[Fic] Post hoc, ergo propter hoc (‘After this, therefore because of this.’) - derryere

[solstice_mods]

[ Part I] | [ Part II]



(Part III)

Merlin had a feeling that things were getting terribly out of hand between he and Arthur as the week wore on. Arthur’s manservant, Johnson, had been cleared to return to work after a few days; he had warmed up considerably toward Merlin after the accident and was happy to inform him of Arthur’s daily activities. Armed with this new source of information, Merlin abused his influence with the stableboys and in the kitchens to make sure Arthur’s favorite saddle went missing for repairs when he wanted to ride out hunting, or that his meals came up decorated with little notes identifying each kind of food in Latin, and he took to leaving books he thought might be interesting reading material for Arthur around his chambers while the Prince was out. Nothing seemed to work to bring the Prince around.

Arthur was stubborn and immature but frightfully ingenious, Merlin had discovered. He’d taken to locking his door with magic every day after finding his entire collection of Greek philosophy strewn out across Camelot’s highest parapet, and the meticulousness that showed made Merlin glad he’d cast a glamor on his spell books to show nothing but blank pages to the curious observer. After that had been the embarrassing incident of finding a gangly youth barely out of boyhood lounging on the steps to his chamber, who had been under the mistaken impression that Merlin was prepared to pay generously for the services of a young, flexible bedwarmer. Shortly thereafter he’d overheard, entirely by accident, Arthur complaining to another knight that Merlin had not gone running off to find the locksmith after Arthur had ordered the locks on his chamber changed. Merlin had been using magic to come in and out of his room so often that he hadn’t even noticed.

Merlin had also begun taking tea in Gaius’ rooms in the evenings, mainly to vent about spoiled princes and find some refuge from whatever trap lie in wait thanks to Arthur’s continuing efforts to drive him out of Camelot. Merlin thought it was a miracle they hadn’t come to blows the few times they’d passed each other in the castle hallways.

"Really, Merlin. Out of the two of you, I’m having a hard time figuring out which one is the adult."

"The all-powerful wizard, of course," Merlin said glumly, leaning on the table with a cheek propped against his fist. He was on his third cup of tea and already squirming with the need to pee, but feeling too sorry for himself to bother getting up.

"These childish games aren’t going to get you anywhere. You might look the part of someone who’s had forty years of life experience behind them, but your actions are speaking for themselves. Uther won’t turn a blind eye to this forever, you know."

"You think so?" Merlin asked, squinting at Gaius through the eye above his fist.

Gaius put a stopper in the potion he’d been decanting carefully and set it on the table. "I didn’t mean that in a way that might be beneficial for you. Uther loves his son, and if Arthur were so inclined he could raise charges against you that could easily have you exiled from Camelot. I daresay I’m surprised he hasn’t already."

"Yeah, I wonder," Merlin agreed thoughtfully.

"Merlin," Gaius sighed. "I think you’re missing the point."

"That Arthur is a hopeless case and I’m an idiot for even bothering to try to change the future?"

"No. The point is that you’ve committed yourself to playing the part of a man who should know better, and yet you’re acting like a stubborn child. There are other methods to getting your way that don’t involve silly pranks and one-up-man-ship. You should be above such behavior. Use what power you have at your disposal and use it with the brain I know is knocking about in there somewhere."

"You’re nearly as bad as the dragon," Merlin sulked, but he was feeling a bit less pessimistic about the situation.

"I’m… the what?"

*~*~*

After Merlin had finished explaining to Gaius about his frequent visits to the dragon that Uther kept locked up under the castle (Gaius knew of it, and voiced his concerns for the dragon’s personal motives, but Merlin figured what was done was done), he figured that as a last resort he would pay the Great Dragon a visit.

The cavern was cold and dark when he arrived, a trail of sleeping guards left in his wake to reach the lower parts of the castle. Merlin held his torch out into the gloom and could just discern the shape of a heavy chain coiled around the rocky outcropping the dragon favored as a perch.

"Hello?" Merlin called. The echo of his voice was disconcerting, and he could hear the sound of moving water somewhere far, far below. "I know you’re here, I’ve come to talk!"

There was no immediate answer. Merlin paced along the edge of the rock, peering down into the cavernous depths and then looking above, but there was no sign of the dragon. Merlin was debating on what sort of spell might work best to get the beast’s attention when he heard it. A faint, deep rumbling that seemed as if it were coming from somewhere high above. It sounded like a snore.

Apparently he’d arrived a few years too early.

*~*~*

Merlin ceased all efforts to bully Arthur into his studies, having decided to turn his focus for fixing the problem elsewhere. Arthur seemed to be aware of this sudden truce that he’d had no hand in creating, and Merlin caught himself being the subject of a few suspicious stares more than once across a room or the training field. But Arthur made no move to redouble his efforts to make Merlin’s life miserable, and for the first time they were caught in an uneasy stalemate. Merlin suspected that the prince was merely assessing his enemy and waiting for an opportune moment to strike; Merlin, on the other hand, had decided on a new plan of attack. One that involved Uther Pendragon.

Gaining privileged information, like where Uther might be at certain times of the day, whether he would be alone or flanked by a garrison of overprotective guards, was not easy to come by in Camelot. Gaius had been unhelpful and told Merlin that, outside of matters that were dealt with in the public audience chamber, he rarely saw Uther unless the king sought him out personally. Which was rare. Uther did not attend practice on the training fields, he took his meals with only his son and his recently adopted ward, Morgana, for company, and the open floor he held for judging disputes among his subjects was not a place where Merlin felt it would be appropriate to speak with the king. He couldn’t very well go accusing Arthur of being a spoiled brat, even if no court could prove him wrong.

