten by its king and where the villagers fought hard to survive on their own and had been made stronger for it.
Merlin had been born in Ealdor, he knew, but Merlin didn’t remember that; he had been too young, only a little over a week old when he had been taken away, as the crystals had shown him, but it still had felt strange, coming back.
It was a place where everyone knew everyone and helped each other out, growing what they needed. The same could be said for former residents—the villagers all seemed to remember Hunith well enough upon their return. Her home had been left untouched, and after a bit of cleaning up, it had still been liveable in, even after twenty-one years.
As Merlin adjusted to his new life, he found that so long as there was food on the table and a roof over his head (both of which, he was pleased to say, they had), he was happy.
Magic was not banned in Essetir, but even so Hunith and Merlin decided it would be best if he kept his talents hidden. Magic was not something that was common, especially in the smaller villages, and Merlin felt no desire to be ostracised for something he had been born with.
And so, three years came to pass.
The scene was near identical to the first time Merlin had ever laid eyes upon his mother, but the similarities ended quickly when another man trudged in through the door. His eyes fell upon Merlin almost immediately before looking at the firewood that had been placed in the corner.
“I trust you were discreet, boy?”
Merlin smiled, feeling slightly cheeky. “Of course, father.”
Hunith made a sound of disapproval as she stood up from where she had been stoking the fire, smoothing down her apron gently as she turned to face the two of them. “Oh, the both of you; really. He should learn to use an axe, like everyone else.” Her tone was stern, but her smile was fond.
Several months after they had first arrived in Ealdor, Merlin had left with only the promise that he would return one day soon. But it was not Camelot he had travelled back to; instead, he had followed the directions the dragon had given him—a time that seemed so long ago, but in truth, had not even been a year prior—searching to find his father.
In truth, looking for Balinor had been more for his mother’s benefit than anything. Merlin knew nothing about the man, other than that he was a Dragonlord. But Hunith had known him; loved him, and Merlin didn’t want to see his mother looking lonely when she thought he couldn’t see. Though he did admit to himself that a small part of him simply wanted to see the man he could call father and mean it—something he had never been able to do with Uther.
A smaller greedy, childish part of him simply wanted to have a family.
It had been easy enough to find him, in the end; but Balinor had not welcomed his presence. Uther had driven him into hiding, and it had turned him into a bitter soul who seemed to hate everyone. In that regard, it had not been easy to convince Merlin that he was indeed Balinor’s son; that it was safe, that Uther no longer hunted him, and that Hunith had never married another and still loved him.
Eventually Merlin had been able to, though; had managed to get his father to come back to Ealdor with him, so the three of them could be a family. Balinor had been reluctant, of course. He didn’t know how to be a father, and he doubted Hunith would recognise him, but Merlin had persisted. He didn’t know how to be a son, either, but they would manage, and ultimately the two of them made their way back to Ealdor.
Hunith had been shocked, naturally, but Balinor had been wrong—she’d recognised him immediately, throwing her arms around him and weeping tears of joy.
Merlin had felt like he had been intruding on an intimate moment between his parents, as he looked at the confused expression on Balinor’s face, as if the man had not expected such from Hunith, but eventually his arms had went around her waist, and the two embraced.
Merlin’s smile had been brighter than it ever had been since he and his mother had first left Camelot—he had a family.
Balinor and Hunith had married not long after, and Merlin found that in the time since, life was peaceful, and good. They were happy.
And if Merlin was, perhaps, a bit (a lot) regretful about the way he and Arthur had ended, well, he tried not to think about it.
But then the dragon came.
But Balinor was unrepentant, not even bothering to correct his obvious lie as he simply fixed Merlin with a look, and Merlin knew he was going to have to go collect more firewood anyways.
So, rather than argue the point, he just sighed and nodded, leaving the house and trudging off into the surrounding forest grudgingly. It was dark, and why on earth he was expected to collect firewood when the sun had already gone down, Merlin had no idea, but it wasn’t going to help anything if he couldn’t see in the first place.
“Leoht,” he said quietly into the darkness, a small light appearing in the palm of his hand as he made his way deeper into the forest to find firewood.
Of course, Merlin realised, it shouldn’t have surprised him that as a Dragonlord, Balinor was highly in tune with the dragon’s presence and had sent Merlin off for a reason. Merlin could have laughed, but seeing the dragon—Kilgharrah, Balinor had said his name was, when Merlin had first told his father about his meeting the beast—for the first time in so long actually enraged him, a little bit, and he spoke without thinking.
