to the world that never let you be: 3/10

[flypaw]

Summary: When Arthur notices the scars on Merlin, he sets off to find out why a servant of all people has such marks and discovers that Merlin might not be all that he seems. From kinkme_merlin prompt here
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin

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to the world that never let you be

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Part Three

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"You met Nimueh," Merlin said casually, the air between them tightening until it was thick again. Arthur's hand slipped from his lap to brush against the tall grass clinging to his boots. Nimueh, the woman who had struck a deal with his father?

He made to shake his head. He hadn't met her; he'd have known. She would have been... different.

Why though? Just because she's a sorceress? Merlin has magic and yet he'd been under all their noses for years. Just because she had murdered his mother? Murderers didn't wear signs, or Uther would be weighed down, unable to walk.

"When you went to get the antidote for me... that flower?"

Merlin's voice was soft and Arthur swallowed. Did an evil man drink poison the way Merlin had? Knowing that he would die either way, Merlin had drunk from Arthur's goblet on mere word that he might be saving Arthur's life. Someone who wanted you dead wouldn't do that. Someone who wanted you dead wouldn't take a goblet meant for the Prince and drink it, knowing it was poisoned in front of the Court ,would they?

And, after so many years, it was foolish to think that Merlin might be simply waiting. You didn't just wait, not after so many opportunities. If Merlin wanted him dead, there were plenty of times at night, or on supposed hunting trips where Merlin could have lied and fabricated a story.

So why?

"Uther didn't want you to know who she was and I didn't even know you'd seen her until Gaius told me."

Merlin had saved Gaius, he'd said. Which meant Gaius knew... had known since Merlin had been in Camelot. It stabbed at him a little, tingling in his chest and nestling. Why Gaius? Was it just Gaius?

Why not Arthur? Even after all this time...

Arthur wanted to reach out, close the space between them (and really, it wasn't that far apart they sat and Arthur would easily grasp Merlin's arm if he leant forward), but he was rooted to his seat, legs felt as though they were moulded into iron as the wooden seat felt suddenly harder, trapping him. He wanted to reach out, shake Merlin from the sorcerer and return to Camelot with a smile, Merlin by his side and the evil-ness, the darkness Merlin held inside of him trapped here.

He hadn't chosen to be a Prince though, had he? Merlin was magic from his first breath in the world; he had a scripted part in the world just like Arthur. They weren't that different, not really. Prince, sorcerer. Arthur, Merlin. Two babies, two boys, two men.

Arthur had seen Merlin bleed, seen him cry and seen him laugh. He'd seen Merlin angry, happy, bored, lazy... too many emotions to name to and surely if that didn't make him a person, then how else was everyone defined? You couldn't pick and choose rules that suited your views and you couldn't waive them just because someone practiced magic, it wasn't just; wasn't fair.

But when had Uther been fair? Had he entered the deal with Nimueh knowing it would be Arthur's mother who would pay the price? Did Arthur want to know that? Merlin had stopped him killing Uther once and it was clear Arthur didn't have the strength to forgive his father, but could Merlin stop him again?

Was Merlin even coming back?

Panic gripped Arthur's chest as Merlin spoke about something, head bowed to the ground, tilted away from the fire smoke.

A sorcerer had no place in Camelot (hadn't Morgana proved that already with Morgause?), but this was Merlin. Merlin who had been with him for so many things, who had stood with a grin as Arthur paraded order after order down to him, taking it with a shrug and a witty retort before walking off.

Nine times out of ten he would do the jobs, but that one time... that small sliver of pure Merlin... well Arthur would never admit it, but he admired Merlin. It took courage to challenge a Prince twice, courage to stand up time and time again and even more to offer advice, act as an equal.

Oh, but Merlin was his equal - if not more, surely? He had all this power brimming under his skin, he was above Arthur. That was why his father had started it all; a sorceress became too strong, manifested her gift in a way that the King did not like. It was why Sigan was executed; they all got too strong, too powerful, but at some point they had been young.

They'd been people with potential.

Like Merlin?

"Gaius tried to explain the power of the Questing Beast to me and I'll try to help you understand."

Arthur remembered the terrible creature that had almost killed him. Of course Merlin would have had something to do with it... had he set the beast upon him?