Merlin deliberated over the only remaining option left to him for several days. Not only was the idea somewhat repulsive, but Merlin could swear that his magic hated the idea of being attached to Uther Pendragon in any way. He’d already saved the man’s life once, and then indirectly several other times, but this wasn’t a matter of life or death, simply of convenience. But he was running out of options, and in the end Merlin gave in and placed the tracking spell on Uther.

It paid off a few days later. Merlin had tied the locating spell to a crude map he’d created of the castle, done mostly from memory, where a tiny bronze crown moved about the map in accordance with Uther’s day-to-day activities. That afternoon Uther had apparently decided to pay a visit to Geoffrey in the castle library, and with all due haste Merlin grabbed a few books and took off running.

There were low voices speaking among the stacks when Merlin arrived, still out of breath from his sprint from the tower, and he made an effort to flatten his hair and robes before he was noticed.

Geoffrey spotted him first as Merlin shuffled along the edge of the bookshelves, trying to look nonchalant and uninterested in the two individuals speaking just out of earshot. "Oh, Emrys! I did not hear you come in," the librarian greeted.

"Hello Geoffrey, your highness," Merlin said, coming out from behind one of the stacks and bowing low to Uther.

"Ah, Emrys," Uther said, brow wrinkling as he tried to place Merlin’s face. "You are…"

"Prince Arthur’s tutor, sire," Merlin finished helpfully.

"Emrys has quite an interest in history, my lord," Geoffrey piped in, apparently delighted by the inclusion of Merlin in his haven of academia. "We have spent many hours discussing all manner of texts and ancient documents. His knowledge is quite extensive."

"I see," Uther said, and the boredom leaking from his tone was almost palatable.

"My lord, your libraries are unlike anything I’ve ever seen before," Merlin added, beaming. "You must be a proud patron to have gathered so many rare volumes in one place. I daresay I could spend my life in here and not hope to read every word."

"Indeed," Geoffrey agreed with a wistful sigh. "We are lucky to have your generosity, sire."

Uther cleared his throat. "Yes, well. Any wise king will come to learn that a book can be worth its weight in gold."

Sensing his opening, Merlin stepped closer to the pair. "I am happy to hear you say so, my lord. I only hope that I may also one day teach that same value of the printed word to Prince Arthur."

"Well said, Emrys. And how are Arthur’s studies progressing?" the king asked genially.

Merlin had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face. "As well as can be expected, highness. However…"

"However?" Uther prompted, looking a bit more interested in the conversation.

"It isn’t my place to say, sire. Your son is a bright young man. It is all someone in my position could ask for."

Uther crossed his arms, looking more annoyed than curious. "Come now. You have something to say about my son, I suggest you speak it."

Merlin shifted on his feet, dipping his head respectfully. He placed the two books he’d brought with him as alibi material on a nearby stack, which Geoffrey saw and frowned at. The historian pushed around Merlin and snatched up the books to return them to their proper place on the opposite side of the library.

"Sire," Merlin began, spreading his hands. "To be honest, I fear for your son’s future."

Uther looked startled by the admission. "Explain."

"Prince Arthur is growing up to be a model warrior. He is an excellent fighter, well versed in many styles of combat, and I have no doubt that he will one day become the strongest knight in all of Camelot. But he is distracted, sire, by these very same lessons. I fear that he has already fallen behind what is expected for a prince his age. He will suffer for this in the future, your highness."

"Nonsense," Uther said, waving an arm dismissively. "Arthur has no need of a… scholar’s education. I would not ask my son to fill his head with anything that would keep him from training for his knighthood."

"I’m afraid times are changing, my lord," Merlin cautioned. "Many noble households are beginning to realize that diplomacy, as well as the strength of their armies, gives them the greatest advantage. They are educating their sons to a degree far more advanced than simple finances or reading treaties. They are learning to harness the knowledge of a world outside of Albion. I have witnessed it myself on my travels, sire. The world is changing outside of Camelot."

Uther was finally beginning to look thoughtful, swayed by Merlin’s advice. "And you believe that Arthur would benefit from this form of instruction?"

"Most certainly, sire," Merlin said, speaking the truth. "Your son has the potential for greatness, not just as a warrior, but as a diplomat, a man well-suited for our modern era. You yourself have established Camelot on the principals of peace, shunning the barbarianism of our predecessors, the senseless wars. I’m sure that you are no stranger to the strength a quill can wield against the power of a sword, my lord."

"You speak the truth, Emrys." Uther clapped Merlin hard on the shoulder. "I may have been… remiss in enforcing Arthur’s studies. You must rectify Arthur’s education immediately."

"Yes, sire," Merlin replied dutifully. "It would be my pleasure."

Uther nodded once in acknowledgement and Merlin bowed again as the king turned to leave the library. Once he was gone, Merlin dodged any effort Geoffrey made to drag him into conversation and practically skipped out of the room, straight for Gaius’ chambers.

"I did it, Gaius!" Merlin announced as he burst into the physician’s quarters.

Merlin stopped just inside the threshold as two pairs of eyes turned to fix on him in surprise. Merlin cleared his throat awkwardly. "Er, sorry. I didn’t know you had a patient."

"Give me a moment, my dear," Gaius said gently, patting the pale hand of the young girl sitting next to him. A much younger version of Morgana nodded as Gaius rose to approach Merlin. Merlin watched her large, green eyes settle on him in curiosity, and when their gazes met he offered her a genuine smile. She looked so young and fragile, long black hair tumbling loose nearly to her waist, glad in a dress of green velvet that only barely revealed her emerging curves. She looked proud but brittle, lonely, and Merlin wondered just how long it had been since she’d lost her father.

"How long ago did Morgana come here?" Merlin asked softly as they moved out of earshot.

Gaius blinked at the question, as if he’d forgotten Merlin’s knowledge of such things. "Almost two years ago," he said after a moment. "She has not been sleeping well this past month."