“Now you show up? Where have you been the past three years?” Merlin asked him spitefully. “Where were you when I ruined everything with Arthur? What about all that talk about destiny, or whatever you were on about?”
Kilgharrah, however, deflected his questions easily; by his rumbling snort of impatience, he had obviously come for a reason of his own, and didn’t have time to answer Merlin’s questions.
“The news has been spreading across the land since two days past, and I have been travelling since then to reach you Merlin. I think you’ll find this takes precedence over your own importance.”
Merlin genuinely felt the urge to roll his eyes; the dragon was the one who had said his and Arthur’s destinies were “entwined,” so Merlin wasn’t quite sure how he was exaggerating his own importance—but getting angry at a magical creature that could breathe fire wouldn’t have been his brightest idea.
He was pretty sure he could probably block the fire from hitting him, if it came right down to it, but the same wouldn’t really go for the surrounding forest, and so Merlin sighed.
“All right...what is it?”
“Uther is dead. The young Pendragon is now king.”
And whatever Merlin had been expecting to hear, that certainly hadn’t been it.
Arthur...was king? Not for the first time, it occurred to Merlin just how long it had been since he had last seen his friend; since that fateful night when they had almost kissed (though by this point, Merlin was starting to think he might have imagined that part out of desperation—but then again, Merlin was pretty sure if that was the case, he’d have imagined them actually kissing).
Merlin knew, if he was shocked, he could not even begin to imagine how Arthur was feeling. He had grown up believing Uther was his father, after all, and cruel as Uther had been to him, Merlin had never wished death upon the man. But whereas Merlin had found his real parents in the end, now Arthur had no one, and Merlin wished—not for the first time, not by far—that he could be there for Arthur.
But everything had been fine, before. Merlin hadn’t been needed.
Of one thing, though, he was absolutely sure: Arthur would be a better king than Uther had ever been.
“Long live the king,” Merlin whispered as he bowed his head.
The dragon, in a gesture of surprising kindness, allowed Merlin a moment, but Merlin could hear the great beast shifting his wings restlessly. “There is more,” Kilgharrah said.
Merlin tilted his head to the side in confusion. “What is it?”
“There are rumours of the High Priestess having returned.”
Merlin’s eyes widened. Nimueh. Just hearing her title had Merlin’s stomach in knots. If she was alive—if she had faked her own death...
If so, Arthur was in danger, and there wasn’t a moment to waste.
“I need to get to Camelot,” he said.
“Yes, I suppose you do,” the dragon responded.
“Will you take me?” Merlin asked.
“I am not a horse, Merlin.”
“Please,” Merlin said. “Arthur could be in danger, and the journey would take too long on foot.”
But Balinor shook his head. “Our son is growing up, is all.”
The confusion turned into a small smile as Hunith inclined her head in response; in the short time they’d known each other, Balinor had shown himself to be remarkably in touch with Merlin, likely due to the both of them having magic, and she had learned not to question the things Balinor said.
Mostly, he just wanted it to be over, and when Kilgharrah finally touched down in a clearing outside Camelot, Merlin could not scramble off him fast enough.
“I can take you no further, young warlock,” he told him. Merlin wanted to get angry that he would do no more, but at the same time, he had done more than enough, and Merlin could hardly fly into the castle courtyard on the back of a dragon.
All that mattered was the fact that Arthur was in danger, and that fear for him clutched at Merlin like a vice, because all this time and Arthur hadn’t been, wasn’t safe like he had once thought.
It was frustrating—so frustrating that he wanted to scream—having to run the rest of the way to Camelot, but the main thought in Merlin’s mind was that he had to get to Arthur was soon as possible. He would run forever if it meant keeping Arthur safe.
Merlin arrived in Camelot in the early morning, with every intention of heading straight to the palace to see Arthur, but no sooner had he stepped past the castle gates than were several guards on him, pikes raised threateningly.
“Halt! You’re under arrest for the murder of the former king!” the one nearest to him shouted.
Merlin gaped. “What?”
“You’re a traitor to the crown, kingslayer!”
“I am not! I didn’t do anything!” Merlin protested, but they would hear nothing of it.
“If you don’t come quietly, we will be forced to execute you where you stand.”
Well that was just unfair, Merlin sputtered, but they were advancing on him; clearly they meant what they said. He glanced over his shoulder quickly; no one behind him.
No choice then.
Merlin turned and ran.
