Merlin: A Chuisle (3)
Whew, I'm having a really hard time breaking this up into chapters! Only two more to go~
For my records, this chapter is 5,824 words.
A Chuisle: Chapter 3
Then, one day, a voice hissed through the slot in the door, “Merlin!”
He hadn’t heard his name spoken aloud in an eternity. Merlin had only just got his head turned toward the sound when the door swung open and light spilled in. Torchlight filled the entire doorway, much more than the tiny slot could ever allow and Merlin flinched away from it as it burned his eyes, the heat making his skin feel too tight. He was used to the cold and the dark - warmth and light were no longer a part of who he was, things he had lost all connection with long ago.
“Merlin?” The light fell across his face, brighter now, and all he could see though half-slitted eyes was the dark, willowy figure standing in the doorway. It reached out a hand to him and spoke again. “My God, Merlin, what has he done to you?” Morgana’s voice was clipped and frantic; in an instant she was kneeling before him and he had to close his eyes and turn his head away from the torchlight.
Then there was warmth on his face - fingers touched his cheek, tracing the prominent bone beneath the faded flesh. “You’re nothing but skin and bones,” she whispered; there was a half-strangled sob that seemed to come from behind her, but Merlin could not see who it might have been.
Merlin opened his mouth and tried to speak; it came out as a dry cough, and he tried to wet his lips and try again. “Mor- Morgana…?”
“Yes, it’s me. Come on now,” she turned and handed the torch to someone behind her, another dark shadow that he could barely see in the burning light. Then her hands were on his wrists, a key turned and the shackles fell away to the stone with a sound that seemed much too loud. Then the irons on his ankles were gone as well, and a smooth hand fitted itself into his.
“Get up, Merlin. We’re getting you away from here.”
He somehow got his feet beneath him, but stumbled on the first few steps; strong arms caught him and he blinked to see another face materialize before him. Gwen.
She offered him a tight, nervous smile, but her hands were warm and steady as she turned and began making her way into the corridor, with Merlin more than half-leaning against her. He didn’t walk much anymore - he didn’t need to, other than to get to the corner of his cell that served as a privy. His legs felt rubbery and weak.
“Gwen - the potion.” Morgana’s voice was controlled and tight as they stepped over two large forms on the stone floor - the guards.
“Yes, my lady.” Gwen paused, and as Morgana shut and locked the door to Merlin’s cell, now empty, behind her, Gwen produced a vial and held it to Merlin’s lips. “Drink this, it’s from Gaius.” Her voice lowered. “To give you strength and calm your nerves - otherwise he says Arthur will know.”
Merlin drank. A soothing warmth spread slowly throughout his body, which had been so cold for so long that even the mild sensation felt as though it had set his insides aflame. But he made no sound, fearing that the guards would somehow wake, and allowed the two women to lead him away from the cell and up the steps, out of the earth and into the world above once more. He stumbled more often than not, but each time they would steady him and help him to take the next step, and slowly, so slowly, the three of them made their way to the top.
The fresh air hit Merlin like a solid wall. It was dark outside, the night a comfort somehow to Merlin as they made their way along the walls of the castle, edging around the courtyard and into the darkened stables. The horses shifted and snorted in their sleep as Morgana opened the stall door nearest them and led a horse from it, already saddled and bridled, fit for riding.
“You first, Gwen,” she commanded, and supported Merlin’s weight as her maid swung herself up into the saddle with all the ease of a well-trained knight. Getting Merlin onto the horse was another matter entirely. It took Morgana’s clasped hands as a foothold and Gwen verily hauling Merlin bodily into the saddle, but somehow they managed the feat. Merlin sat, slumped with his back against Gwen’s chest, and tried to make sense of the situation in which he had suddenly been placed.
“Morgana?” he asked, finally having worked out what had happened to bring him here, and what he feared would happen to those who had brought it about.
“No one will know it was us,” Morgana assured him, resting her hand beside Gwen’s ankle in the stirrup. “We’ve been planning this for months. Gwen will take you to a safe place. We’ve prepared it for you.” She paused, frowning slightly. “She’ll have to leave you - she and the horse will be missed before long. But she’ll make sure you’re all right first.”
Morgana looked up at her maidservant, and something passed between them, over Merlin’s bowed head. “You know what you have to do.”
Gwen nodded. “I’ll be back tomorrow night, my lady.”
Then, securing her arms beneath Merlin’s, she took the reins in her capable hands and spurred the horse out of the stables and into the night, leaving Camelot far behind them.
*
They rode through the night and into the sunrise as it flared in the east, the sky turning orange and pink and yellow and finally blue. Merlin, though he’d never thought it possible to fall asleep while riding a horse, had been dozing on and off, strangely more comfortable cradled against Gwen’s chest and seated atop a moving animal than he had ever been in the cold darkness of his cell. But when the sun finally began to break through the treetops and bathe his face with warm, yellow light, Merlin’s eyes opened for what felt like the first time in a very, very long time. They were high in the hills above Camelot, where the land was rocky and covered in pine.
Behind him, Gwen shifted and craned her neck around a bit as he lifted his head. “Good morning,” she said gently, sounding like there was nothing wrong at all with their situation and that it was normal for him to wake, sore and spent, atop a horse. But Merlin knew better.
“Where are we going?” he asked; his voice felt dry and unused, much like the rest of him. The saddle was digging into his thighs, though he didn’t mind the pain as much as he once might have. After so long without feeling, even pain seemed to be welcome.
Gwen swallowed. “Someplace safe. We’re nearly there - then you can wash and eat properly. There are some clothes for you as well…” she trailed off, as though suddenly wondering whether the clothes might even fit him anymore. Somehow, Merlin felt ashamed.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. True to her word, Gwen stopped the horse not more than an hour later. Merlin looked around the clearing they had come to and, as Gwen carefully extricated her arms from around Merlin’s waist and slid off the horse, he saw the place she’d been taking him. There was a cave mouth hidden in the hillside here, dark and secluded behind a sparse stand of trees.
Gwen helped Merlin to slide from the saddle; he tried to do so with as much dignity as he could possibly muster, but in the end nearly fell to the ground and landed limply in Gwen’s sturdy arms. “Sorry,” he mumbled, but Gwen said nothing, only helped him back to his feet and began to make her way towards the cave mouth, the reins looped about one arm and supporting Merlin with the other.
“Here we are,” she said, as she might say to a small child, and she set him down just inside the mouth of the cave. Tying the horse up so he wouldn’t wander off, she went a few steps further into the darkness, where she knelt and took something from a pocket. It was steel and flint; Gwen struck a spark and Merlin saw a pile of tinder that must have been prepared beforehand. Soon the wood flared into life beneath the crackling flames of a fledgling fire. Gwen’s face glowed in the firelight; it was dusky dark in the cave, even with the sun climbing slowly out of morning towards noon in the sky overhead.