"The nightmares, yeah," Merlin agreed, nodding. "You know she’s having visions, right?"

Judging by Gaius’ surprised expression, he did not. "Are you sure?"

"Oh, yeah. They’ll only get worse and worse as she gets older. She was taking sleeping draughts nearly every night when I came to Camelot. I know you don’t want to upset her Gaius, but you really should tell her what’s going on. She’s pretty scared in the future. Living as Uther’s ward and having magic is really tough but… she deserves to know the truth. She’ll hate you a lot less in the long run. Trust me."

Gaius frowned thoughtfully but seemed to be considering Merlin’s words. "I will think on it," the physician said at length. "Now, what was it that you wanted to tell me?"

At the reminder, Merlin’s face split into a grin. "I did it! I talked to Uther, and he agreed to make Arthur take his lessons more seriously. You were absolutely right, Gaius. It worked like a charm."

Gaius did smile at that. "Well, I’m glad to hear that you’ve managed to work things out. And not by resorting to childish tricks, either. How exactly did you do it?"

"That was the easy part." Merlin rocked back on his heels, grinning cheekily. "I just acted like you."

*~*~*

The next day brought a few unexpected, but not unwelcome surprises. The bookshelves Merlin had commissioned began arriving in the morning, transported up several flights of stairs and through even more castle corridors by two strapping lads that were barely panting by the time they brought the last one into Merlin’s room. Merlin rewarded them a silver penny each for their hard work, and realized he’d probably damned himself to a month’s worth of gossip in the lower town by the awestruck look on the boys’ faces. He sometimes forgot how precious coinage was when conjuring clean clothes, warm food, and sharpened swords could be done as easily as breathing.

Merlin spent the remainder of the morning and the early afternoon trying to settle on a system of categorization (by author, subject matter, or size? he was horribly torn), but so far the books had spent more time off the bookcases than on them. Not by any choice of theirs, however; some latent bit of free will seemed to overtake them at times, and Merlin had caught more than a few of them attempting to fling themselves upon the shelves without any thought to order or sense of organization. It was turning into a right mess, and Merlin continued to bat the books away with his hands and feet each time any of them got brave and decided to have a go, which always seemed to encourage the others like a pack of lemmings.

He was debating just using magic to clean up the whole sorry mess when he heard a quiet knock on his door. Merlin shot a reproachful look at another book that was inching its way across the floor. "Behave," he hissed, getting up to move to the other side of the room.

Archimedes, who was dozing on a perch that Merlin had fashioned out of a sturdy branch and a heavy pedestal, chirruped quietly as Merlin passed and ruffled his feathers. Merlin stopped a moment to stroke a hand down the tawny owl’s flank before continuing to the door, which was being tapped upon again, louder.

"Yes?" Merlin asked, answering the knock. He blinked in surprise. "Oh, sire!"

Arthur, dressed in a burgundy tunic and leather jacket that looked like a miniature version of the hunting gear he wore as an adult, stood frowning on the other side. "Emrys. I’ve been sent. By my father."

The prince didn’t offer anything further, but Merlin opened the door wider and ushered him inside. He fought back a smile as he shut the door again behind them. "Oh, I see. It’s good your father’s taking an interest in your education, isn’t it?"

"I’m sure you had something to do with it," Arthur grumbled, folding his arms and standing awkwardly just inside the tower room, as if reluctant to step in any farther. His gaze swept over the circular area, taking in the single bed and the mismatched tables and the stacks of books that Merlin hoped would have the good sense to stay put. "Is that… your owl?"

"Yes," Merlin said, moving to pick up the few tomes he’d left open on the larger table. "You remember him, from when he saved your life? His name is Archimedes and he’s a bit sensitive. Don’t raise your voice or he’ll be cranky when he wakes up."

Arthur huffed and rolled his eyes. "Of course. Let’s not disturb the owl."

Merlin chose to ignore the flicker of annoyance he could feel threatening to manifest. Arthur simply couldn’t help being an inconsiderate prat. "How much time do you have free this afternoon?"

"An hour, or two," Arthur replied unenthusiastically, looking at his fingernails.

"Well, let’s get started then. How’s your Latin coming along?"

"My Latin is fine. I really don’t think there’s any point in my coming here."

"Fabricando fit faber, sire. We can start with some easy translations, to ascertain your level of understanding. Do you still have those books I gave you?"

"Yes," Arthur admitted, albeit grudgingly. He took a seat at Merlin’s table, leaning both elbows on the surface.

Merlin straightened from gathering another armful of books and saw that Arthur had taken the only stool in the room. He’d have to remember to conjure up or purchase another one before their next lesson. "Erm, well, thank you for not throwing them out. I want you to read them, on your own time. We’ll have discussions over their content and any passages or specific words you don’t understand. They’re quite interesting material actually - I think you’ll enjoy them. Now," he said and placed several volumes on the table. "This is a dictionary, and this is another one, a bit older but still useful, and this is a book of poetry."

"Poetry?" Arthur whined.

"I think you’ll find these much easier to interpret than the heavier material. Or I could always find my copy of Proclus, if you like?"

"That won’t be necessary," Arthur sniffed, but didn’t make any move to grab the books in front of him either.

"Arthur, sire," Merlin sighed, wishing he had somewhere to sit. He settled for leaning against the table next to the Prince. "Look, I know you’re not thrilled at the idea of having lessons, but it’s really not all that bad. There’s a lot to be learned in these books, more than we can ever hope to completely understand in our lifetimes. These are words written by some of the world’s greatest minds, men who lived centuries in the past but whose wisdom can affect our lives even today. We do their memory an injustice by not studying the words they chose to share, the years they spent perfecting their individual crafts. The hope is always, in the end, that what they teach can give us meaning and a better understanding of the world we live in."