In the end, he only just escaped them, making use of every shortcut and hiding place he could find in order to evade them. Once the area was clear, he slumped against a wall, trying to figure out what had happened that they would accuse him of murder.
Kilgharrah had said Uther was dead, but Merlin hadn’t thought...
Oh, gods, the vision. Merlin vividly remembered the look on Arthur’s face, when he’d seen the bracelet. Remembered Uther’s cold body laying before Arthur.
Merlin thought he might be sick.
All the signs pointed to Nimueh—the rumours that she might be alive, the fact that she had sworn revenge on Uther, but all Merlin knew for sure was that he’d been framed, and he couldn’t keep Arthur safe when he was the most wanted man in the kingdom.
If he wanted to get around undetected though, he would need a disguise.
Merlin went up the counter, nodding at Evoric (who doubled as both innkeeper and barkeep) as he asked for a room.
Having been living in Ealdor the past three years, Merlin could hardly be considered rich anymore, by anyone’s standards, but luckily he had a few coins on him, which he exchanged as payment.
He didn’t exactly need the room for a place to sleep. All he needed was some peace and quiet; somewhere he could think alone about how to figure out what to do about Arthur and this entire mess.
Several people were making sounds of appreciation, scattered along with the applause, but Arthur just nodded at them before he made his way over to the bench, taking a piece of cloth and wiping at the sweat that had developed on his forehead and the back of his neck. Everyone was still waiting expectantly though, so Arthur looked around at the surrounding faces before he picked two at random.
“Sir Radnor, Sir Geraint, the two of you.”
The knights in question came forward, facing off against each other with swords at the ready, and Arthur surveyed them with a keen eye as they began to spar. He always had liked training, he reflected; watching his men progress day by day, and knowing he himself was also improving; there was always room to improve, after all. And despite the fact that he only had three years of experience compared to most of his knights, Arthur was already one of the best fighters among them (not the best, not yet, but the day wasn’t far off in coming).
He was still watching Radnor and Geraint spar when several guards approached him, looks of concern on their faces.
Arthur frowned, knowing they would not interrupt training unless it was a matter of great importance. “What is it?” he asked the head of the guards, voice low.
“It’s the kingslayer, Merlin. He was sighted in Camelot just this morning.”
Just hearing Merlin’s name spoken aloud after three years hit Arthur like a punch to the gut. Gaius had tried, at times, but Arthur had adamantly not wanted to hear it, and given what had happened to his father—Arthur was stunned; beyond stunned, really, more utterly shocked.
“And you didn’t stop him?”
“We did try, Sire, but he escaped. We’re searching, and we’ve got men at every possible exit. He won’t be getting out of Camelot.”
“Find him,” Arthur told them, “and bring him to me.”
“Yes, Sire,” they chorused, nodding at him before walking away.
Arthur was left standing there, feeling like he couldn’t breathe. Their announcement had rattled him more than he’d let on, and Arthur refused to let his men see that. The moment Geraint and Radnor finished sparring, Arthur called an end to training for the day and escaped to his room.
After Morris had finished removing his armour, Arthur dismissed him brusquely, demanding that no one disturbed him for the rest of the day unless explicitly stated—the moment he was gone, he locked the doors to his chambers behind them before he fell back against them and slid down to the ground slowly, his feet placed firmly on the ground with his knees bent as he rubbed his hand against his face in a weary fashion.
Naturally, all he could think about was Merlin. He hadn’t been lying about the broken heart; Merlin had hurt him, betrayed him, lied to him—Merlin had killed his father, and yet Arthur had never, not once, stopped thinking about him once in the entire three years he’d been gone. Even in the face of Uther’s death, Arthur hadn’t managed it. Out loud, he would never say it, but Arthur wasn’t stupid enough to deny that he loved Merlin.
He’d forgotten that, at first, when he first saw the bracelet; all he’d felt was rage, but after he’d calmed down, Arthur could admit that despite it all, he could not stop his feelings so easily.
In all honestly, he had never stopped loving Merlin, and that caused a deep anger within himself.
True to his command, no one disturbed him, and Arthur remained where he was for what felt like hours, unmoving and deep in thought.
But Arthur wasn’t one to just sit around, and eventually he spurred himself into action—if nothing else, he could at least join the search to find Merlin and talk to him himself.
He’d get the truth from Merlin even if it killed him.
His father’s body had been unmarked, and coupled with Merlin’s bracelet at the scene suggested magic, but Arthur couldn’t associate the feeling Merlin’s magic had given him with the cold-blooded murder of Uther.