"It chooses who it wants to claim, being a creature of the Old Religion. If the Old Religion wants to claim a life, all the Questing Beast needs to do is give you one bite." Merlin's voice was bitter, strange to Arthur's ears. "One bite and that's it, not even magic can heal you."

Then why was Arthur here? Why was he sitting here while rabbits were burning and Merlin was spilling his secrets? If this Questing Beast was a missionary from the Old Religion, why was he still breathing?

Anger bubbled in Arthur's throat and he clenched his jaw. This was hard, too hard.

Merlin twirled one of the grass stems in his fingers, the remainder falling to the ground in a flutter of green.

"It bit you," he commented, too lightly. Arthur knew that tone, knew it well. It was the tone Merlin adopted when he thought he glimpsed a unicorn in the forest, when they took down a full-headed stag, when Merlin had to walk away from peasant children scrabbling for food...

It wasn't the concern of a murderer. Uther was convinced it was, that sorcerers couldn't show compassion, understand pain of others, that they were cold blooded killers. Merlin's tone showed he cared. In retrospect, Arthur could add that maybe Merlin could solve some of the problems he was pained by, no matter how wrong it was in the eyes of the law.

Arthur felt the same pain when he saw war-torn lands, children without homes or families. Why shouldn't magic make their lives better?

'The Old Religion corrupts, Arthur. That's why Camelot will follow a New Religion, born from the fires of the Great Purge.'

Uther had told him that so many times, but it had never settled on his shoulders. There was no 'old' or 'new' when it came to religions. At least, not in the terms people knew the Old Religion by. It wasn't a worship it was a lifestyle, a characteristic, a skill...

Something you were born with.

And yet it corrupted, blackened the hearts of the people it touched. What had Gaius done to remove the stain upon his soul? Would Merlin go so far for him as Gaius had for Uther?

Would Merlin watch hundreds die just so he could stay in Camelot, silent and a prisoner?

"There... was nothing we could do. Gaius tried everything, I even tried magic." Merlin was looking at Arthur now, eyes searching. Arthur turned away, watching the outer meat of the rabbits char and blacken past consumption-worthiness.

Imagine if that was Merlin, he whispered to himself. What would you do, would you sit there and watch, upright with your father? Or would you do it here, away from Camelot with a lie on your lips of how you were attacked and how Merlin had died with honour to protect the Prince.

It wouldn't be the first time Arthur had lied for a sorcerer.

Or would he pull Merlin from the pyre, battle through guards and Knights until he reached his charger, pull Merlin onto the horse and ride off for... a future? A future in farming?

A Prince and a sorcerer, fugitives and farmers. It didn't have a ring to it, not really.

"I had to talk to the dragon and he told me about... about an island. The Isle of the Blessed."

Merlin paused, for which Arthur was grateful. The Isle of the Blessed, a cursed isle where the nine priestesses of the Old Religion had danced until their feet bled, until the ground was sodden with their offerings and where they had dragged innocent mortals to their doom, strapped upon a table.

It was a place that rivalled the myths of Sigan in childhood terror, but Arthur had never thought it existed. Not really.

(Then again, they had all laughed about Sigan until the castle literally came alive and Gaius held a blue heart-shaped stone out, eyes wary with Merlin shifting behind his back).

It should shock him that Merlin held conversations with dragons, sought help from it even, but he was numb. And anyway, what could he say to that? Oh, sorry, didn't know you were pally with him, but do you think you could have asked him not to destroy Camelot that time he got out?

Isle of the Blessed. Sacrifice. No, not sacrifice, that was the myth. Evil, no not that either, that was Uther. Mystery? Yes, certainly that.

"He told me that there needs to be a balance maintained. Death is the price of the Questing Beast and to save a life, one must be offered in return." Merlin swallowed heavily, the sound reaching Arthur's ears even though it should have been impossible. "I went to meet the High Priestess of the Old Religion to offer a life for yours."

A sacrifice? Not a myth. The sacrificial isle, not an isle of the blessed after all. A slaughterhouse where people could play a higher power before it turned on them.