Arthur frowned. "But can they teach me how to fight? How to win tournaments? They can’t. They’re just words. There’s nothing in my life that has anything to do with dead philosophers or scientists or silly poetry. It’s a waste of time."

"I disagree, sire. Books may not be able to tell you how to survive in combat, but they can teach you to know your enemy better. They say that to know why a man fights is to have already won half the battle. Does he do it for love, or loyalty, or duty, or because he is being paid to? Is he driven by oppression, or hunger, or religion? Is he picking up a sword to protect the weak who cannot fight for themselves, to fight for his family and his country, or because he enjoys the act of killing? They are all very different motivations, and not every war can be won by one side being the stronger in force and sheer numbers. Many have and will be won by words alone, by understanding the reasons why we rise up to fight; sometimes, saying the right thing can be all it takes to stop needless bloodshed. And that is not a lesson to be taken lightly, sire."

Merlin watched Arthur’s face run through a gamut of several emotions, annoyance and curiosity and resignation, and finally quiet acceptance. When Arthur looked up there was something new and speculative in his eyes. "You do babble a lot," he complained, but there was no true bite to the words.

"And you’re shorter than I expected," Merlin retorted.

Arthur’s lips twitched, and Merlin chuckled.

"No one’s ever talked to me like you do," Arthur said, sounding confused by this.

"We all have our callings in life, sire," Merlin said, pushing off from the table. "Clearly, I am meant to make your life miserable, as you are to make mine."

"Fat lot of good it did, you’re still here," Arthur said, glancing up under his lashes at Merlin after a moment. "I may have… behaved unfairly this past week."

"Hmm, and I may have interfered with parts of your life I had no right to meddle in, so we’ll call it even, shall we?"

Arthur nodded. "Your apology is accepted."

"As is yours."

"A prince does not apologize," Arthur spluttered.

"No, I’m quite certain that’s what I heard. Don’t you think so, Archimedes?"

The owl slumbered on, and Arthur laughed. "I think I like that bird a bit better now."

Merlin smirked, then reached over and tapped the cover of one of the unopened books in front of Arthur. "Now, sire, you’ve managed to successfully waste half of our time together, so I suggest you begin translating or you will find dinner cold when you return. Read each line aloud to me, in Latin and then English, and I’ll make corrections as necessary."

Arthur sighed but did as he was told, thumbing open the book of poetry and settling the dictionaries within easy reach. He propped a fist under his cheek to lean over the pages, mouth drawn into a flat line as his eyes swept across the printed words. "Dulce et decorum," he began, sounding a little rough but hardly the worst Latin Merlin had ever heard. "Est pro patria mori. ‘Sweet and… it is sweet and honorable, to die for one’s homeland.’"

Arthur looked up, and Merlin nodded at the unasked question he could see in the Prince’s eyes. "Horace. He knew a thing or two about fighting in a war. An excellent poet too, I might add."

Arthur huffed. "Alright, you don’t have to make such a point of it, Emrys."

"Merlin," Merlin said, laughing. "Call me Merlin."

*~*~*

Arthur was a surprisingly clever student, and over the next few weeks Merlin grew to envy Arthur’s aptitude for languages and facts. It was the kind of talent for remembering information that Merlin had never been able to achieve in his life, having always relied upon repetition and practice to ensure that things were stuck for good. The difficulty of perfecting complicated spells over the years had helped to sharpen his memory, but he was nowhere near Arthur’s innate ability. It made teaching Arthur almost effortless, though keeping a step ahead of the Prince began to become a priority that took up more and more of Merlin’s time while they weren’t together.

Merlin would have liked to think that he had the knowledge of the scholar he was trying to impersonate, but the truth of the matter was that most of the time he was learning right alongside Arthur. He began devoting more of his free time to covering as much reading material and as many topics as possible, and he paid frequent visits to Gaius and Geoffrey to get advice on the best ways to approach Arthur’s lessons. Both men were knowledgeable in their own fields, and did have excellent advice once Merlin managed to decipher his way through their efforts at being coy and indirect, but the vast majority of planning fell to Merlin’s own shoulders. Magic once more became a bit of a saving boon when he couldn’t be bothered to keep up with the mundane tasks of everyday life, and there were some weeks when the only reason that his sheets were changed and his laundry got folded and his boots didn’t go missing was thanks to this. He’d learned during his time as Arthur’s manservant how to get by without resorting to spells to keep things in order, but with the added responsibility of overseeing both Arthur and his own education, Merlin sometimes felt like he didn’t have enough hours in the day.

At times it almost felt like he’d returned to that solitary year alone on the hill with his research, cooped up in his tower and only emerging to find food or seek advice from his mentors (and sometimes even those reasons weren’t enough to coax him to leave). Only this time he had to turn away inquisitive servants instead of summons from a war council, and deal with an impetuous Prince that could turn up at any time of the day instead of running off to a battlefield when the Druid’s and Camelot’s forces came to clash. It was a dramatic shift after three years of being at war, and Merlin still found himself sometimes waking in a panic, or stopping in the middle of the room to look around, scared and wondering whether it was all real. Having Arthur around, though younger and irascible, and Gaius, who proved to be more like the man he remembered by the day, made the impossible seem a little more genuine, and Merlin was grateful for it.