People could change, he supposed, but it nagged at him enough that he hadn’t revealed the fact that Merlin was a sorcerer to the guards.
But he knew, and Arthur was willing to bet that Merlin had disguised himself to evade capture. If he was smart, he’d have left the city, but well, Merlin had always been a bit of an idiot.
Knowing that, Arthur started his search at The Rising Sun, because that was where people passing through Camelot would stay.
“Evoric,” Arthur asked once face to face with the man. “Did anyone new arrive this morning?”
The innkeeper looked surprised for a moment before he nodded his head in confirmation. “You’d be right about that, Your Majesty. An old man, calls himself Dragoon.”
“What room is he staying in?”
Now Evoric looked slightly troubled. “He’s not in trouble, is he Majesty? I don’t need any trouble around here. Bad for business.”
“It’s fine,” Arthur assured him. “I just want to know his room.”
“Third door on the left,” Evoric told him.
Arthur thanked him and made his way upstairs quickly, heading toward the door in question. He had just raised his hand to knock when he heard it—
“It’s so sweet, how much you care for your king.”
The voice was unfamiliar; a woman, but it was the reply that had him rooted to the spot.
“Stop calling him that.” Oh, but that voice. Arthur knew that voice, had dreamed of it time and time again over the years (had woken up sobbing from the pain and want, but he’d never told anyone that).
“Hmm?” the woman responded. “But isn’t it true?”
“No,” Merlin said, too quickly to be entirely convincing, “he’s not mine.”
A chuckle. “Ah, but the look on your face tells me otherwise.”
“Stop it!”
“Temper, Merlin. There’s no need to be so angry with me, such a shame. But, well, if you’re so angry…” she made a thoughtful sound. “Come meet me at the Isle of the Blessed.”
“Where do I find it?” Merlin asked, with no hesitation.
“Beyond the White Mountains, through the Valley of the Fallen Kings, and to the north of the Great Seas of Meredor you will find a lake. There, I will be waiting for you.”
Moments later, Arthur heard footsteps approaching the door, and Arthur couldn’t be sure if it was the woman or Merlin—normally that wouldn’t have mattered, the plan was to apprehend Merlin, but Arthur had promised Evoric that there would be no trouble, and if Merlin had company, that definitely meant trouble.
Confronting Merlin in Camelot would end up causing a disturbance, of that Arthur was sure, but now he knew exactly where Merlin would be, and it was a chance to catch Merlin unawares and away from prying eyes.
Casting one last glance at the door, he went back downstairs quickly, out the door, and headed toward the stables.
He rode at a nearly breakneck pace, only stopping when there was no more light to see by, determined to get there before Merlin. No sooner had dawn come than Arthur was up and moving again.
When Arthur finally came across what he assumed was the Isle of the Blessed, he had to pause for a moment. It was a haunted looking place, smack dab in the centre of a large lake. The atmosphere alone was quite dreary—the sky covered in seemingly perpetual clouds, the air cool, but Arthur found he didn’t particularly care much about the weather patterns of the area.
He would wait for Merlin to arrive before he got any closer to the isle.
Merlin tied his horse to a tree and headed toward a small boat with an old man standing on the docks next to it. The man stuck his hand out, and Merlin placed a gold coin in his palm before stepping into the boat.
After they were gone Arthur came out of hiding, tying his horse to a nearby tree as well as he waited for the man to return. Once he did, Arthur repeated what Merlin had done, and then Arthur was headed for the isle as well.
The ferryman did not use an oar to steer, but magic, and the second Arthur’s feet once again touched land he didn’t even look back.
It wouldn’t have mattered; both the ferryman and the boat had already left back to the dock.
Trying his best not to feel daunted (and he would deny that he felt that way in the first place, he’d overcome far too many things in his life and never given up; he wouldn’t even consider doing so now), Arthur made his way forth, scanning the surrounding area cautiously as he searched for Merlin.
He didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight, but Arthur remained on the alert—so he immediately noticed when the murmur of voices reached his ears. They were too indistinct for him to make out what they were saying properly, but at the very least he could follow them to discover exactly where they were coming from (because he wasn’t stupid enough to think they didn’t belong to Merlin and the woman, not after what he’d heard the day before).
It turned out they weren’t all that far off; it wasn’t long at all before the voices (the woman’s, in particular) became clear enough that he could understand what they were saying.