And wasn't it ironic that Arthur should have caused both of these deals? That two people, Uther and Merlin, had sacrificed another life just so he could live? It was unlikely the life-death-balance deals were shelled out all over the place even before the Purge, and after Arthur could imagine they were like gold dust... but he'd caused two. Two people had died so he could live.

Was he worth it?

"Nimueh lied to me," Merlin continued, his voice rushed as if he wasn't telling Arthur something.

Let him, a voice said in Arthur's mind. There were some things you just didn't tell anyone, like the way Arthur would think of his mother the moment he got out of bed; how the madness in the Pendragon ancestry looked set to manifest in Uther; how Morgana was his sister; how Gaius was a sorcerer; how Gwen loved Lancelot...

Merlin could afford this one omission. He'd been true to what he'd promised Arthur so far and Arthur could respect that.

"I was willing to pay for your life with my own."

No. Nonononono. That wasn't... no.

He was supposed to sacrifice some innocent, some young woman or little boy; take the years from children with a manic laugh and a swish of his fingers. He was supposed to draw the life from a person with crackling, dark power, feasting on the sudden rush of energy leaving the body, consuming the soul as he challenged the fabric of the world, the powers of life and death.

"You drank water from the Cup of Life and you were healed. I didn't die; Nimueh had let me believe that it was that simple, that easy to just trade one for another..." Merlin's voice was full of regret and Arthur knew only one reason why it could become like that. Nimueh had tried to take someone Merlin loved, the person he loved most. Arthur could see that (and he knew without saying that Nimueh must have chosen Hunith, because who else was there for Merlin to love enough to sacrifice himself for?).

Just like Uther, in a strange sense. They'd both had their loved ones taken by Nimueh, and how strange it was to compare Uther and Merlin.

He wondered if Uther knew the similarities between his son's manservant and himself. Doubtful, for Uther would order Merlin's execution if he knew, but the parallels were hard to shake. Who had died this time so that Arthur could live?

"I went to the Isle of the Blessed, to change her deal."

Not to change her mind, not to destroy her, not to take back the power he'd invested in Arthur...

"She should have chosen me, not my mother, not Gaius, me. That was the deal, me for you, your life for mine, but she didn't stick to it." Merlin closed his eyes briefly and Arthur looked at him, really looked at him.

He was thin, pale and had dark circles under his eyes. This was the big threat Arthur had conjured? Camelot's best kept secret that was going to bring about the destruction of their whole lives?

No, wait. That was Morgana.

"I fought her," Merlin's hand moved to the centre of his chest. "It's how I got this, from a fire-ball spell she threw at me. Luckily for me she underestimated me."

And there it was; the quirk of the lips that showed Arthur this was no ordinary manservant, no ordinary man. It didn't take much for Arthur to see that Merlin had killed Nimueh - what other solution was there? Merlin was alive, Gaius was alive, Arthur was alive and, as far as he knew, Hunith was well.

If his father knew Merlin had killed Nimueh? By now it wouldn't make a difference, Arthur supposed, but what if...

He cut off the trail before it began. There was no point in dwelling with what ifs. They never ended well.

(Like what if his father had done what Merlin had, stood up to Nimueh and demanded her life in retribution for her trickery.)

But don't you know, young Prince? Them magic-folk, they're bad news. They'll trick you out of your very skin and steal if off your back. Best keep eyes in the back of your head, young man, chin up and watch for them. You can't trust anyone, they could be magic.

That was the pillar Arthur had been brought up on, whispered from the nurses who had cared for him and the servants who had sought to teach the Prince everything he needed to know to live without punishment in Camelot. . Magic couldn't save you, don't be ridiculous! It was evil, corrupt and dangerous. Best to stay away and report anything suspicious.

"I killed her to save you," Merlin said softly and Arthur met his eyes.

He was ready. Throwing down what had coiled around his head, Arthur was ready to listen. He sat forwards a little, nodding his head slightly to Merlin. Merlin had killed someone to save Arthur, without any acknowledgements or need for fanfare.

Magic was just a weapon of a different craft to a sword, and Merlin wouldn't be able to kill an innocent person with a blade. Magic was said to be more personal, closer to the sorcerer than a blade.

If Merlin couldn't kill with a cold blade, why should his birth-right magic be different?

Unlike his father, Arthur would let Merlin talk before he passed his judgement. They needed this, Arthur could feel it, and took a deep breath, nodding again to Merlin as if it meant something.