By some stroke of luck, or perhaps a hint of the maturity Merlin hoped Arthur might one day achieve, Arthur had not reverted to his abominable behavior and efforts to drive Merlin out of Camelot. Their truce seemed to have held out well, though Arthur did take a particular kind of pride in making it clear that despite appearances, Merlin was in service to him and not the other way around. If Arthur wanted to take his lessons out on the field after practice, Merlin had to gather up his books or deal with a surly Prince and lose his chance for the day. If Arthur wanted to sit outside on one of the balconies when the wind was whipping up hard enough to make speech nearly impossible, Merlin had to grit his teeth against the urge to banish the gales with a well chosen word or two. And if Arthur wanted to show up at Merlin’s door well after sundown, looking petulant and dripping mud off his boots, Merlin had to let him inside so he could read quietly to himself until his head touched down on the table and he drooled on the open pages. Arthur’s behavior had the benefit of preventing Merlin from staying coped up indefinitely, though Merlin still hadn’t forgiven him for pounding on his door that one morning right after dawn; he’d barely been awake enough to apply his disguise, let alone find a clean set of clothes or teach a lesson on plant biology, and he’d suspected Arthur had known that as well. He’d issued a memorandum on lessons before the first morning’s bell, after that.

Despite Arthur’s best intentions to get Merlin out-of-doors, the weather in Albion this time of year was a miserable beast that at times made even thinking about moving around physically exhausting. Peaks of high humidity and ugly heat would turn the air to soup and often drive Merlin and Arthur to seek cooler spaces than the tower in the afternoon, and they’d met more than a few times in the cool depths of the castle’s cellar or taken refuge in the labyrinth of old and unused cell blocks. Merlin feared for the state of his books with all the excessive moisture and had placed charms on the bookcases to keep their pages dry, and as tempting as it was to do the same for himself, the fleeting pleasure would surely mean discovery. Merlin was left to suffer with the rest of the country as the dampness suffocated everything like a hot rag on the face, and there were days when Merlin almost longed for the freedom of being an enemy of Camelot for the sake of being able to conjure a cold breeze.

The weather remained miserable on into late summer, and the raging storms that came on the heels of the worst of the humidity and heat were the only things that broke up the monotony of the crawl from day to day. They were terrible deluges that came quickly and mercilessly, throwing lightning that shook the very foundations of the castle and dumping enough rain to turn Camelot’s city roads into muddy rivers, and sometimes gave the citizens cause to eye the castle’s moat with trepidation as it was filled to near capacity. Whether through sheer luck or some stroke of architectural planning, the people never suffered more than soggy roofs and muddy clothing, and by degrees the weather cooled and signaled the approach of the harvest season.

Merlin was a bit surprised one day to realize that he’d been in Camelot for over three months, and in that span of time he’d gained a true friend once more in Gaius, had discovered an unlikely companion of academia in Geoffrey of Monmouth, and had become a regular and influential part of Prince Arthur’s daily life. Life in Camelot was lackadaisical on its easiest days, and the most excitement Merlin ever saw came from Arthur’s exuberant talk of the latest hunt, or the gossip he heard in the castle about visiting noblemen and their retinue. It was much more plausible to believe the tales he’d heard of the era of peace that Uther Pendragon had curried with his campaigns and his ruthless, ongoing war with magic, when Merlin saw the city below Camelot’s castle prospering each day, growing at the edges and drawing people in from all over the kingdom to trade, visit, or settle to find their fortunes. There were no sorcerers hell-bent on overthrowing the Pendragon line, no mythical creatures terrorizing the innocent people, and no old curses resurrecting before their eyes to bring plague and ruin upon the shining kingdom.

It was easy to relax and see the future as something far off, to forget about the darkness and the bloodshed for a little while. Merlin might have been living a lie, but he was content with his new life. And that was precisely why, when things changed, he was caught completely unprepared.

*~*~*

Arthur was completely insufferable the week prior to his fourteenth birthday. Uther had made official announcements that there were to be feasts, events, and tributes paid to honor the Prince that was now approaching manhood, and Merlin was having no luck keeping Arthur’s concentration on his lessons when he preferred they spend the time speculating on his gifts, the food at the banquets, and what sort of competitions his father would be holding that he would finally be allowed to participate in.

"You do know that they’ll just let you win anything you enter," Merlin remarked a bit spitefully after Arthur put down his stylus for third time to talk about his approaching birthday. Merlin never remembered his own being anywhere near this exciting when he was a boy (that his birthday happened in midwinter was probably also to blame), and Arthur had already talked all possible topics to death a dozen times over in his excitement. Merlin did find the Prince’s anticipation endearing on some level, but listening to him prattle on about the new horse that he was sure his father was going to give to him had lost its appeal days ago.

"They’ll do no such thing," Arthur snapped. "I’m the Prince and they will have to fight me fairly. The soldiers will not respect me if things deliberately fall in my favor. The knights know that."

"And if they’re worried about hurting you? Don’t you think they’d be more afraid of Uther being upset that you’re injured, rather than making sure the people respect you?"

"You don’t know what you’re talking about, Merlin," Arthur insisted, but he was beginning to look unhappy and a little worried by Merlin’s words.

Merlin suffered a small twinge of guilt for that. "You’re right, I don’t. But I do know that these problems won’t solve themselves, and you’ve only finished two, sire. Please, try and concentrate, Arthur."

"I don’t know why I need to know the area of a lopsided square anyway," Arthur huffed. He did pick up the stylus again, but only to tap the flat end against his bottom lip. After a moment he looked up at Merlin. "Where have you gotten a hold of so much parchment, anyway? I’ve never seen a man have so many blank of sheets of paper as you."

Merlin was hardly going to admit that he had a spell that neatly cleaned all traces of ink from any surface. "It is called an irregular polygon, sire. Please use the correct terminology."

‘Irregular polygon’ Arthur mouthed mockingly, but he did bend his head to the task of completing the next problem on the sheet. Merlin sighed soundlessly.

They worked on opposite sides of the table for several quiet minutes, the scratch of the Merlin’s quill as he made notes accompanying the sound of their breathing and the soft flutter of air that was spilling into the room from the open windows of the tower. Arthur’s hand was moving steadily across the wax tablet, bottom lip bit in concentration, but Merlin knew he hadn’t heard the last of Arthur’s thoughts on the topic. He would be very happy when the week was over and they could go back to some measure of normalcy in the castle.