“Now,” she said, coming over and helping Merlin closer to the fire, where its warmth began to seep into his skin, “are you hungry?”
The question seemed almost absurd. Merlin nodded - he’d been hungry for as long as he could remember; the feeling had become a part of him, unnoticed, but it became an almost tangible pain in his stomach the instant Gwen gave it a name. “Yes,” he said, ashamed at how needy his voice sounded, echoing from the walls of the cave. “Yes, please…”
Gwen gave him a smile and reached into the darkness at her right - her hand came back with a basket, which she opened and drew out an apple. She handed it to Merlin and he took the fruit in both hands, just looking at the ripe, red skin in the firelight before he began eating. The first bite was a taste of heaven unto itself, and soon he was frantic, trying to get the whole fruit into his mouth all at once.
Gwen’s fingers came up to encircle his wrist. “No, no - slowly, Merlin. You’ll make yourself sick.” Her voice was quiet, and there was something reflected in her eyes in the firelight. It took Merlin a moment to realize it was sadness.
He nodded, slowing his bites, but the apple was still gone moments later. Gwen handed him a piece of bread - freshly baked bread! - and he tried to take that in small, slow bites as well, feeling Gwen’s approval lapping over him like warm ocean waves.
“Better?” she asked, and he nodded. “Good - now, would you like a bath?”
The look on Merlin’s face must have been all she needed - she laughed and stood, reaching out her hands down to him. “There’s a stream not far from here. It’ll be cold, but I think you’d agree it’ll be worth it.”
Together they stumbled out into the sunlight, and Gwen led him around the hill and down the gentle slope until Merlin could hear the babbling of water through the trees and sure enough, they came upon the banks of a gently flowing stream.
But now he was faced with a dilemma - Merlin knew he was too weak to struggle out of his clothes and properly wash, but even given the circumstances he did not think he could ask Gwen for help. He stood uncertainly for a moment, looking at the stream and feeling more than little overwhelmed.
But Gwen, bless her heart, knew without his even having to ask. “Here,” she said, stepping close and pulling at the hem of his shirt a bit, “let me help you. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” But he still felt something very much like embarrassment as she pulled the filthy garment over his head and there was a small, sharp intake of breath. “Oh, Merlin…”
He’d never been particularly fit, never anything approaching stocky or even well-muscled. A beanpole with ears, that was what Gaius had called him once, in jest. Half a year on breadcrusts and water alone had worn him down until his skin was like a too-tight container for his bones, his ribs and collarbone prominently displayed.
“I… I…sorry,” was all he could say, ashamed of the way she was looking at him. He wasn’t sure what he was even apologizing for, but it seemed the only thing he could say. But before he could hang his head and turn away there were warm arms around him, and Gwen’s face pressed against his chest. She felt so real, so warm…
“It’s not your fault,” she said. Warm tears beaded on his skin as she took a breath. “Oh, Merlin, none of this is your fault, and don’t you ever think it.”
Then she pulled back, sniffling once, and looked up at him, bright-eyed. “Now, let’s see about those breeches, shall we?”
After Merlin had bathed and dressed in a set of clean - clean! - clothes that were, indeed, too large for him although they had come from his own cupboard, they sat by the fire again. Gwen handed Merlin bits of bread and fruit that must have been picked only days ago, cautioning him to eat slowly and in moderation, as per Gaius’ orders. As he ate, she told him about their plan - how Gaius and Morgana and herself had plotted for weeks, stockpiling what Merlin would need, finding this place to keep him safe, determining the right kind of potion to knock the guards out and convince them they had succumbed to a bad batch of wine.
Merlin only half-listened, mostly reveling in the sound of another human voice and the warmth seeping through his skin where Gwen sat at his side. While he’d been in the dungeon, his mind had narrowed to one thing and one thing only - Arthur. Ashamed though he was to admit it, everything else had begun to escape his thoughts and memories, until the prince had become the only thread left between Merlin and the world outside of his cell. Arthur and the beating of his heart had been the only thing that had felt real, anymore.
But Arthur hadn’t come for him. Arthur hadn’t been the one who’d broken the law, incapacitated Uther’s guards and taken Merlin away from that place. Arthur wasn’t the one with him now, having ridden from night ‘till morning to this cave, fed him and bathed him. At that very moment, Merlin thought that Arthur felt an entire world away.
And at that moment, all Merlin knew was that he could feel again, and that feeling was growing, threatening to overwhelm him and eat him alive and all he wanted to do was embrace it, to give in. He didn’t have the strength to resist, and as Gwen paused he leaned forward and around, just close enough to brush Gwen’s lips with his own -
“Merlin,” she said gently; there were hands on his chest, pushing him away. “You can’t.” She looked up at him with a mixture of pity and sadness in her eyes. There was regret there, and something else, as well.
Merlin frowned, dizzy and confused and aching, somehow, inside. “But… don’t you want…?” He needed to touch her, right now, and he knew that she’d wanted to touch him, before…
Gwen bit her lip, her eyes filling with more of that unnamable thing. “I used to, Merlin. I… I fancied you quite a lot. But I can’t - you can’t.” She offered him one of her sweet, conciliatory smiles. “It isn’t right, now. Not anymore. And besides - Arthur will know.”
Arthur.
Merlin closed his eyes, leaned back against the cool rock of the cave wall.
“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Gwen said, and she shifted closer, her hand stroking his brow. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
They sat like that for some time, Merlin with his eyes closed against the firelight and just feeling as Gwen sat beside him and touched his face. He slept for a while, then, but he was wakened by the sounds of movement beside him, and turned his head to see that Gwen was folding his dirty clothes and standing with them in her arms.
“I have to go now,” she said, and the regret in her voice was clear. “You should stay here, rest and recover. No one will come looking for you here.”
Merlin’s insides ached at the loss presented to him so soon after he’d regained his humanity. But he knew Gwen was right. If this rescue was to be successful, she needed to return to Camelot. If anything was amiss, suspicions would be roused that much sooner, and he might need time that only the semblance of normality could buy.
She reached into her skirt, pulling out a vial that sparkled in the firelight. “This is from Gaius. Take one sip every morning - it will help calm your nerves, and keep Arthur from noticing anything is amiss.”
He took the vial, holding it in his hand. “Gwen… thank you.” He swallowed. “And thank Morgana, thank Gaius -”
“Merlin… I never thanked you,” she said, and he paused, confused. She smiled down at him, kneeling to touch his face once more. “It was you who saved my father, when he was ill. Wasn’t it?”
Merlin’s eyes burned. “Yes,” he said quietly, thinking that although he’d saved Gwen’s father from Nimueh’s plague, it had nearly gotten her killed in his place in the end. And yet here she was, thanking him all the same.