And Arthur found he didn’t particularly like what he was hearing, but he kept walking, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“I’d known about the swap between you and the Pendragon since the beginning,” she was saying. “I am gifted in the art of scrying, after all—for someone with as much power as I it was all too easy to see what Uther and Gaius had planned. After that, it was easy to play it to my advantage—all I had to do was let them believe I didn’t know.”
Arthur rounded a corner, and into sight came Merlin and—
Nimueh.
Neither of them seemed to notice him, but Arthur’s own thoughts were already entering into overdrive. Nimueh, he realised with some degree of incredulity. Of course he recognised her; he’d been one of many to witness her death on the pyre—so why, exactly, was she still alive? Merlin had been there, three years ago, when Arthur had been told of what she had done, how she had sworn revenge; the reason for the swap in the first place.
And yet, there she was, decidedly not dead and revealing to Merlin how she had, in fact, known the truth the entire time.
The idea that Merlin had been the one to murder Uther in cold blood was looking less likely by the second—and as Nimueh continued to explain everything in detail to Merlin, any lingering possibilities that Merlin had been the killer were promptly destroyed.
“As I’m sure you’ve figured out, I faked my own death simply to get Pendragon back on the throne; I’ve also known you have magic for some time now. Not only that, but I was lucky enough to witness you confessing to Arthur about it. Once I had that knowledge, it was easy enough to use that little titbit of information against him when I killed Uther. And it was so easy, too. After that, all I had to do was make it look like you did it.”
“The bracelet,” Merlin breathed out.
Nimueh laughed; the sound lilting, but cold. “I see you’ve already figured it out for yourself. Yes, the bracelet. A replica, as you well know. All Arthur had to do was see it by the body, and, well. I was hoping it would break him, to think his friend had been the one to kill his father. That sort of vulnerability would make him all too easy to get to, really.”
Merlin didn’t say anything in return, and Arthur’s thoughts were racing. Merlin had been framed. Merlin hadn’t killed his father. Relief like Arthur had never known washed through him.
“Perhaps I could...show you?” Nimeuh suggested with a cruel smile, but she didn’t wait for a response before the spell left her lips.
“Besceáwodnesa.”
Images began pouring into Arthur’s head, driving him to one knee as he closed his eyes tightly against the pain.
When he opened his eyes again though, the scene before him was different.
Uther was sitting in the council chamber, alone, seated in his chair. It was obvious he was lost in thought, due to his posture and the way he started off into the distance, but he was soon torn from those thoughts when he received a visitor.
“Hello, Uther,” she said, a smirk in her voice.
Uther paled, standing up and staggering back with wide eyes.
“Nimueh,” he said, shock and horror lacing his tone. “But you’re dead.”
Nimueh laughed, but there was no humour in it. “You honestly thought that little fire would be enough to stop the likes of me? You surprise me, Uther.”
And although he had been shocked to learn she was still alive, the fact that she had faked her own death did not seem to surprise Uther. “Why do you insist on doing this?” he asked instead.
Nimueh’s eyes practically glittered with her desire for revenge. “I think you know the answer to that as well as I.”
“I was not the cause of Ygraine’s death!”
“You were as good as. You did not heed my warning, and now you and your son will pay dearly for it.”
Uther paled further. “Arthur has nothing to do with this.”
“He has everything to do with this,” Nimueh snapped. “Without him, my friend would still be alive.”
“There is not a day goes by that I don’t think of her,” Uther said.
“There’s not a day goes by that I don’t wish she was still alive,” Nimueh retorted sharply.
Uther’s face crumpled. “You are not alone in that wish.”
Nimueh seemed to survey Uther with a mild amount of disgust. “You wish you didn’t have a son?” She shrugged, carelessly. “That can be easy enough to arrange.”
“I will not let you take him,” Uther said.
“You won’t be able to stop me,” Nimueh responded. “Your son is not the only one who deserves death.”
And with that, she reached out with her hand in Uther’s direction. “Forþrysme,” she uttered coolly, clenching her hand into a fist around the air.
Uther’s eyes bulged, and his own hands immediately went to his throat.
Of course, he could not stop her; her magic was too strong and there was nothing physical to break, and eventually his body collapsed to the ground, the last of his life draining from him.
Nimueh approached his corpse, a look of utter disdain on her face. “Farewell, Uther Pendragon. Your son will be the next to pay for the pain he has caused me.”
“Nice, wasn’t it?” Nimueh asked conversationally. Neither responded.