Arthur put down the pen again after not more than ten minutes had passed. "How well trained is Archimedes?"

"I’m sorry, what?" Merlin sputtered. He glanced across the room to where the owl was currently sleeping. "What do you mean, trained?"

"Well there’s obviously some background, or he wouldn’t listen to you like he does. Not that he does all the time, but still. I heard some of the knights mention that there might be a falconry competition for the festivities. Can I use Archimedes? He’s a bit fearless, he could probably knock all those other birds out of the sky."

"No, you may not use Archimedes," Merlin grated, crossing his arms. "Archimedes is an independent creature, here by choice, not because I captured him and trained him to be. He would hardly agree to be used in such a manner."

"You’re just jealous," Arthur accused. "You’ll want to use him yourself for the competition, admit it!"

Merlin threw his hands up, exasperated and growing thoroughly sick of these circular conversations. "Arthur, I have no desire whatsoever to subject myself to the kind of personal humiliation that can only come from standing in front of a crowd of strangers and embarrassing myself in a field that I have no expertise in. At all. These games are a waste of time and you would be better off remembering that there is more to life than tournaments and beating men with swords for the pure sport of it. I should hope for this week to end so that we might have some peace once more. And you are getting distracted again!"

Arthur’s bottom lip was jutting out, looking more hurt by Merlin’s words than he would have expected him to be. "I see," he said stiffly.

"Arthur," Merlin sighed. "I only… I’m only thinking of what’s best for you, and you are letting this interfere with your studies."

Arthur shrugged. "I don’t know why I would have expected to see you there at any of the events," he scoffed, head bowed over his work once more.

"I hadn’t really planned to," Merlin admitted. He could feel the change in the Prince’s mood like a cold wind on his neck, and it made him shift in his seat, hating that he felt any remorse when it was Arthur acting like the spoiled brat and through no fault of Merlin’s. Arthur was only used to getting his way, and Merlin refused to cater to the boy’s demands of having his ego stroked. It would be inflated enough in the future without his help, and that he knew for a fact.

Arthur said nothing, and where the quiet had been comfortable before, now it was tense and punctuated by Arthur’s short jabs of the stylus into the wax-faced tablet. Merlin couldn’t help shooting quick looks over at the Prince, wondering at the dramatic mood shift and whether they were heading for an afternoon of clipped words and angry looks until Arthur’s latest fit blew over. And all for the want of an owl, which Merlin thought was a tad overdramatic and petty.

"Look," Merlin said when the silence had stretched too long for his nerves, and he’d been unable to read any further along in his book without getting distracted by the dark cloud he could feel hovering over Arthur. "If you really want Archimedes that badly, all you have to do is ask him yourself. It’s up to him, not I, whether he goes or not."

Arthur did not lift his head or give any sort of acknowledgement that he’d heard Merlin.

"Sire…" Merlin started again.

"I don’t care," Arthur said shortly.

"Arthur, come on, you’re being unreasonable."

"It doesn’t matter!" Arthur shouted, slamming the tablet down with an ominous sounding crack. Merlin was startled, and he’d sat up straight in his seat at the noise, staring at Arthur in surprise. Arthur’s head was turned and his shoulders were rigid, a tense line of anger that he seemed, at least, to be making an effort to control. When he finally looked at Merlin he was frowning. "Did you mean what you said before?"

"Which part, exactly?" Merlin asked carefully.

"About… about it being a waste of time. About everyone expecting me to win because… just because I’m the King’s son."

Merlin swallowed, instantly regretting his uncontrollable mouth. He realized he would have to choose his words carefully. "No, I shouldn’t have said that. The men do respect you, everyone can see that, and I’m sure that they’re honorable enough not to cheat for the sake of appearances. You will just have to trust them to engage in an honest fight. And I think that… everyone has things which they value differently. You would hardly expect to see one of Camelot’s knights excited at discovering a new volume of ancient literature, and no one expects someone like me to show up in the grandstands to watch displays of brute and skill in combat. I spoke out of line, and for that I am sorry, sire."

Arthur snorted, but he looked less preoccupied by whatever gloom had overtaken his thoughts. "Merlin, you only call me ‘sire’ when you’re lying, or trying to get me to do something I don’t like. I’m not an idiot."

"No, you’re not, sire," Merlin agreed, unable to help the fleeting smile that crossed his lips.

Arthur returned the expression with a small smirk but he seemed pensive again, and his attention drifted past Merlin to somewhere into the room beyond. He was scratching the tip of the stylus into a corner of the tablet, creating a deep indentation near the frame in the wax, the motion an unconscious display of some lingering anxiety. "It’s only that…" Arthur began, speaking quietly. "I had thought you would come."

"To watch the tournaments?" Merlin asked, leaning back in his chair.

Arthur shrugged then nodded, still not meeting Merlin’s eyes.

"I would be happy to, Arthur, if you want me to," Merlin said sincerely. He grinned. "You only had to ask, you know."

Quite unexpectedly, Arthur blushed. "I wouldn’t want to drag you away from your important books," he scoffed, but Merlin could see the glimmer of hope in the Prince’s eyes. And the blush was doing strange things to Merlin’s ability to draw a full breath, like being hit with a wave of guilt all over again.

"Oh, I’m sure I can manage," Merlin insisted. He also couldn’t resist a small tease, because Arthur’s blush was taking its sweet time receding. "Shall I find a spot close to the front, so I can wave when it’s your turn?"

Arthur threw the stylus at Merlin and they both laughed. "Now you will have to go fetch that," Merlin pointed out.

"No," Arthur said, rolling his eyes as if Merlin were daft for suggesting that he lower himself to such a task. "I’m done anyway, here."

Merlin accepted the tablet and its familiar lines of Arthur’s marks in the soft wax. "Excellent! Now you can begin studying the next chapter on finding surface areas of solid objects while I check your arithmetic."