From Merlin's brief flicker of a smile, maybe it did.

There was a pause, a lull in conversation. Arthur couldn't fathom what was going on behind Merlin's eyes; how his brain worked, how he managed to sit there and look equal parts calm and nervous. There was anger there, sorrow and grief, but also of hope and happiness, and of what Arthur liked to think of as love too.

Because why else would Merlin stay in Camelot? For all these years, he had to have formed some attachment to the castle and its people. Some small attachment at least, though Merlin never did things by half. He had to love Gaius and Gwen, Morgana before she had cut at their hearts, and maybe even a part of Merlin loved Arthur, though he didn't dwell on the thought long enough, nipping it in the bud as soon as it appeared.

Merlin stayed because he... what? He loved Camelot? He had a duty? The only other sorcerers in Camelot were either there to kill someone, trying to hide away (far, far away from the King mind you), Gaius - and Arthur didn't want to evaluate what keeping Gaius as Physician meant, not when Uther was happy to slaughter children yet keep Gaius there.

Of course, not that Arthur had anything against Gaius, it was just Uther was becoming the world's biggest hypocrite and apparently he'd been that all along.

No, focus. Merlin was the issue here; Merlin and his... magic. The word felt hesitant in his mind, as if even his brain was calling for him to run. Magic was wrong, magic was evil, magic was disgusting, punishable by death.

Oh but so was killing a man, and Arthur had done that plenty of times. Just because he was defending himself or defending Camelot or was in a battle (and yes, these were not crimes because they were acts of honour, acts of defence and survival) did not shake the fact that men lay dead because of Arthur Pendragon.

How many men lay dead because of Merlin? And how many of them were innocent people who had dreamt of blue skies, glory and a warm home?

The scar itself Merlin's hand still pushing his shirt up to reveal the mark looked smooth, a deep red in the centre until it faded to a paler pink, the edges just touching pale skin before merging almost seamlessly. Arthur had seen burn marks before, from small lines or circles where a knight or servant had been too careless with a fire, to large, skin-twisting burns (like the physician so long ago, the man with the twisted face and his cure for all ills).

Merlin's was unlike any he'd ever seen though. Perhaps that was because it was caused by magic? But Arthur had seen wounds caused by magic and they were exactly the same as any normal wounds. Fire was fire, at the end of the day, and a burn was a burn.

Except Merlin was born with his power, so did that mean magic affected him differently to other people? When it hit him, did the fire begin its burn before realising exactly who it was up against and curbed its own power, shying away from someone who was, in essence, from the same root as itself? So, if that was the case, did it mean the fire that had caused this burn had been full of hatred, so much so that even the balance of nature and magic hadn't been enough to stop it damaging Merlin how it had.

Just because Uther thought he'd abolished magic from his kingdom didn't mean that there weren't still stories to be told. As a child, before he realised the weight of his kingdom, before he was named Crown Prince, before Merlin, before even Morgana came to Camelot, he'd found books, even coerced Geoffrey to remember (in his own words) the 'good old days'.

Geoffrey had been happy to inform a young prince that the world was all connected. In the Old Religion, there were four base elements, two main forces of life and death and, of course, there was the main foundation of balance. Everything linked together like a weaved basket, pull one thread and the whole thing unravel.

Surely the same principle applied to Merlin and his magic. If the fireball was the same basis as Merlin's magic, then it wouldn't have harmed him as it would have done to a normal person. Assuming, of course, it has been just fire that was thrown, not backed by a spell or… something. He didn't know enough yet, not enough to have all these ideas flowing in his head.

It was just another notch on the count of questions he wanted to ask Merlin. Too many questions and yet he couldn't find his voice, not when he had said he would listen.

"And the other marks?" Arthur ventured, his voice cracking as he spoke. He couldn't call them scars, not really, clinging onto the hope that the marks on his back were just silly things, nothing related to magic. Arthur could lie to himself as well as any man, prince or not.

Merlin contemplated the words, cocking his head to the side to stare at the fire. The rabbit was most likely ruined by now, but Merlin dutifully stood, plucking the spits from the flames and poking at their sides, gingerly plucking at the layer of blackened meat.