Arthur had fallen onto his side, curling up into a ball at the flood of emotions running through him; tears ran down his face against his will as the foreign memories all but assaulted him. At the back of his mind, he realised this meant Nimueh had known he was there the entire time, and Arthur was mostly aware enough to check on how Merlin was doing; still standing, but looking dazed (which was better than Arthur could say about himself, even as he once more struggled to his feet).
Abruptly Nimueh changed the topic, taking advantage of their current states as she casually remarked, “Alas, Merlin, it is far too late for your dear king.”
In that same split second, she raised her hand up in Arthur’s direction.
“Forbærne! Ácwele!” she shouted, and a ball of fire was growing in the palm of her hand, and suddenly it was heading right toward Arthur, and there was no time to react, no time to even think, all he could do was brace himself, refusing to close his eyes, determined to look death in the eye.
But then Merlin was yelling loudly, and Arthur couldn’t help it; he glanced over at Merlin, wanting Merlin’s face to be the last thing he ever saw, rather than death; but Merlin had apparently recovered from the vision; his eyes were glowing, and he had flung his arm out desperately, responding to Nimueh’s spell with his own.
“Scildan!” and in that same moment Arthur could see a shimmering, almost invisible barrier forming in front of him, and then the fireball was hitting it—but instead of going through, it simply...dissipated.
Merlin didn’t waste a moment, though, and his other arm came up, this one directed toward Nimueh. “Ástríce!” he shouted, and a blast of magical energy left his palm, but to Arthur’s shock, she absorbed the magic with her bare hand.
Nimueh laughed, then. “I am a High Priestess of the Old Religion,” she said. “You’ll need to do better than that.”
Merlin, it seemed, was more than willing to rise to the challenge, and his eyes glowed brightly as he thrust his arms out—
Only to frown when nothing happened to his opponent in turn.
She smirked. “Be careful, Merlin. If you let your guard down, Arthur will be in danger.”
Arthur knew, with absolute certainty, that she was taunting Merlin. He wanted to shout, to warn Merlin not to let her get to him, but the look on Merlin’s face stopped him.
Merlin looked furious, far angrier than Arthur had ever seen him, and it was obvious he wasn’t going to listen even if Arthur tried. And then Merlin was opening his mouth, and he was screaming; no words, merely a loud, echoing scream.
Nimueh did falter, that time, taking several stumbling steps back before she managed to regain her balance, and she delicately arched one eyebrow before smiling cruelly, and she thrust out her arm in return.
Caught off guard, Merlin was sent flying back, and the barrier in front of Arthur flickered several times—Arthur could only assume it was due to Merlin’s loss of concentration in that moment, but to his relief, Merlin was already scrambling back to his feet, his eyes flaring gold as the barrier continued to maintain itself, and then he turned to face Nimueh again.
“Oferswing!”
Again, Nimueh managed to remain standing (not that Arthur knew what any of the spells happening meant, but judging by the look of frustration on Merlin’s face, whatever he was trying to do wasn’t working, and that wasn’t good), and suddenly there was a whirlwind tearing up the ground between her and Merlin, and she hadn’t even had to speak.
Arthur was safe behind the barrier, of course, but he watched with worry, feeling utterly useless as Merlin squinted against the strong winds, obviously fighting not to be pushed back.
“Miere thoden!” Merlin shouted angrily, and without warning the wind ceased.
That Merlin had managed to stop her spell now had Nimueh looking angry, but now that he had the upper hand for a moment, Merlin obviously wasn’t going to give her a chance to act.
“Cume her fyrbryne.”
The spell conjured up a line of fire from Merlin’s feet that travelled along the ground towards Nimueh, but it had only just reached her when she glared at it.
“Acwence þa bælblyse!” she hissed at it, and it started to die down, but Merlin gritted his teeth. “Fyr wiþere!” he responded, and the fire once again flared strongly, rising up and consuming Nimueh.
For a brief moment, Arthur thought that perhaps Merlin had won; but Merlin wasn’t celebrating, and Arthur realised that Nimueh was still standing, but now she was covered in several severe looking burns.
The fire still raged around her, and Arthur counted it as a small victory, but it seemed all the fire had done was further anger Nimueh. “You will pay for that, Merlin!” she declared.
In comparison to Nimueh’s few burns (bad though they were), Merlin looked dreadful. He was frightfully pale, and panting for breath—and Arthur understood with a startling sense of clarity that Merlin holding up the barrier while trying to fight Nimueh was not giving him the advantage in the fight in the slightest.
Nimueh stared straight at Merlin, who was still breathing heavily, and then to Arthur’s horror Merlin arched his back as if he had been hit by an invisible force (and he had, Arthur realised with dismay), before suddenly hunching over, clutching at his stomach as if he had been punched, and then he went flying backwards once more, sprawled out on the ground as he landed—hard—on his back, his breath leaving his body in an abrupt rush of air.
But he did not get back to his feet; instead, he remained horribly still.
The barrier flickered once more, and then vanished completely.
Arthur found himself overcome with dread as he ran over to Merlin without thinking, trying not to panic. His fear was quelled slightly as he realised that Merlin’s chest was still rising and falling—not dead, then, but it was obvious that Merlin was still injured quite badly, and Arthur choked back a sob.
Never before in his life had he felt so useless as he did at that moment; even when he had been a simple peasant with no sort of authority, it hadn’t been as horrible as it was now, sitting next to Merlin and unable to do anything.
He fell to his knees by his friend’s side, pulling Merlin into his arms as he stared at Nimueh, still surrounded by fire. But even as Arthur watched, the flames slowly started to recede.
“Merlin,” Arthur murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “I just want you to know that I am so sorry for everything. For turning you away three years ago, for not being there when you needed me, for ever thinking that you were behind my father’s death. I’m sorry for all of it, and I wish there was something I could do to right the wrongs I have caused you.”
With that, he leaned down and pressed his lips lightly to Merlin’s.
It was their first kiss, and honestly Arthur would have preferred a more romantic atmosphere; a different scenario entirely, really, but Arthur knew he was going to die soon—Nimueh had gotten Merlin out of the way, after all—and the hell he was going to do so without revealing his feelings to Merlin (even if Merlin was, in fact, unconscious), even if Merlin didn’t actually feel the same.
And hopefully, if Arthur was in the way, his death would give Merlin enough time to recover and escape, or something.
The flames had finally receded completely, and as Nimueh approached them, Arthur gently laid Merlin down before he got to his feet, shielding Merlin’s body with his own as he reached for his sword. He did not think his steel would be a match for her magic, but he would continue to protect Merlin so long as there was still breath in his body (though that would not be for much longer, it seemed).
Nimueh however didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, instead smirking at Arthur before she drew in a breath and began speaking.
“Swil...”
To Arthur’s shock, Merlin was stirring behind him, and despite Arthur shielding him Merlin staggered to his feet, ignoring Arthur’s cry of alarm as he stepped forward and looked up at the High Priestess with molten eyes.
“Heofonfyr!” he shouted, speaking over her before she could complete the spell; and the sky rumbled in response, and a bolt of lightning came down, striking Nimueh where she stood, Arthur and Merlin both watching in alarm as she screamed, throwing her head back and disintegrating.
Arthur could easily see Merlin flinch, and he took a tentative step toward him, ready to offer any words of reassurance that he needed to.
Instead, though, Merlin seemed to relax upon seeing Arthur was fine, and he smiled fondly at him—dare Arthur say it, almost lovingly—before his eyes rolled back up into his head and he collapsed.
Arthur’s eyes grew wide. “Merlin?”
No response.
He fell to his knees next to Merlin and shook him, tentatively at first, and then harder when the action garnered no movement. “Merlin! This isn’t funny, wake up this instant!”
But Merlin did not stir, and unwillingly, tears pricked at the corner of Arthur’s eyes, and he rested his head against Merlin’s chest, fingers tangled up in Merlin’s tunic as he fought against the urge to cry.
“No, no, no, no...”
Merlin groaned faintly in annoyance as the command seemed to prod at him (oh wait, that was Arthur, actually prodding him).
“Merlin. It’s been three days.”
“Lemme ‘lone,” Merlin mumbled, unwilling to open his eyes and unwilling to move despite the fact that Arthur was still poking him.
“Oh no. You don’t get to do that. You made me think you were dead, so you’re going to wake up or I will make you get up.”
At that, Merlin opened one eye reluctantly, blearily taking in Arthur hovering over him slightly. Clearly, Arthur noticed the action, for a brilliant smile appeared on his face for a moment, until he caught himself and forced his expression into a more neutral one.
Exhausted beyond all belief and still weak from the battle with Nimueh, Merlin forced his other eye open, and he blinked up at Arthur slowly, attempting to bring his consciousness down to the plane of the living.
Arthur cleared his throat as he surveyed Merlin intently. “Merlin, I just want you to know,” he said, haltingly. “That you and...others like you, will never have to hide again. As of now, magic is officially unbanned in Camelot. A position as Court Sorcerer is open, as well, if you want it.”
Perhaps the announcement had come too soon after Merlin’s waking, for he found all he could do was stare at Arthur in shock as he struggled to sit up in the bed (and oh, he was in Arthur’s chambers).
In a moment of generosity, Arthur helped him sit up before he once again sat back in the chair, and his face softened slightly as he continued to look at Merlin, Merlin staring back at him in wonderment. “But, why...”
Arthur hesitated for a moment. “I love you, and I don’t want to make the same mistakes my father did. I will not punish those who have done no wrong solely because they have magic. It isn’t right. You, and everyone else who has magic, deserve this chance.”
Merlin’s mind was rather caught up on the first part of Arthur’s statement, and all he could do for a moment was smile widely, but eventually the rest of it sunk in and he laughed, the sound giddy, as he reached out and placed his hand gently over Arthur’s.
“Really, that’s it? If I’d have known it’d be that easy I’d have fought against an evil sorceress ages ago.”
“Well, you seem to be very strong, magic wise,” Arthur pointed out quickly, sounding only slightly flustered. “The knights would respect your power, and you’d be a great asset to Camelot.”
“I’m the only sorcerer you know, Arthur.”
“Shut up, Merlin. Do you want the job or not?”
“Well, when you put it so sweetly, how can I refuse?” Merlin teased.
“Hey!” Arthur protested. ““I’ll have you know I’m a perfect gentlemen.”
“Arthur? Shut up and kiss me.”
Arthur did.
The people of Camelot had been far too warped by Uther’s reign; despite Arthur allowing magic, most were still afraid or despised it, which meant that regardless of Merlin’s title, he couldn’t exactly show off. Or do anything of any particular use until the people of Camelot felt comfortable.
Or at least, that’s what Arthur had said (in different words, but that was what Merlin had gotten from him). Merlin thought he was full of it.
In addition to being Court Sorcerer, the people also knew him as Royal Consort—which he wasn’t, thanks very much, because Arthur hadn’t asked him yet (“Not that I don’t want to, Merlin, it’s just, well, once things settle down we can...talk about it.”).
If Merlin thought about it, the rumours likely stemmed from the fact that he shared his chambers with Arthur (it had been his room first, after all, and Merlin was sticking to that argument), but Arthur didn’t seem to mind. Merlin decided not to reminisce on it and just focus on his job, instead, which still had yet to involve magic.
What his job did involve currently, to Merlin’s chagrin, was a lot of nobles making a lot of speeches. If the speeches had involved magic, Merlin might have been more interested; as it were, it only made him remember being prince, once upon a time, and being forced to sit through similar events with the former king.
Uther had never allowed him to offer an opinion, only that he be present, but Arthur was more than happy to hear Merlin’s advice on certain things, and Merlin was more than happy to oblige.
But Merlin’s advice was not needed here, and he was pretty sure he was going to start nodding off any second. At least, he was up until someone nudged his foot, and Merlin jerked to attention, straightening up quickly and focussing his complete attention on the noble once more.
For about thirty seconds.
How could one man possibly be so boring? Merlin wondered, and then frowned when he felt his foot being nudged again. There were only two other people at the table besides Merlin and the noble: Arthur and Balinor (he and Hunith had come to live in Camelot once again not long after Merlin had joined court, and Balinor had been reinstated as a noble given his Dragonlord title), and obviously it hadn’t been his father.
He glanced at Arthur out of the corner of his eye, but Arthur was looking directly at the noble and nodding along as if something completely interesting was being said. Which it wasn’t.
His foot was nudged again.
Merlin turned slightly to glare at Arthur, whose lips had curled up into a suppressed smirk, and oh, that just wasn’t fair. He nudged Arthur back, and before long the two of them had engaged in a nudging war under the table, the noble mostly forgotten (he didn’t seem to care; simply kept droning on and unaware of the fact that the King and his Court Sorcerer were no longer even pretending to pay attention).
Balinor was frowning; Merlin could feel his father’s disapproving gaze upon them. Not because he disapproved of their relationship, but because they were supposed to be paying attention, and yes, okay, Merlin was currently failing at court etiquette. Smiling sheepishly at his father, he turned back to the noble.
Arthur did too, apparently, because the nudging stopped, but after a few minutes he felt Arthur’s fingers lace through his from where his hand rested on the table. Smiling to himself, Merlin squeezed back lightly, making sure to keep looking front and centre.
There were still many things to deal with, but for now Merlin thought they were going to be okay.