Arthur dutifully picked up the volume on Euclidean Geometry and leaned back in his chair to place his feet on the table while he read, displaying just that small bit of rebellion that Merlin chose not to comment on. His boots were clean at least, this time.

"So what are you getting me for my birthday, anyway?" Arthur asked a few minutes later, blond eyebrows peeking out from behind his book.

"Hmm, if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?" Merlin answered absently, still checking over Arthur’s work.

"Come on, Merlin. Give me a hint."

Merlin grinned. "Nope. You’ll have to wait."

"It’s not a book, is it?" Arthur asked, sounding entirely unhappy with the idea. "It better not be a book, Merlin. Do you hear me?"

"I have nothing to say," Merlin replied evasively, enjoying the sight of Arthur’s mounting frustration.

Arthur scowled before returning his attention to the open book in his lap. "I’ve changed my mind. You can sit up here in your tower and rot for all I care."

Merlin couldn't help laughing. Just for that, he was going to hide the pair of hunting knives he’d gotten for Arthur inside a false book cover, just to see the look on his face.

*~*~*

Arthur’s birthday passed with as much pomp and circumstance as possible when backed by a royal treasury, and even Merlin had to admit that Uther had outdone himself on the number of events and the feasts that were thrown in the Prince’s honor. It had seemed like all of Camelot had a reason to celebrate as the merriment spread to the streets and spilled over in the smiles and the cheers of the people as they watched their Prince take down knights one by one in the competitions. Merlin had sat through every single one, though he would never admit it, and the eerie similarity between this Arthur and the one he’d watched from the sidelines in the past had stolen his breath away at times. Arthur was good, not unbeatable, but good, and everyone had seemed equally caught up in the amazement of watching this boy take his first, proud steps into adulthood with a skill they had never witnessed before.

With Arthur’s birthday the harvest season came to an end, and the weather cooled dramatically within the span of a few weeks; hot in the daytime, but dipping to temperatures low enough at night that had Merlin spelling his blankets for warmth more often than not. He began giving Arthur lessons in astronomy when the clear, cool nights afforded the best viewing (he’d discovered a few months back that the loft above his chambers led to a door with access to stairs onto the flat roof of the tower), and Arthur displayed a fascination with all things celestial that Merlin had not expected to encounter in the Prince. The days slid by one after another: Arthur took every possible excuse to ride out with his new horse, Merlin took to wearing his warmer robes out of doors, and Samhain drew closer on the scent of night blooming jasmine and in the turning of the stars in the heavens.

Merlin was dozing when the warning bells began to ring late one evening, and the sound jarred him to his feet before he had even fully awakened. It had been months, years really since he’d heard the clang of Camelot’s belfry, and the cold clench of his stomach was an entirely familiar response to the danger the sound portended.

There was nothing in the air, magical or otherwise, that Merlin could sense to give rise to such an alarm, but the sound unnerved him nonetheless. He headed to one of his windows to look out on the city, hoping to catch a glimpse of the source for such a warning, when there came an urgent knock on his door.

Merlin was across the room in two steps, and he pulled the door open swiftly enough that the servant on the other side still had his hand lifted in mid-knock. "What is it?"

"Sir, your presence is requested immediately in the council’s chambers."

Merlin flew past the startled boy, taking the stairs two at a time despite the protest in his older limbs. Something was wrong, and the cold feeling in his gut had twisted and manifested into outright dread.

When Merlin reached the meeting hall, he found the room ablaze in torchlight and already filled by a small group of individuals. Uther and Gaius were familiar faces, as well as some of the knights, but the squire in their midst was nearly unrecognizable. He was covered in blood and bruises and crying openly even as he tried to speak, one arm held supportively by a knight and the other in Gaius’ hand as the physician attempted to clean away the worst of the grime on the boy’s face with a wet cloth.

"Are you sure?" Uther was demanding, his face a stony mask that Merlin had come to realize years ago meant that the King was holding back an emotion much worse than the cold impartiality there for everyone to see.

"Yes, my lord," the squire sobbed. "All dead… they killed them all… told me… told me to run…"

"And the Prince?" Uther insisted. The King’s voice caught just a tiny bit on the word, but it was enough to make Merlin’s stomach drop through his feet.

"Arthur," Merlin breathed, and had to put out a hand to steady him against one of the nearby chairs.

Gaius turned at the sound and his eyebrows shot up. "Merlin, come here. There’s been-"

"Gone, sire," the boy whispered with a broken whine. "They said… said to…"

The squire promptly fainted, and Gaius tutted as the knight swept the boy’s limp form into his arms. "My lord, the boy is exhausted. Please let me attend to him first, and then we can find out what message he was left alive to deliver to you."

Uther was pale and grim faced, and Merlin saw that his gloved hands were clenched into painful looking balls at his sides, the leather creaking audibly over the crackle of the torches. "Do it, Gaius. I want his words the moment he awakens."

"Yes, sire," Gaius promised, bowing. Gaius and the knight turned to leave the room and Merlin followed, casting one last look at Uther’s rigid back, seeing a mirror of the anger and the shock that Merlin himself was still reeling from.

"What happened?" Merlin demanded as they walked.

"Prince Arthur left with a hunting party this afternoon," Gaius began to explain. "They were due back before nightfall, but did not show. Uther was preparing to send out a search party when the boy was found stumbling through Camelot’s gates. He was a squire to one of the knights that accompanied Prince Arthur on the hunt. His injuries are not severe, but he appears to be in shock, and I’m worried that he may have lost a lot of blood."

"Gaius," Merlin gritted out as they neared the steps to the physician’s quarters. "What happened?"

"I don’t know, Merlin," Gaius said as they pushed into the room. He directed the knight to lay the boy on the pallet in front of the fire and began clearing space on one of his workbenches. "Whatever happened out there, the boy was the only one left alive, or the only one that was allowed to return to Camelot. We won’t find out until he awakens."

The knight bowed and left the room as Merlin sat down hard on a nearby stool, overwhelmed by the implication that Arthur could be… that he might…

"Merlin," Gaius snapped, startling Merlin out of his shocked daze. The physician’s face softened marginally. "I understand that this is difficult, but I do need your help right now. This boy needs time to recover, but I’m afraid that time is something we do not have. Can you heal him, quickly?"

Merlin blinked dumbly for a second. "I… I think so. Yes, um, let me…" Merlin scrambled to rise and lurched across the short space to the squire’s cot. He stood looking down at the blood-covered youth, and for a heart-stopping moment, blond hair and familiar features superimposed themselves over his face, pale and still in death. He jumped when he felt Gaius’ hand land on his shoulder.

"Merlin, relax, please. You won’t be able to help Arthur unless we find out what happened tonight. And you must heal this boy so we can learn what he knows."

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. Gaius was right. There was nothing they knew for sure yet, and if there was a chance, if there was still hope, then they needed to know. Merlin needed to know.

Merlin placed his hand on the boy’s forehead. "Biddan lácne byre."

The rush of power was welcome and feeling it pour out of his fingers was a balm to Merlin’s nerves, the act of healing and mending quelling some of the anxious beats of his heart. He could feel Gaius watching over his shoulder as the wounds on the boy’s face and arms began to knit shut on their own, the wan complexion of his skin gradually replaced by a healthier, rosy hue, tinged a burnished orange by the light of the fire. The ugly red and purple bruises on his cheekbones and neck faded away to pale yellow spots, and the scratches and raw wounds on his knuckles healed into patches of new, pink skin. Gaius bent forward to wipe a clean wet cloth across the boy’s ears and throat, clearing away more of the dried blood and dirt.

"Thank you, Merlin," Gaius said sincerely. "Your power is… quite extraordinary."

Merlin said nothing but continued to watch the boy, taking in the rise and fall of his small chest, the dry mouth parted in exhaustion and the blood that had managed to stain the sheets under him before he’d been healed. Whatever had happened, wherever Arthur was at that moment, Merlin knew he was suffering a much worse fate. And the thought chilled him to the bone.

The boy didn’t stir immediately, but a few minutes later Gaius reappeared at his side with a cup of water and moved Merlin out of the way to gently shake him awake.

"There now, easy lad," Gaius chided when the squire awoke and attempted to grasp the cup away in his desperation for a drink. Gaius helped the boy sit up and wrapped a supportive arm around his narrow shoulders as he consumed the water greedily. Merlin remained standing by the head of the bed, arms folded and fingers unconsciously clenching hard at the material of his robes. He could feel his own worry and impatience radiating from every pore of his being, but could not bring himself to care or temper the volatile emotions curling inside him.

"Do you remember where you are?" Gaius asked as he settled the boy on the pallet. "What’s your name?"

"Edward, sir," the boy murmured, glancing around the room. "I was… I came… oh!"

The boy tried to sit up quickly, but was halted by Gaius’ hands on his arms and by the groan that tore from his throat. He coughed harshly but did not bring back up the water he’d consumed, and Gaius pushed him back to lie down again. "You’ll hurt yourself if you do that again," Gaius warned sternly. "I want you to tell me everything that happened, everything you can remember."

"You must tell the King," Edward whispered urgently. "You must, the Prince…"

"I will tell the King personally," Gaius promised. "Tell us what happened, child."

"Bandits," the boy said in a rush, skin paling in memory. "They came… we couldn’t stop them, they came from everywhere! The knights, the trackers, they killed them all. They said I… that I was to go back alone. They have the Prince, sir! I have to tell… tell the King…"

"Yes?" Gaius prompted, both he and Merlin leaning forward to hear past the boy’s trembling words.

"A ransom, sir," Edward breathed, his small frame shaking. "They knew who he was, they were demanding a ransom. But they hurt him! He was bleeding sir, I didn’t know what to do, I tried to help him, but they made me leave. Kicked me and cut me and chased me. I didn’t want to go sir, please, I didn’t…"

"It’s alright," Gaius soothed, placing a weathered hand on the boy’s head. "You’ve done well. If you had not returned, we would know nothing of this. Tell me what ransom they demanded."

"One… one hundred pounds, sir. Please tell the King… I tried…"

"All will be well, lad. You can rest now."

Gaius glanced up and Merlin understood the small nod he was given. "Swefe," Merlin whispered. Edward’s eyes promptly closed as he fell asleep.

Merlin was already striding across the room when Gaius’ voice called out to stop him. "Merlin, you can’t."

Merlin stilled, back to Gaius and hands clenched at his sides. "You have no right to stop me. I’m the best choice in this whole kingdom to save Arthur. You know that."

"I do," Gaius agreed, and Merlin could hear the shuffle of his robes as he approached. "But think for a moment. It will not look well if you were to disappear the same night Prince Arthur was taken. Uther will suspect any suspicious behavior, and you cannot afford to be caught. Leave this to Uther and the knights."

Merlin shook his head. "I can’t, Gaius. I won’t! Protecting Arthur has always been my destiny, and now… now I might lose him before he can even become my destiny. Everything I’ve done, the war, coming here, I didn’t fight just to have it end like this. There’s no reason if I… if I can’t come back with Arthur alive, then I won’t bother coming back at all. I have to try… I have to do something."

"Merlin, please think about this."

"I have," Merlin said, turning back to glance at Gaius. "And I can’t let him die. Please, give me a little time to get out of Camelot. That’s all I ask."

Gaius took a deep breath, his expression fierce and stern, but he nodded. "I’ll do what I can. Go."

[ Part IV]