“And it’s been you, all along, saving Camelot without a thought for yourself.” She drew her hand back, slowly. “It’s been hard, without you,” she said. “We all miss you.”
Merlin nodded, his throat closing around a lump of sadness. Gwen stood then, and gathered her skirt in one hand. “I’ll come back before the week is out, with more supplies. Until then you need to rest. Don’t go too far.”
“I won’t,” Merlin said, and with another sad, longing smile Gwen turned and was gone.
*
Merlin spent the next few days in a haze of feelings and sensations, re-learning how to eat and sleep and breathe in a world that was not Uther’s dungeons. At first he thought about very little, his mind sluggish and silent after so long.
But then, once the hunger had ceased its incessant pacing and the cold had finally, finally seeped out of his skin, Merlin’s mind came back to life with a vengeance, and he began to realize the gravity of his situation. He would not, for all the world, have wished to remain locked in that cell beneath the ground, but now that he had escaped he could not see a future, and that was almost as frightening. Before all of this, his future had always been with Arthur - he would see the prince crowned king, help him to rule his land with a just and fair hand. But when he’d been discovered his future had changed, becoming one long, dark stretch of time beneath the earth where nothing would ever change. And now that he was free, his future was laid out before him like a blank piece of parchment, and the only thing he knew for sure was that he could not go back, never return to Camelot. There was a barrier behind him, and he could not turn back. But of what lay ahead, he could see nothing.
He put most of his energy into recovery, trying to eat in moderation and wash every day, though it took time for his legs to regain their strength enough to not pain him every time he walked to the stream and back. The bedroll they’d supplied him felt luxurious after the cold stone floor of the cell, and he slept better in those few days than he had for the entirety of his captivity, a true sleep fuelled by recovery and not starvation.
And then, after four days, he felt it. He woke to a racing pulse, something like anger and fear coursing through his veins and he knew, as he lay there and stared at the darkened ceiling of the cave in which he hid, that Arthur knew he was gone. Two days later Gwen appeared, her horse carrying far more than just its rider. “They’ve noticed you’re gone,” she said, leaning over the horse’s neck speak to Merlin. “They’ve been searching the castle and the surrounding villages for two days now, but they’re going to extend the search soon.” Her eyes were dark with concern. “Merlin, if you think you can, you must leave here. Go farther into the woods - across the mountains and out of Uther’s kingdom. It’s your only chance.”
Everything seemed to be happening so fast. Merlin could do nothing but nod. She held out her hand to him and helped him onto the horse behind her; he looped his arms around her waist as she turned the mount’s head and they were off, thundering away from the cave that had been his temporary home, going deeper into the hills. “I can only take you a little ways,” Gwen said over her shoulder. “I can’t be missed. But I’ll take you as far as I can.”
“I understand,” Merlin murmured into the back of her neck, and held on to her as though it was the last time he’d get the chance to touch another human being. Because, he realized quietly, it very well might be.
They rode until the woods had thinned out, until the hills had become more rock than soil and the mountains loomed dark and snow-capped ahead. They were at the crest of a hill, a valley spread out beneath them, when Gwen pulled their mount to a stop.
“This is as far as I can take you,” she said, and her voice was tight with unshed tears. “I have to go back and clear out the cave before I return.”
Merlin slid down off the horse clumsily, but landed on his feet as Gwen dismounted beside him. She pulled the pack tied to the front of the saddle down, handing it to Merlin along with a bundle of more fruit and bread. Merlin tucked the bag of food into one of the straps before he shouldered the pack. Perhaps it would have been light to a normal man, but it strained his atrophied muscles; he refused to flinch. Then he looked up at Gwen.
It was then that she came undone, a sob tearing out of her throat as she rushed forward the few steps between them to embrace him tightly. He held her just as close, breathing through his nose to try and stop the tears he could feel just out of reach behind his eyes.
“Oh, Merlin! I’m afraid to let you go, but you have to, or…”
“It’s all right,” he said quietly, and held her in return. “I’ll be all right.” He wasn’t sure of this at all, but it was what Gwen needed to hear, what he himself wanted to hear. The path through the valley below him, disappearing through the mountains at the base, looked so long, so hard. But it was better than the dungeons, and he knew it as well as she did. He knew that he could no longer bear to live beneath the stone of Camelot; no longer could he allow himself to be imprisoned. That, he’d learned, was too much like death to bear any longer in this lifetime.
They stood for long moments, clinging to each other and struggling for breath. Finally Gwen quieted; she pulled away, her eyes bright and her cheeks tearstained, and she reached up to touch his face one last time. She smiled, a smile full of sadness but tinged with well-wishes. “Go well, Merlin,” she said, and she stepped back.
Merlin nodded, tried to return her smile. “And you, Guinevere. Live well.”
“I will,” she whispered, and then she had flung herself back atop the horse and turned back the way they’d come. She only looked back once, but Merlin stood and watched until she and the horse were no longer even a shape moving upon the horizon, until all traces of his previous life were gone and vanished forever.
And then he turned around and began his journey, hoping to outrun the last of Camelot before it realized where to look for him.
It was slow going, moving on legs that weren’t yet up to much more than an hour’s walk at best. Merlin felt like he was crawling along, slower than a snail, one foot after the other in an agonizingly slow race against time. He had to reach the mountains before the search parties did, or all would be lost. He could not - would not - allow his friends’ sacrifices to be made in vain. Whether the chance that they would be found out was slim or not, it was still there, and Merlin would make sure the risk had been worth it.
He pushed himself to the limit and beyond, downing Gaius’ draught faithfully morning after morning, trying to keep his heart calm and at bay. But it was hard, so hard, and he was afraid. At night he imagined he could feel Arthur drawing ever nearer, the invisible cord that held their heartbeats intertwined pulling tighter and tighter. It felt to him very much like a noose, slowly choking the life and the breath from his body.
*
Three days later, the cord pulled taut. Late into the afternoon, Merlin was struggling up the foothills and into the mountains proper. He had only just paused to catch his breath when suddenly there was a loud thunk! and a crossbow bolt sprouted from the nearest tree, not more than a few handspans from Merlin’s head.
“Merlin.”
The voice - his voice - stopped Merlin in his tracks, his entire body freezing even as his heart began to race despite his efforts to keep his nerves under control. He hadn’t heard anything, but then, he thought wryly, how could he have, with all of the noise he’d been making, slogging through the trees? Merlin had not been born a hunter or a warrior, hadn’t been born for much else other than clumsiness. And it had been his undoing.
“Turn around. Slowly.”
There was a moment in which Merlin considered running, but just as quickly dismissed that option as futile. He could not outrun Arthur, wouldn’t have been able to even in full health, months ago. Now, when he was starved and sickly thin, he doubted he’d make it ten steps before he was caught. He would have to escape some other way, then.
He turned around. Arthur stood before him, crossbow loaded and trained. For a moment, Merlin couldn’t speak. He had not seen Arthur since that day, that horrible day, when Uther had banished him to the dungeons in lieu of death. He simply stared, wordless and thoughtless, at the feeling in every heartbeat made real into a man once more, standing before his eyes.
Then the words tumbled from his mouth, too loud and incredulous and undeniably improper - “You could have killed me!”
“I could not have! I can aim!”
For an instant it was as though nothing had happened, as though they were back on one of Arthur’s hunting trips, master and servant, and Merlin had just made a fool of himself. But then the moment passed, and they were once again hunter and prey, and Merlin had no place left to run.
“Are you going to shoot me, then?” he asked quietly.
“If I have to.”
“What if I died?”
“I’m taking you back to make sure that you don’t.” And Arthur believed that, as firmly as he had believed anything else, and Merlin knew it by the way that he spoke.
He glanced around, suddenly worried that he could hear movement in the woods around him. “Where are the rest of your knights? Circling around to cut me off?”
Arthur was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I’m alone.”
Merlin was actually incredulous. “Alone? I hadn’t thought your father would let you -”
“He didn’t.” Arthur’s voice was tight. “But I did, anyway.”
“Ah,” was all Merlin could say, as he realized just what Arthur had done. Losing a group of Camelot’s finest knights that were on your trail must have been hard; but then, nothing seemed impossible when it came to Arthur. “Arthur -”
“Be quiet!” the prince thundered, and Merlin could not help but fall silent under that tone, wary of the oncoming storm he could see in the prince’s darkened eyes. “I am the crown prince of Camelot, and you are a fugitive, a sorcerer, and I am taking you back to serve out your sentence. You will not resist.”
There was something in Arthur’s voice, some small part that he probably wasn’t even aware of, that seemed to be begging Merlin to listen and comply. But he could not, and his heart hurt all the more for it. Merlin wondered if Arthur could feel that - wondered if he’d felt what it was like to exist in that cell, wondered if he could possibly understand why Merlin could no longer do it.
He shook his head. “I can’t go back there, Arthur. You know that.”
The prince’s features hardened. “Then I will force you to do it.” He raised the crossbow a little higher, aimed along the sight, and let the bolt fly.
But this time Merlin was ready for it. “In éadan an bhalla,” he whispered, and the bolt bounced away from him and rolled across the pebbled earth.
Arthur stood stock still, his eyes wide and his jaw set. Merlin had rarely seen him so angry - the only time that came to mind the time was when Arthur had found out about this enchantment, and Merlin’s heart now mirrored the racing fire of the prince’s pulse in his ears. “Arthur, please. Listen to me,” he said, and his voice was too much like begging, but he feared he didn’t have the strength left to demand.
“You’re a liar and a coward. I don’t listen to either.”
“I’m your friend!” Merlin exploded, with a vehemence he had not known he possessed. “And I need you to understand.”
Arthur looked over at him then with something in his eyes that was hard to name, something almost like words, that asked, “Why are you still pretending we are friends, after all this?” And Merlin could do nothing to answer the question except think, silently, that they had never stopped being friends, whether Arthur knew it or not. The prince didn’t have to be Merlin’s friend, after all, for Merlin to be his. When Arthur spoke again, it was to ask, “Understand what?”
“What it was like,” Merlin said, taking a cautious step forward. “What it’s like now.”
For a moment Arthur simply stared at him, as though he could not believe that Merlin could possibly be as inconvenienced by all of this as Arthur was. “What it’s like?” Arthur asked, through gritted teeth. “What it’s like,” he said, “is that I have a fit of nerves every time you get worried about something! You’re like an old woman, Merlin, and your heart flutters at the drop of a hat!” Arthur was shouting now, his face flushed with a rage that Merlin could feel in the racing of his heart. “I live with the knowledge that my life is not my own, that it’s yours and I never asked for it to be. I can’t bear to live like that, tied to you like this, but now I have no choice and I’ll have to hide that fact for the rest of my life! I’m no longer fit to be king, but I’m the only king Camelot will have, when my father has gone.”
“And you would have me there, in the dungeons beneath the castle, until the end of your life?” Merlin shouted, feeling the blood rushing in his ears, making him dizzy. “I laid there and felt you practice every day with your knights, gasped until it felt like I’d run sixty times around the castle! I would wake in the middle of the night, my body alive with a feeling I’ve never sought, wishing for a release that I had to wait for you to reach!” His breath was coming in great sobs now, his words ringing out over the trees. “You don’t know what it’s like, Arthur, to lie beneath the castle, knowing that I’ll never get out, and learning not to care because it means that you are still alive, and that is the only purpose left to my life, whether you want it or like it or not!”
Merlin paused, gasping for breath, and looked away from Arthur. “I’m sorrier than I’ve ever been that I’ve done this, but I cannot undo it any more than I can stop being the way that I am. But you own my life as much as I own yours and more, because you have the power to lock me away, and I think I may truly die if you do that to me again.”
The silence that followed seemed loud enough to drown out even the pulse beating in Merlin’s ears; it was thick and heavy seemed to have swallowed all the sound in the world inside of it. When he finally looked up at Arthur, the prince was staring at him, his face gone ashen, mouth slightly open.
“What?” Merlin felt a sudden, renewed rush of rage. “Did you only just now consider the fact that I have feelings?”
Arthur shook his head, slowly. “I didn’t know it affected you the same way,” was all he said.
Merlin frowned. “What?”
“The - your spell,” Arthur said, a bit more forcefully. “It works both ways? Everything?”
“Yes,” Merlin said, and something began to stir in the pit of his stomach, something like guilt and forgiveness all at once. “You… you didn’t know?”
Arthur was frowning now, too. “Why should I have? If you’re so powerful a sorcerer, why would you do something like that?”
Merlin actually laughed then, a wry half-chuckle brought on by the pure and simple fact that almost all of this was because Arthur just didn’t understand. “It’s not like that,” he said. “There needs to be a balance.” He remembered those words as being Nimueh’s, and shuddered. He said, more quietly now, “There must always be a balance.”
“Oh,” was all Arthur said, as the pounding of Merlin’s heart began to finally calm, just a bit. Then Arthur shook his head, and when he looked to Merlin again, his face was more open than it had ever been, every ounce of regret written clearly across his features for all the world - for Merlin - to see. “I didn’t know,” he said, and in that moment Merlin knew it was as close to admitting he’d been wrong as the prince would ever come.
Slowly, slowly, a smile began to form upon Merlin’s lips. Something about the world had just been set right, and there was a long way to go yet, but the first step had been taken. “It’s all right,” he said quietly, and took another step towards Arthur. “Now you do.”
For my records, this chapter is 5,824 words.
A Chuisle: Chapter 3
Then, one day, a voice hissed through the slot in the door, “Merlin!”
He hadn’t heard his name spoken aloud in an eternity. Merlin had only just got his head turned toward the sound when the door swung open and light spilled in. Torchlight filled the entire doorway, much more than the tiny slot could ever allow and Merlin flinched away from it as it burned his eyes, the heat making his skin feel too tight. He was used to the cold and the dark - warmth and light were no longer a part of who he was, things he had lost all connection with long ago.
“Merlin?” The light fell across his face, brighter now, and all he could see though half-slitted eyes was the dark, willowy figure standing in the doorway. It reached out a hand to him and spoke again. “My God, Merlin, what has he done to you?” Morgana’s voice was clipped and frantic; in an instant she was kneeling before him and he had to close his eyes and turn his head away from the torchlight.
Then there was warmth on his face - fingers touched his cheek, tracing the prominent bone beneath the faded flesh. “You’re nothing but skin and bones,” she whispered; there was a half-strangled sob that seemed to come from behind her, but Merlin could not see who it might have been.
Merlin opened his mouth and tried to speak; it came out as a dry cough, and he tried to wet his lips and try again. “Mor- Morgana…?”
“Yes, it’s me. Come on now,” she turned and handed the torch to someone behind her, another dark shadow that he could barely see in the burning light. Then her hands were on his wrists, a key turned and the shackles fell away to the stone with a sound that seemed much too loud. Then the irons on his ankles were gone as well, and a smooth hand fitted itself into his.
“Get up, Merlin. We’re getting you away from here.”
He somehow got his feet beneath him, but stumbled on the first few steps; strong arms caught him and he blinked to see another face materialize before him. Gwen.
She offered him a tight, nervous smile, but her hands were warm and steady as she turned and began making her way into the corridor, with Merlin more than half-leaning against her. He didn’t walk much anymore - he didn’t need to, other than to get to the corner of his cell that served as a privy. His legs felt rubbery and weak.
“Gwen - the potion.” Morgana’s voice was controlled and tight as they stepped over two large forms on the stone floor - the guards.
“Yes, my lady.” Gwen paused, and as Morgana shut and locked the door to Merlin’s cell, now empty, behind her, Gwen produced a vial and held it to Merlin’s lips. “Drink this, it’s from Gaius.” Her voice lowered. “To give you strength and calm your nerves - otherwise he says Arthur will know.”
Merlin drank. A soothing warmth spread slowly throughout his body, which had been so cold for so long that even the mild sensation felt as though it had set his insides aflame. But he made no sound, fearing that the guards would somehow wake, and allowed the two women to lead him away from the cell and up the steps, out of the earth and into the world above once more. He stumbled more often than not, but each time they would steady him and help him to take the next step, and slowly, so slowly, the three of them made their way to the top.
The fresh air hit Merlin like a solid wall. It was dark outside, the night a comfort somehow to Merlin as they made their way along the walls of the castle, edging around the courtyard and into the darkened stables. The horses shifted and snorted in their sleep as Morgana opened the stall door nearest them and led a horse from it, already saddled and bridled, fit for riding.
“You first, Gwen,” she commanded, and supported Merlin’s weight as her maid swung herself up into the saddle with all the ease of a well-trained knight. Getting Merlin onto the horse was another matter entirely. It took Morgana’s clasped hands as a foothold and Gwen verily hauling Merlin bodily into the saddle, but somehow they managed the feat. Merlin sat, slumped with his back against Gwen’s chest, and tried to make sense of the situation in which he had suddenly been placed.
“Morgana?” he asked, finally having worked out what had happened to bring him here, and what he feared would happen to those who had brought it about.
“No one will know it was us,” Morgana assured him, resting her hand beside Gwen’s ankle in the stirrup. “We’ve been planning this for months. Gwen will take you to a safe place. We’ve prepared it for you.” She paused, frowning slightly. “She’ll have to leave you - she and the horse will be missed before long. But she’ll make sure you’re all right first.”
Morgana looked up at her maidservant, and something passed between them, over Merlin’s bowed head. “You know what you have to do.”
Gwen nodded. “I’ll be back tomorrow night, my lady.”
Then, securing her arms beneath Merlin’s, she took the reins in her capable hands and spurred the horse out of the stables and into the night, leaving Camelot far behind them.
*
They rode through the night and into the sunrise as it flared in the east, the sky turning orange and pink and yellow and finally blue. Merlin, though he’d never thought it possible to fall asleep while riding a horse, had been dozing on and off, strangely more comfortable cradled against Gwen’s chest and seated atop a moving animal than he had ever been in the cold darkness of his cell. But when the sun finally began to break through the treetops and bathe his face with warm, yellow light, Merlin’s eyes opened for what felt like the first time in a very, very long time. They were high in the hills above Camelot, where the land was rocky and covered in pine.
Behind him, Gwen shifted and craned her neck around a bit as he lifted his head. “Good morning,” she said gently, sounding like there was nothing wrong at all with their situation and that it was normal for him to wake, sore and spent, atop a horse. But Merlin knew better.
“Where are we going?” he asked; his voice felt dry and unused, much like the rest of him. The saddle was digging into his thighs, though he didn’t mind the pain as much as he once might have. After so long without feeling, even pain seemed to be welcome.
Gwen swallowed. “Someplace safe. We’re nearly there - then you can wash and eat properly. There are some clothes for you as well…” she trailed off, as though suddenly wondering whether the clothes might even fit him anymore. Somehow, Merlin felt ashamed.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. True to her word, Gwen stopped the horse not more than an hour later. Merlin looked around the clearing they had come to and, as Gwen carefully extricated her arms from around Merlin’s waist and slid off the horse, he saw the place she’d been taking him. There was a cave mouth hidden in the hillside here, dark and secluded behind a sparse stand of trees.
Gwen helped Merlin to slide from the saddle; he tried to do so with as much dignity as he could possibly muster, but in the end nearly fell to the ground and landed limply in Gwen’s sturdy arms. “Sorry,” he mumbled, but Gwen said nothing, only helped him back to his feet and began to make her way towards the cave mouth, the reins looped about one arm and supporting Merlin with the other.
“Here we are,” she said, as she might say to a small child, and she set him down just inside the mouth of the cave. Tying the horse up so he wouldn’t wander off, she went a few steps further into the darkness, where she knelt and took something from a pocket. It was steel and flint; Gwen struck a spark and Merlin saw a pile of tinder that must have been prepared beforehand. Soon the wood flared into life beneath the crackling flames of a fledgling fire. Gwen’s face glowed in the firelight; it was dusky dark in the cave, even with the sun climbing slowly out of morning towards noon in the sky overhead.
“Now,” she said, coming over and helping Merlin closer to the fire, where its warmth began to seep into his skin, “are you hungry?”
The question seemed almost absurd. Merlin nodded - he’d been hungry for as long as he could remember; the feeling had become a part of him, unnoticed, but it became an almost tangible pain in his stomach the instant Gwen gave it a name. “Yes,” he said, ashamed at how needy his voice sounded, echoing from the walls of the cave. “Yes, please…”
Gwen gave him a smile and reached into the darkness at her right - her hand came back with a basket, which she opened and drew out an apple. She handed it to Merlin and he took the fruit in both hands, just looking at the ripe, red skin in the firelight before he began eating. The first bite was a taste of heaven unto itself, and soon he was frantic, trying to get the whole fruit into his mouth all at once.
Gwen’s fingers came up to encircle his wrist. “No, no - slowly, Merlin. You’ll make yourself sick.” Her voice was quiet, and there was something reflected in her eyes in the firelight. It took Merlin a moment to realize it was sadness.
He nodded, slowing his bites, but the apple was still gone moments later. Gwen handed him a piece of bread - freshly baked bread! - and he tried to take that in small, slow bites as well, feeling Gwen’s approval lapping over him like warm ocean waves.
“Better?” she asked, and he nodded. “Good - now, would you like a bath?”
The look on Merlin’s face must have been all she needed - she laughed and stood, reaching out her hands down to him. “There’s a stream not far from here. It’ll be cold, but I think you’d agree it’ll be worth it.”
Together they stumbled out into the sunlight, and Gwen led him around the hill and down the gentle slope until Merlin could hear the babbling of water through the trees and sure enough, they came upon the banks of a gently flowing stream.
But now he was faced with a dilemma - Merlin knew he was too weak to struggle out of his clothes and properly wash, but even given the circumstances he did not think he could ask Gwen for help. He stood uncertainly for a moment, looking at the stream and feeling more than little overwhelmed.
But Gwen, bless her heart, knew without his even having to ask. “Here,” she said, stepping close and pulling at the hem of his shirt a bit, “let me help you. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” But he still felt something very much like embarrassment as she pulled the filthy garment over his head and there was a small, sharp intake of breath. “Oh, Merlin…”
He’d never been particularly fit, never anything approaching stocky or even well-muscled. A beanpole with ears, that was what Gaius had called him once, in jest. Half a year on breadcrusts and water alone had worn him down until his skin was like a too-tight container for his bones, his ribs and collarbone prominently displayed.
“I… I…sorry,” was all he could say, ashamed of the way she was looking at him. He wasn’t sure what he was even apologizing for, but it seemed the only thing he could say. But before he could hang his head and turn away there were warm arms around him, and Gwen’s face pressed against his chest. She felt so real, so warm…
“It’s not your fault,” she said. Warm tears beaded on his skin as she took a breath. “Oh, Merlin, none of this is your fault, and don’t you ever think it.”
Then she pulled back, sniffling once, and looked up at him, bright-eyed. “Now, let’s see about those breeches, shall we?”
After Merlin had bathed and dressed in a set of clean - clean! - clothes that were, indeed, too large for him although they had come from his own cupboard, they sat by the fire again. Gwen handed Merlin bits of bread and fruit that must have been picked only days ago, cautioning him to eat slowly and in moderation, as per Gaius’ orders. As he ate, she told him about their plan - how Gaius and Morgana and herself had plotted for weeks, stockpiling what Merlin would need, finding this place to keep him safe, determining the right kind of potion to knock the guards out and convince them they had succumbed to a bad batch of wine.
Merlin only half-listened, mostly reveling in the sound of another human voice and the warmth seeping through his skin where Gwen sat at his side. While he’d been in the dungeon, his mind had narrowed to one thing and one thing only - Arthur. Ashamed though he was to admit it, everything else had begun to escape his thoughts and memories, until the prince had become the only thread left between Merlin and the world outside of his cell. Arthur and the beating of his heart had been the only thing that had felt real, anymore.
But Arthur hadn’t come for him. Arthur hadn’t been the one who’d broken the law, incapacitated Uther’s guards and taken Merlin away from that place. Arthur wasn’t the one with him now, having ridden from night ‘till morning to this cave, fed him and bathed him. At that very moment, Merlin thought that Arthur felt an entire world away.
And at that moment, all Merlin knew was that he could feel again, and that feeling was growing, threatening to overwhelm him and eat him alive and all he wanted to do was embrace it, to give in. He didn’t have the strength to resist, and as Gwen paused he leaned forward and around, just close enough to brush Gwen’s lips with his own -
“Merlin,” she said gently; there were hands on his chest, pushing him away. “You can’t.” She looked up at him with a mixture of pity and sadness in her eyes. There was regret there, and something else, as well.
Merlin frowned, dizzy and confused and aching, somehow, inside. “But… don’t you want…?” He needed to touch her, right now, and he knew that she’d wanted to touch him, before…
Gwen bit her lip, her eyes filling with more of that unnamable thing. “I used to, Merlin. I… I fancied you quite a lot. But I can’t - you can’t.” She offered him one of her sweet, conciliatory smiles. “It isn’t right, now. Not anymore. And besides - Arthur will know.”
Arthur.
Merlin closed his eyes, leaned back against the cool rock of the cave wall.
“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Gwen said, and she shifted closer, her hand stroking his brow. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
They sat like that for some time, Merlin with his eyes closed against the firelight and just feeling as Gwen sat beside him and touched his face. He slept for a while, then, but he was wakened by the sounds of movement beside him, and turned his head to see that Gwen was folding his dirty clothes and standing with them in her arms.
“I have to go now,” she said, and the regret in her voice was clear. “You should stay here, rest and recover. No one will come looking for you here.”
Merlin’s insides ached at the loss presented to him so soon after he’d regained his humanity. But he knew Gwen was right. If this rescue was to be successful, she needed to return to Camelot. If anything was amiss, suspicions would be roused that much sooner, and he might need time that only the semblance of normality could buy.
She reached into her skirt, pulling out a vial that sparkled in the firelight. “This is from Gaius. Take one sip every morning - it will help calm your nerves, and keep Arthur from noticing anything is amiss.”
He took the vial, holding it in his hand. “Gwen… thank you.” He swallowed. “And thank Morgana, thank Gaius -”
“Merlin… I never thanked you,” she said, and he paused, confused. She smiled down at him, kneeling to touch his face once more. “It was you who saved my father, when he was ill. Wasn’t it?”
Merlin’s eyes burned. “Yes,” he said quietly, thinking that although he’d saved Gwen’s father from Nimueh’s plague, it had nearly gotten her killed in his place in the end. And yet here she was, thanking him all the same.
“And it’s been you, all along, saving Camelot without a thought for yourself.” She drew her hand back, slowly. “It’s been hard, without you,” she said. “We all miss you.”
Merlin nodded, his throat closing around a lump of sadness. Gwen stood then, and gathered her skirt in one hand. “I’ll come back before the week is out, with more supplies. Until then you need to rest. Don’t go too far.”
“I won’t,” Merlin said, and with another sad, longing smile Gwen turned and was gone.
*
Merlin spent the next few days in a haze of feelings and sensations, re-learning how to eat and sleep and breathe in a world that was not Uther’s dungeons. At first he thought about very little, his mind sluggish and silent after so long.
But then, once the hunger had ceased its incessant pacing and the cold had finally, finally seeped out of his skin, Merlin’s mind came back to life with a vengeance, and he began to realize the gravity of his situation. He would not, for all the world, have wished to remain locked in that cell beneath the ground, but now that he had escaped he could not see a future, and that was almost as frightening. Before all of this, his future had always been with Arthur - he would see the prince crowned king, help him to rule his land with a just and fair hand. But when he’d been discovered his future had changed, becoming one long, dark stretch of time beneath the earth where nothing would ever change. And now that he was free, his future was laid out before him like a blank piece of parchment, and the only thing he knew for sure was that he could not go back, never return to Camelot. There was a barrier behind him, and he could not turn back. But of what lay ahead, he could see nothing.
He put most of his energy into recovery, trying to eat in moderation and wash every day, though it took time for his legs to regain their strength enough to not pain him every time he walked to the stream and back. The bedroll they’d supplied him felt luxurious after the cold stone floor of the cell, and he slept better in those few days than he had for the entirety of his captivity, a true sleep fuelled by recovery and not starvation.
And then, after four days, he felt it. He woke to a racing pulse, something like anger and fear coursing through his veins and he knew, as he lay there and stared at the darkened ceiling of the cave in which he hid, that Arthur knew he was gone. Two days later Gwen appeared, her horse carrying far more than just its rider. “They’ve noticed you’re gone,” she said, leaning over the horse’s neck speak to Merlin. “They’ve been searching the castle and the surrounding villages for two days now, but they’re going to extend the search soon.” Her eyes were dark with concern. “Merlin, if you think you can, you must leave here. Go farther into the woods - across the mountains and out of Uther’s kingdom. It’s your only chance.”
Everything seemed to be happening so fast. Merlin could do nothing but nod. She held out her hand to him and helped him onto the horse behind her; he looped his arms around her waist as she turned the mount’s head and they were off, thundering away from the cave that had been his temporary home, going deeper into the hills. “I can only take you a little ways,” Gwen said over her shoulder. “I can’t be missed. But I’ll take you as far as I can.”
“I understand,” Merlin murmured into the back of her neck, and held on to her as though it was the last time he’d get the chance to touch another human being. Because, he realized quietly, it very well might be.
They rode until the woods had thinned out, until the hills had become more rock than soil and the mountains loomed dark and snow-capped ahead. They were at the crest of a hill, a valley spread out beneath them, when Gwen pulled their mount to a stop.
“This is as far as I can take you,” she said, and her voice was tight with unshed tears. “I have to go back and clear out the cave before I return.”
Merlin slid down off the horse clumsily, but landed on his feet as Gwen dismounted beside him. She pulled the pack tied to the front of the saddle down, handing it to Merlin along with a bundle of more fruit and bread. Merlin tucked the bag of food into one of the straps before he shouldered the pack. Perhaps it would have been light to a normal man, but it strained his atrophied muscles; he refused to flinch. Then he looked up at Gwen.
It was then that she came undone, a sob tearing out of her throat as she rushed forward the few steps between them to embrace him tightly. He held her just as close, breathing through his nose to try and stop the tears he could feel just out of reach behind his eyes.
“Oh, Merlin! I’m afraid to let you go, but you have to, or…”
“It’s all right,” he said quietly, and held her in return. “I’ll be all right.” He wasn’t sure of this at all, but it was what Gwen needed to hear, what he himself wanted to hear. The path through the valley below him, disappearing through the mountains at the base, looked so long, so hard. But it was better than the dungeons, and he knew it as well as she did. He knew that he could no longer bear to live beneath the stone of Camelot; no longer could he allow himself to be imprisoned. That, he’d learned, was too much like death to bear any longer in this lifetime.
They stood for long moments, clinging to each other and struggling for breath. Finally Gwen quieted; she pulled away, her eyes bright and her cheeks tearstained, and she reached up to touch his face one last time. She smiled, a smile full of sadness but tinged with well-wishes. “Go well, Merlin,” she said, and she stepped back.
Merlin nodded, tried to return her smile. “And you, Guinevere. Live well.”
“I will,” she whispered, and then she had flung herself back atop the horse and turned back the way they’d come. She only looked back once, but Merlin stood and watched until she and the horse were no longer even a shape moving upon the horizon, until all traces of his previous life were gone and vanished forever.
And then he turned around and began his journey, hoping to outrun the last of Camelot before it realized where to look for him.
It was slow going, moving on legs that weren’t yet up to much more than an hour’s walk at best. Merlin felt like he was crawling along, slower than a snail, one foot after the other in an agonizingly slow race against time. He had to reach the mountains before the search parties did, or all would be lost. He could not - would not - allow his friends’ sacrifices to be made in vain. Whether the chance that they would be found out was slim or not, it was still there, and Merlin would make sure the risk had been worth it.
He pushed himself to the limit and beyond, downing Gaius’ draught faithfully morning after morning, trying to keep his heart calm and at bay. But it was hard, so hard, and he was afraid. At night he imagined he could feel Arthur drawing ever nearer, the invisible cord that held their heartbeats intertwined pulling tighter and tighter. It felt to him very much like a noose, slowly choking the life and the breath from his body.
*
Three days later, the cord pulled taut. Late into the afternoon, Merlin was struggling up the foothills and into the mountains proper. He had only just paused to catch his breath when suddenly there was a loud thunk! and a crossbow bolt sprouted from the nearest tree, not more than a few handspans from Merlin’s head.
“Merlin.”
The voice - his voice - stopped Merlin in his tracks, his entire body freezing even as his heart began to race despite his efforts to keep his nerves under control. He hadn’t heard anything, but then, he thought wryly, how could he have, with all of the noise he’d been making, slogging through the trees? Merlin had not been born a hunter or a warrior, hadn’t been born for much else other than clumsiness. And it had been his undoing.
“Turn around. Slowly.”
There was a moment in which Merlin considered running, but just as quickly dismissed that option as futile. He could not outrun Arthur, wouldn’t have been able to even in full health, months ago. Now, when he was starved and sickly thin, he doubted he’d make it ten steps before he was caught. He would have to escape some other way, then.
He turned around. Arthur stood before him, crossbow loaded and trained. For a moment, Merlin couldn’t speak. He had not seen Arthur since that day, that horrible day, when Uther had banished him to the dungeons in lieu of death. He simply stared, wordless and thoughtless, at the feeling in every heartbeat made real into a man once more, standing before his eyes.
Then the words tumbled from his mouth, too loud and incredulous and undeniably improper - “You could have killed me!”
“I could not have! I can aim!”
For an instant it was as though nothing had happened, as though they were back on one of Arthur’s hunting trips, master and servant, and Merlin had just made a fool of himself. But then the moment passed, and they were once again hunter and prey, and Merlin had no place left to run.
“Are you going to shoot me, then?” he asked quietly.
“If I have to.”
“What if I died?”
“I’m taking you back to make sure that you don’t.” And Arthur believed that, as firmly as he had believed anything else, and Merlin knew it by the way that he spoke.
He glanced around, suddenly worried that he could hear movement in the woods around him. “Where are the rest of your knights? Circling around to cut me off?”
Arthur was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I’m alone.”
Merlin was actually incredulous. “Alone? I hadn’t thought your father would let you -”
“He didn’t.” Arthur’s voice was tight. “But I did, anyway.”
“Ah,” was all Merlin could say, as he realized just what Arthur had done. Losing a group of Camelot’s finest knights that were on your trail must have been hard; but then, nothing seemed impossible when it came to Arthur. “Arthur -”
“Be quiet!” the prince thundered, and Merlin could not help but fall silent under that tone, wary of the oncoming storm he could see in the prince’s darkened eyes. “I am the crown prince of Camelot, and you are a fugitive, a sorcerer, and I am taking you back to serve out your sentence. You will not resist.”
There was something in Arthur’s voice, some small part that he probably wasn’t even aware of, that seemed to be begging Merlin to listen and comply. But he could not, and his heart hurt all the more for it. Merlin wondered if Arthur could feel that - wondered if he’d felt what it was like to exist in that cell, wondered if he could possibly understand why Merlin could no longer do it.
He shook his head. “I can’t go back there, Arthur. You know that.”
The prince’s features hardened. “Then I will force you to do it.” He raised the crossbow a little higher, aimed along the sight, and let the bolt fly.
But this time Merlin was ready for it. “In éadan an bhalla,” he whispered, and the bolt bounced away from him and rolled across the pebbled earth.
Arthur stood stock still, his eyes wide and his jaw set. Merlin had rarely seen him so angry - the only time that came to mind the time was when Arthur had found out about this enchantment, and Merlin’s heart now mirrored the racing fire of the prince’s pulse in his ears. “Arthur, please. Listen to me,” he said, and his voice was too much like begging, but he feared he didn’t have the strength left to demand.
“You’re a liar and a coward. I don’t listen to either.”
“I’m your friend!” Merlin exploded, with a vehemence he had not known he possessed. “And I need you to understand.”
Arthur looked over at him then with something in his eyes that was hard to name, something almost like words, that asked, “Why are you still pretending we are friends, after all this?” And Merlin could do nothing to answer the question except think, silently, that they had never stopped being friends, whether Arthur knew it or not. The prince didn’t have to be Merlin’s friend, after all, for Merlin to be his. When Arthur spoke again, it was to ask, “Understand what?”
“What it was like,” Merlin said, taking a cautious step forward. “What it’s like now.”
For a moment Arthur simply stared at him, as though he could not believe that Merlin could possibly be as inconvenienced by all of this as Arthur was. “What it’s like?” Arthur asked, through gritted teeth. “What it’s like,” he said, “is that I have a fit of nerves every time you get worried about something! You’re like an old woman, Merlin, and your heart flutters at the drop of a hat!” Arthur was shouting now, his face flushed with a rage that Merlin could feel in the racing of his heart. “I live with the knowledge that my life is not my own, that it’s yours and I never asked for it to be. I can’t bear to live like that, tied to you like this, but now I have no choice and I’ll have to hide that fact for the rest of my life! I’m no longer fit to be king, but I’m the only king Camelot will have, when my father has gone.”
“And you would have me there, in the dungeons beneath the castle, until the end of your life?” Merlin shouted, feeling the blood rushing in his ears, making him dizzy. “I laid there and felt you practice every day with your knights, gasped until it felt like I’d run sixty times around the castle! I would wake in the middle of the night, my body alive with a feeling I’ve never sought, wishing for a release that I had to wait for you to reach!” His breath was coming in great sobs now, his words ringing out over the trees. “You don’t know what it’s like, Arthur, to lie beneath the castle, knowing that I’ll never get out, and learning not to care because it means that you are still alive, and that is the only purpose left to my life, whether you want it or like it or not!”
Merlin paused, gasping for breath, and looked away from Arthur. “I’m sorrier than I’ve ever been that I’ve done this, but I cannot undo it any more than I can stop being the way that I am. But you own my life as much as I own yours and more, because you have the power to lock me away, and I think I may truly die if you do that to me again.”
The silence that followed seemed loud enough to drown out even the pulse beating in Merlin’s ears; it was thick and heavy seemed to have swallowed all the sound in the world inside of it. When he finally looked up at Arthur, the prince was staring at him, his face gone ashen, mouth slightly open.
“What?” Merlin felt a sudden, renewed rush of rage. “Did you only just now consider the fact that I have feelings?”
Arthur shook his head, slowly. “I didn’t know it affected you the same way,” was all he said.
Merlin frowned. “What?”
“The - your spell,” Arthur said, a bit more forcefully. “It works both ways? Everything?”
“Yes,” Merlin said, and something began to stir in the pit of his stomach, something like guilt and forgiveness all at once. “You… you didn’t know?”
Arthur was frowning now, too. “Why should I have? If you’re so powerful a sorcerer, why would you do something like that?”
Merlin actually laughed then, a wry half-chuckle brought on by the pure and simple fact that almost all of this was because Arthur just didn’t understand. “It’s not like that,” he said. “There needs to be a balance.” He remembered those words as being Nimueh’s, and shuddered. He said, more quietly now, “There must always be a balance.”
“Oh,” was all Arthur said, as the pounding of Merlin’s heart began to finally calm, just a bit. Then Arthur shook his head, and when he looked to Merlin again, his face was more open than it had ever been, every ounce of regret written clearly across his features for all the world - for Merlin - to see. “I didn’t know,” he said, and in that moment Merlin knew it was as close to admitting he’d been wrong as the prince would ever come.
Slowly, slowly, a smile began to form upon Merlin’s lips. Something about the world had just been set right, and there was a long way to go yet, but the first step had been taken. “It’s all right,” he said quietly, and took another step towards Arthur. “Now you do.”