"Almost done," he said softly, miraculously. The flames weren't that hot after all, it being only a small fire.

Should Merlin burn then the fire would be far greater, central in the square with heat bubbling through Camelot's castle, warming even the dungeon flagstones for a week.

"I could just tell you that I was attacked and be done with it, really," Merlin said quickly, shrugging his shoulders. "But neither of us are satisfied with half-truths, are we?"

Arthur shook his head. Simply knowing Merlin had been attacked (again, something which he never would have accepted a few days ago) would never settle the need to know. There was a story here - and Arthur knew it would be longer than the story involving Nimueh, even though that one was still playing out, what with Arthur living and breathing twice over.

"There's a lot you have to know for this story. And ... if any of it gets too hard, let me know, okay?" Merlin looked at him, really looked at him. Arthur swallowed; this was bigger than Nimueh, bigger than - however stupid it sounded - life and death.

Merlin rubbed a hand over his forehead, smearing a line of charcoal onto his temple. It was an impossibly dark speck on his face and Arthur was drawn to it, a strange speck where none should be, much like the scars.

Why was it that the imperfections about Merlin drew Arthur to him? Why had it taken this long to see Merlin clearly, to know Merlin for who he was?

Arthur didn't dwell too much on that though. He liked to think he was a good person, but how could he be when it took years before he realised he hardly knew Merlin?

(But that was a lie too because Merlin was good, kind, a friend, someone Arthur trusted, no matter what secrets lay between them - and that was probably one of the hardest and most important admissions Arthur would make.)

"I guess I should talk about the dragon first." Merlin paused, as if he was waiting for Arthur's approval. When he realised he wouldn't be getting it how could Arthur approve of something he had no idea of, he carried on. "When I made the deal with Nimueh, I vowed never to speak to the dragon again. He lied to me too, let me believe that it was as simple as trading one life for another, yet he knew that I wouldn't be the one who had to die."

Arthur scuffed the ground under his boot, trying not to think of fire and destruction, the only things he knew of with dragons. He'd never seen the Great Dragon before it had escaped and while it had been a magnificent creature, you never really tended to notice that when it had the potential to kill you in under a second.

"I had to break that vow though, when Sigan was attacking Camelot." Merlin's voice was dull and lifeless as he was caught in memories.

Sigan, of course. With the gargoyles and the body of Cedric. Cedric who Merlin had warned him about. There seemed to be a common theme emerging titled Times When Merlin Was Actually Right and Everyone Suffered.

"There wasn't any way to stop Sigan so Gaius said I had to go ask the dragon. He gave me a spell that would seal Sigan's soul back into the stone, but on the condition that I would one day free him in return."

Merlin sighed heavily, bowing his head for a moment before looking up sharply. It was the look of a man who had made many hard decisions, a look Arthur had seen reflected in Uther's face, in Gaius' and even his own.

"I had to make that promise. For Camelot more than anything; for you."

Arthur looked up sharply. Merlin did not have the right to pin his actions on Arthur, not now, not ever.

"He didn't trust my vow though, at least not until we came back from Idirsholas. I made another vow then, on my mother's life." Merlin sounded tired and Arthur's anger soothed down a little. Merlin didn't play with people's lives and it was clear that whatever he had done weighed him down, but...

You can't play with life and death. There were few things in the world that did, such as a cat playing with a mouse before it killed it, but most of them stemmed from humanity and humans' greed. Merlin was the least greedy person Arthur knew (and alright, so his manservant liked to sneak morsels from the royal plates, everyone did when they had a chance); but even so, he had no right to decided who lived and who died, no right to bargain with lives.

He almost said something then, but Arthur bit his lip. No, this was Merlin's turn of the story, not his. He'd have his say at the end; tell Merlin that no matter whose name he used, he couldn't disguise what he had done.

Disguise it though... was that what Merlin was doing? Clearly, at the time, he'd believed he was doing the right thing, and Arthur felt his stomach drop as he remembered the Knights of Medhir, how he'd been certain he would die, how he'd even said goodbye, of all things.

"The dragon told me what to do and, in return, I had to free him."

Had to. No choice. Only way. Forced to. So many words to say the same thing, that Merlin had made his choice and the consequences were heavy on his shoulders, draped like a cloak. When you said you had to do something, you were never happy with the choice, but you tried to live with it. You say that you had no choice, that there were no other options when you did something terrible... Arthur used his own share of those moments too, when you had to force yourself onwards regardless of the decision you'd made.

"There's something else too. About Morgana." Merlin stopped, like people always did when they mentioned her name.

"It's okay," Arthur replied and it was. It was okay. He was okay. He needed to know, needed to find out why she had become so full of hate and so bitter. A year couldn't shape a person so much, could it?

"Her nightmares were more than just dreams. Gaius forbade me from talking to her about it, but... maybe if I had..." Merlin shook his head and Arthur agreed. It was too late for 'maybe', far too late.

"She has magic. Mainly to do with the power of Seeing, dreams of the future, but she does have some magical talent."

It should be a blow to the gut that the woman he'd seen as a sister (and was a sister by blood) was a witch. Strangely, it wasn't and, as it was starting to with Merlin, the world was fitting into its correct place without Arthur having fully realised it was out of shape.

"Morgause reached out to her, she was a way for her to be less afraid, to understand her power and... in return Morgause used her in her spell." Merlin was back to ripping the grass up, reaching further in a circle to grasp at green strands.

"Morgana was the source of the enchantment when we came back from Idirsholas. That was why she was unaffected. I... lied to you because I thought the curse didn't work because she had magic. I had to protect her, even if she had no idea I had magic too, that I was like her, I had to help her."

There was the 'had to' again. Had no choice, did he? There was always a choice.

"I had to choose between you and Morgana and it's you every time."

Oh. There was the choice then.

"The dragon told me that the only way to end the curse was to destroy the source of the spell. I... poisoned Morgana. The only way Morgause would lift the spell was when I showed her what poison I had used."

Merlin's head was tilted to the ground, blatantly not looking at Arthur.

For Arthur. It was all for Arthur; the deaths that weighed heavily over Merlin were all for Arthur. And why? Because a dragon had told him?

"Why Merlin?" he asked, unable to keep it in any longer. "What makes you so special that you get to decide who lives and who dies; that you get to bargain with people's lives?"

Whatever Arthur had expected at that, and maybe it was Merlin being rendered speechless or confused, it wasn't the slight smile and shake of head.

"I never got to decide any of that before I came to Camelot. I don't get to decide them until I have to, and it's hard. So hard. Do you know how many people I've seen die? Since I came to the wonderful kingdom, where there's sure to be more possibilities than a tiny village?" Merlin's voice lacked resentment, though if the words had been from any others' mouth they would have steeped in it.

"I was given my magic for a reason and while I never intended for it to kill anyone, I don't regret the things I've done because I can't change them. I've made bad choices and I've made good ones, I've lost people and I've gained people. It's a constant circle and I don't get to decide anything because it's already decided."

Arthur closed his eyes, not wanting to hear the next words.

"Because everything I do is for your future, for the Camelot you'll build, I suppose, but most of all," Merlin paused, sucking in breath, "Most of all it's just to make sure you don't make a complete prat out of yourself and die from evil fairies or Wildren."

And Merlin was smiling. Ever so slightly, but as Arthur opened his eyes, he saw the smile and the clarity with which he'd made such a decision. They still had a lot to go through, but there was no doubt that Merlin was on Arthur's side, that he was Arthur's man through thick and thin, and the thought warmed Arthur.

"Okay," Arthur said, taking what felt like his thousandth deep breath since they'd begun "And you set the dragon free?"

"I... yeah," Merlin admitted, twisting strands of grass together in his fingers, rolling the blades until they meshed together slightly, becoming a ball.

"Surely you would have known what it would do?" Arthur couldn't believe that Merlin wouldn't have known. Any creature locked away for over twenty years would be angry and a dragon certainly had all the power to run a country to the ground, let alone a town - as had been demonstrated.

"What was I supposed to do then?" Merlin looked at Arthur, the ball of grass falling to the ground and under Merlin's boot as he stood. "Should I have let Morgause have Camelot? Should I have let my mother die because I'd been desperate to get an answer from the dragon? Tell me then, oh great Prince, what would you have done?"

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to the world that you turned your back on

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| part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten |