The Last Gift (part one)
Title: The Last Gift
Words: 15,500
Rating: PG-13
Summary: prompt: Merlin uses magic to stop time to deliver presents to everyone in the castle. Cold-day fluff, warm fire mulled wine, should be getting home, but baby it's cold outside.
Disc: Not mine.
Spoilers: takes place somewhere during s3, before the last few episodes.
A/N: written for colour-me-troll for the merry-merthur challenge. beta = the forever shifty-gardener.
master fic post
Merlin was yawning by four o‘clock in the afternoon on his way to the stables, just as the last curve of November sun was pinking out behind the forest. He thought that, if time hadn't stopped completely, it was at least going slow as honey today and it really couldn’t be bedtime soon enough.
Some days were like that at the castle. Some days no users of magic entered under the guise of something they were not, all affectation of goodwill with a half-cocked story to tell the king. Some days no one enchanted Arthur or attacked Merlin, no one dragged down the dream of magic that Merlin was trying to examine and make rational and hang out to dry.
No, instead some days were downright boring in the best ways possible: a bucket to retrieve here and a piece of pie to pinch there, and a long day that ended in his yawning his way back to the little pallet in the far tower, right after shelving that last pile of Arthur's warm and freshly laundered clothing.
Some days Merlin found himself at loose ends.
He met Arthur by the stable door, somehow arriving just as he was needed, and he stood back while Arthur dismounted and handed him the reins. He walked Hengroen in through the wide doors while Arthur gave final directions to his men.
The horse clopped into its stall and let go the spitty bit from between its teeth with little fuss. Merlin was folding the halter nicely over a hook when there came a slush of footsteps behind him.
“You don’t have to follow me in,” Merlin said. He didn't look up, but the footsteps had ceased at the entrance to the stall, and it was most likely Arthur waiting, obscured by the horse.
Merlin was cold through and through, goosebumps pricking up even at his elbows of all places, and neckerchief doing little to protect appointed area. The muttering of squires and other knights floated back and forth and past him through the quiet darkness of the stables, along with the fresh scent of iced hay and the scritch of Arthur’s boots in the mud beside him. He said: “You don’t need to oversee everything I do.”
“Of course I do,” Arthur told him. “Think of it as your master checking over your work.”
Merlin moved to heft and hang the saddle on the wall, then, and the saddle blanket over a leather horn.
"I'll need to move practice to midday rather than two," Arthur thought to him out loud. "Sir Hayden was an unfortunate shade of blueberry by the end of drills today."
"I saw actually," Merlin said, because Sir Hayden had stumbled past, looking chilled. He picked up the tack box and held it limply in a hand and Arthur stamped his feet, impatient with cold, sweat cooling and hair matted. Merlin frowned.
"Sir Leon even looked a bit frosty by the end of patrol."
Merlin was at a loss as to what to do with the brushes, now that he was holding one, an unfamiliar tool in his right hand. He smoothed down the horse's flank with his left for something to do while he thought. He’d watched some squires do this once, so had been able to replicate it with his magic, like it had photographic rather than muscle memory. It had just happened from that point on, brushes brushing down the horse while Merlin hunched over it to look like he was working, the magic expended to do the task barely a twinge at the back of his mind.
Arthur stood with his hands behind his back, staring into the middle distance.
Merlin scrubbed at the horse's matted back with a fervor and smiled half at Arthur. He tried what he normally did when he was in the tightest spots, and fell back on bald honesty.
“I’ve never actually done this,” he admitted.
Arthur laughed.
But it was true!
Merlin had always been a distractible lad, the type who had been given all-encompassing goals rather than specific tasks to complete during the day in rural Ealdor. Herd the cows slowly back to pasture, Merlin, rather than Bring me a bucket of milk, Merlin. Darling would you please hang the washing and weed the garden, rather than Merlin, mend this chair and baste this chicken. That’s why life at Camelot seemed so different.
It wasn’t the standing at attention or tending to extravagant furs, it came down to the base way of things, how he was tethered now to one other person’s life and made to do things then and there, specific and quickly. Given the situation, it became clear that finishing even one of said duties was effectively impossible without some sort of outside aid, and so Merlin, whose heart, if not attention span, was in the right place, went about making it so in the most natural and non-fuss way possible: he used magic. It was this way with the saddle and curry comb, it was this way with Arthur's boots and with the charred detritus after the hearth had been used for a week without cleaning.
When he finally kicked open the stable door and moved aside to let Arthur pass him, the evening light was blue and the ground muddy and crystalled. His lungs protested the frigid air. Arthur stepped on ahead like he owned the very ground and Merlin followed, skirting shallow puddles and wondering what sort of fare he could hassle out of the kitchens. Arthur loved most in this world two foods: grapes and chicken. Merlin would try to get extra of both to make up for his secret lack of equestrian know-how.
The evening outside shone winter down around like it was in the air, and Arthur’s jacket looked purple along with the crude wood of the shantytown. They raced each other across the evening courtyard and up the main stair at lung-straining speed, and Arthur got there just a leap before him.
He swung the door open with a fierce grip of the handle and shove, and then yanked Merlin by the back of the jacket to fling him inside, inertia working with them, the guards standing at stiff attention just inside the entry so that they caught the tail end of this scuffle. At the sight of the guards, Arthur adjusted his pace to a meaningful stride, the show of immaturity allowed in Merlin's presence alone.
“Indulgent,” Merlin chided, but then Arthur was running up the next flight of stairs, this one inside the castle so blooming with heat that it was pleasant to push through.
When Merlin reached the rooms, Arthur had already entered and kicked off his boots in the antechamber, and was shoving aside a stack of parchment to make room for the pitcher of mulled wine that was sure to arrive shortly, the guards having doubtless notified a passing servant of the prince‘s return.
“Fire, Merlin,” Arthur ordered.
“In a moment, sire,” Merlin said, because he was hanging his wetted jacket over a chair back and rubbing some feeling back into his hands. Magic stung on frozen fingers, like a jump of static on dry skin.
He gathered the logs, bark scratching at the numbed pain in his fingers. When he sensed Arthur turning away as he always did, as if he knew, Merlin lit the flames with a flash, the logs reflecting the gold of his eyes, rather than vice verse.
“If there’s one thing that can be said of you,” Arthur told him. “You’re skilled in starting fires.”
“If there’s one thing that can be said for you-” Merlin returned. “-sire. It’s that you’re skilled at giving compliments.”
Arthur came up to stand beside him, and leaned both elbows against the mantle. He hung his head down to look into the flames as he warmed, sighing at Merlin's general lack of etiquette. Merlin straightened to lean in the opposite direction, shoulder blades to mantelpiece and knees warming at the back. He wrapped his arms around his front, hands in his armpits and shivered once all over.
“Your behavior has been lackadaisical as of late, absolutely deleterious,” Arthur told him quietly, some time later. When Merlin lolled his head to the side, Arthur‘s eyes were closed and a small smile lurked around the soft corners of his mouth.
"I'm dying of a chill. It's warmer up here. My tower's downright freezing."
"Shoddy excuse for-"
The wine arrived then, the serving boy entering on a knock, through the antechamber and into the current one. He laid the tray on the table, and bowed out, eyes flicking to Merlin more than once - Merlin who was, to all intents and purposes, relaxing like an equal beside the prince and not jumping to retrieve the wine. The door clicked shut and Merlin turned so that he could warm his front.
“Lackadaisical,” Arthur laughed. “What did I tell you?”
He shoved Merlin in the side, saying, “Go.“ with a grasp at the cloth at Merlin's waist and gentle push, and Merlin walked backwards to the table, saying, “Thank you for explaining, sire, I didn’t want to have to look that up.”
“You are the very definition,” Arthur told him. “of lackadaisical. And so many other words.”
“Words, words, words,” Merlin said. He returned to press a goblet into Arthur’s pale hands and said, uselessly, “Drink.”
“You’d best drink as well. I don’t doubt that you’ll beg off your duties at the smallest cold.”
“When have I ever taken time off!”
He went to retrieve the second goblet anyway from a cupboard that he had once hid in. In fact, he had been inside of and under and on top of most of the furniture in Arthur’s chambers.
“Quiescent,” Arthur continued. “There’s another one for you. Throw out the rug.”
Merlin did and they sat in the furs, leaning with their backs against the legs of a heavy chair. Merlin’s shins heated through the cloth in his trousers, which were so threadbare as to allow for the heat off the fire just as quickly as the winter chill.
“I require your services here all evening,” Arthur told him, frowning at how Merlin was still rubbing his hands together.
“Of course you do,” Merlin said.
When he woke the next morning he was slumped against the side of the wooden chair, but at least he could feel his feet.
*
“Would you mind delivering a small parcel to Arthur?”
The air in Gwen’s house was frigid. Their every breath became visible in the rays of frosty sunlight which fell in through the single window and at the cracks in the unfinished walls. Merlin liked to believe that a prince would look past these rough details to the values one so impoverished embodied. Merlin knew that Arthur did, but that he would subsequently try to make Gwen forget it all by giving her chambers of her own in the castle, curtain-hung and satin-sheeted.
“Oh you will, Merlin," Gwen said. "Tell me you will.”
“Of course I will, Gwen.” He took the bundle from her hands and wanted to know what it was, but he didn’t ask and Gwen didn’t offer up the information. The parcel felt hard in his hands, though, and almost sharp. Something metal, then.
When Arthur was being bossy or jumping with anticipation, he seemed just himself, some guy Merlin had to spend a lot of time with. He was a bit trying at times but was not without heart or ideals, so wasn‘t all that horrible to work for. But when it came to gift-giving, Arthur became the prince again and was therefore nearly impossible to impress. Merlin was glad, for once, not to be in Gwen’s position.
“He’ll love anything you give him,” Merlin told her.
"Do you think so?"
“Gwen,” he gave her a look.
“Are you giving him anything?”
"D'you think I should?" Merlin asked. "At home I’m rather good at presents - a new chair, a bag of dried fruit. But Arthur, well. Arthur's got everything."
“Perhaps Arthur would enjoy something simple like that.” Gwen looked uncertain.
“Gwen, he’ll love it,” he told her again. “Whatever it is.”
Holiday time was busy for everyone it was true, but this year seemed especially unfortunate.
Among other tasks, Merlin was also scheduled to clean Gaius' leech tank and deliver a load of medicinal tinctures. Arthur came up with the bizarre idea that he might need not one, but all of his jackets, within the next week, so ordered them aired out before the Christmas feast. Finally, that morning five gifts were put in his trust.
“Why me?” he asked Gaius.
“Perhaps you seem dependable,” Gaius said, although he didn’t seem to believe it.
All this would take about twice as long now that Merlin was avoiding the entire side of the castle where Morgana's chambers could be found, so it was only lunchtime and Merlin had already started to panic about whether or not he would finish for the day. It was one thing to slack off on chores, but when people were depending on him to deliver things it seemed a different matter entirely.
He lined the gifts on the tabletop, and tried to remember which gift was meant for who. Many of the servants did not know how to read or write, so had told Merlin rather than written it on the gift. Merlin stared at them and pushed both hands through his hair, as if grabbing his brain could help him recall what had been told to him quickly, in passing.
This starburst of localized worry was enough to turn reality to a sort of gently oozing syrup.
There was a faltering of the light, and the murmuring of the outside world slowed to a halt, until the only sound he could hear was his own panicked breathing. Merlin noticed this change of pace immediately and with a sick feeling of relief.
He had said it once and he’d say it again: without magic who was he? Not to use it seemed ludicrous, like the opposite of breathing. He understood the idea of moderation, but not the necessity. Magic was something natural, something lucky, a real godsend, and it had detrimental effects on the development of his work-ethic.
The few times this had happened before, this freezing of time, the effects had lasted for a few minutes maybe, or a few seconds. This time, however, he had some feeling in his gut, some sureness, that this was more permanent. He gathered the presents under an arm, and jogged down the halls even so, even though he expected he could walk easy now because time would wait to catch up to him when the task had been done.
His gait didn’t even falter as he outran two guards who had been racing off down the hall ahead of him. As he leaped into the chilly sunshine of the courtyard, he thought, I am free! I am invincible! I've got all the time in the world!
He passed everyone by with the easiest of steps.
Compared with the raw power Merlin had channeled through himself in times previous, to control lightning and to fell men with a simple thought, or compared to the magic that he felt enter him in the presence of crystals that left him with a head aching for days - compared to all that, this was nothing. This seemed harmless and a means of getting things done, and when Merlin had completed his gift-delivering, time would probably cough back into life, and would leave none the wiser.
He reached the market, and began dispersing the gifts and notes with a bounce in his step and a floaty sensation of traversing the grounds of an unreal world. Every move he made was loud against the stark quiet of doors mid-slam and dogs mid-pant.
He placed a tonic bottle on the cart of the woman who provided Gaius with a good part of his dried herbs, those which Merlin couldn't readily find in the forest. He tucked a note under the edge of the bottle, and then was off to track down the woman who had come in complaining of a horrid cough the day before. She, too, was gifted anonymously.
Merlin passed out of the upper town and into the lower, the short slope of iced-over rubble just as treacherous to navigate as when the world was animate.
Before he'd left that morning, Gaius had pressed a poultice into his hand and told him to get it speedily to a man in the lower town who had a minor wound which might become infected. It was hours later, and Merlin creaked into the man's home in a guilty fashion, hesitating in the doorway of the cozy shack. He slouched in to place the bundle on the tabletop with a note. Only later would he consider how strange it would be to wake to find the remedy on the table, especially as the man had been seated just there, frozen in the act of stretching a cheesecloth across a frame.
On the way back to the castle proper, Merlin jumped into a snow drift just because he could, but then his trousers were soaked through. He was just veering towards Gaius' lab when he heard it.
So there was, in fact, a noise in this frozen world.
Only it was nearly imperceptible and Merlin only heard it because he was between breaths. The sound came like a faint pattering in the absence of all else.
When he went to the closest door and pressed an ear to it, he ascertained that no, the sound wasn't coming from inside. He went to the end of the hallway and looked round, down a staircase to the floor below, but saw nothing, only an empty foyer and a massive statue of a griffin.
The sound ceased then, and although it left Merlin with a curious niggling at the back of his head, the damp slog of his trousers made for a more immediate issue, and so he shrugged to himself and kept on to go change into something dry.
Back in his room, Merlin sat at the edge of his bed and watched his breath push the stuck dust mites in a weak ray of tepid sunlight. He thought that, if this was the space between moments, he could do with more of them.
He hummed, enjoying the idea of a lie in, and removed one boot and then the next. Just as he was feeling a bit pleased at having some sort of free time, just after throwing himself front-first onto his bed and reaching for the loose floorboard, he heard outside his door a renewal of Gaius' clinking and then a shout from out the window, echoing up from the town far below. The sound was so sudden he flinched, like the world had rushed in on him once more.
“Merlin! Are you in there!”
Gaius came to knock at the small door.
“Yes,” Merlin said. He sat up and slipped a boot back on his foot.
“Haven’t you somewhere to be?”
“Yes, I have.”
Merlin left.
He served lunch to the royal family. This particular one of his duties had been a bit strained at first, how silence would often fall over the room or how he had to stand by as Uther made outrageous comments, only some of them which Arthur disagreed with. He had gotten used to it, though, and really, today this sort of calm meeting seemed rather loud compared to the silence he had experienced earlier that day. The air circulated obtrusively, and he tried to acclimate to the rush that was time in motion, standing back against a pillar, waiting and invisible.
"I'd like you to wear your circlet at the feast tomorrow,” Uther was saying. “The people must see that you are a symbol of this kingdom and, by extension, all of Albion."
"Yes, father," Arthur said, possibly not listening. He caught Merlin’s eye, and Merlin looked away, but not before quirking an eyebrow.
"And Morgana, how are you feeling today?"
Morgana looked hesitant. Merlin had made a study of her facial tics as of late, had been watching for the rare moments where her mask of sweetness cracked at the edges.
"Fine, my lord," she said. "But have you noted anything-"
"Anything what, Morgana?" The king stabbed a slice of ham with a dainty forchette.
"-anything odd? About the light or the air?"
"Odd? Odd how?" Uther asked.
"There's a queer quality to the day," she said. “I can’t explain it. Kind of cold, or still.”
Merlin watched her from his post, how her eyes took on a distance that had not been there a year before. Not for the first time he wondered if exposure to crystals and potions hadn’t altered Morgana irreversibly, if she had healed completely after she had ingested a strong dose of hemlock.
"It's winter, that's hardly a surprise," Arthur said.
Morgana didn't respond, but all at once her eyes found Merlin. Their gaze clicked and held.
Merlin privately thought of this waiting game as a small slice of heaven, because this couldn't go on for long, something would have to give and that would be the end of life as they knew it. Morgana was in and out of Camelot these days. He had followed her through the damp, night forest. Merlin sometimes felt she stood for all those amassed against Uther - Cenred's army and others like it - all of the outside world, the forest so much larger than this little stronghold and likely to swallow the castle whole.
Gwen entered with a tray of root vegetables. Morgana looked pleased while Arthur quickly hid his scowl; he never had been fond of greens. Merlin watched as Arthur accepted a portion of broccoli, saw how he smiled up at Gwen, only to shove the piece away in favor of a leg of chicken when she stepped back.
And Merlin worried for Gwen's safety, he really did. And for her heart, and for her future. He worried for-
His eyes widened as he did mental inventory of his person.
He had lost Gwen's gift.
He gasped, and Uther frowned over at him. He shifted further into the shadow of the pillar.
Lost was the wrong word, perhaps. Misplaced it, or even left it somewhere, those were more correct.
He was freed soon enough, but not before he'd tailed Arthur all the way to the weapons shed, wrestled him into some armor, and tried to memorize a list of new instructions.
"Merlin stop slurping, you've got time," Gaius told him while Merlin shoveled his soup to distraction at their late lunch.
"No, I really haven't," Merlin said. "Arthur's got me attending the practice session this evening, even though it's three hours long and I don't really do much except get dragged out onto the field from time to time to be embarrassed in front of all the men, but before that he has me cleaning all of his shoes and then helping him decide on a holiday gift for Morgana, and then wiping windows of all things."
"You can still eat like a homo sapien, not a beast in one of my annals."
"Do you know how many pairs of boots he has, Gaius?" Merlin clunked his empty bowl on the table with conviction. "Twelve. Twelve pairs. Also, I lost something important to Gwen. Also, I haven't eaten in at least six hours!"
"Nonsense," Gaius said, and chose the most unimportant point to address. "I sent you off with a sandwich not three hours ago, and frankly I'm not sure why you're back so soon. It‘s probably best to begin your chores."
Merlin pushed his empty bowl away.
"Gaius?" he asked. "What gift would you give to someone who has everything?"
"Everything?"
"Yes, everything."
"And who would this person be?"
"Oh, no one." Because the idea of him giving royalty a present...well.
"Indeed," Gaius said dryly. "Well I’d say the best gifts are useful ones. However, for someone who has already got everything, I suppose you'll have to do with a gift that this person would never ask for themselves."
“Doesn’t that mean that they don’t want it, then?”
“Be creative, Merlin,” Gaius occluded. "Now, off with you, there's work you've been assigned. If you're so set on choking, you might as well do it running."
Merlin did not ascribe to this school of thought, but sped off anyway. He had to find the missing gift.
Now that time was running smoothly, the day really was frightfully chilly. He walked down to the town again, cold air cutting briskly against any exposed part of him. He rubbed his hands together until they were red and raw, and his legs were tired from retracing his steps as he looked everywhere for the lost gift.
He could have been doing all manner of pressing things, but instead he was quickly using up what hours he had gained earlier in searching for something he had been distracted enough to misplace, something that wasn’t his to lose. He walked quickly down the long road which bisected the town, where he had been just hours before. He knocked at a few doors, and asked if they hadn't seen a flattish thing, wrapped in red cloth, but they all said they hadn't. There was no sign of the gift.
After half an hour of this, he crunched his way back up the road, past groups men huddled around chess boards, and some youths churning milk. He felt dejected and something of a useless friend, especially knowing that Gwen had doubtless spent a lot of time and effort on whatever it was that was in the package, and that she had depended upon Merlin completely. The windows of houses were shuttered against the cold, and merry curls of smoke puffed out of unstable chimneys. Merlin tried to walk only in the pasty sunlight, but it did little to thaw him.
If he had help, if he had any friends other than Gwen, whose gift it was he'd lost, or Arthur, who was the recipient of the gift, and whom Merlin couldn't really call a friend besides, things might have gone quicker. Not for the first time Merlin thought of Gwaine, who would help him in an instant and make light of the situation, or even Lancelot, who he hadn't seen in a year, but heard word from occasionally.
Feeling gloomy, he stopped when he passed a woman who was selling hot cider. She ladled him out a cup from a steaming pot, and shaved a fine powder of cinnamon stick into it as well.
Merlin stood and waited for his cider to cool a bit. The woman hummed a tune to herself.
"If you were to give someone a gift," Merlin asked her suddenly. "How would you decide what to give them?"
"Gift-giving is all about showing that you care," the woman said.
"Right,“ Merlin said. "I really don't know how to-"
"It doesn't need to be big, just big on sentiment. It must be something meaningful to the both of you, of course."
"Meaningful," Merlin tasted the word like something foreign. He sipped at the scalding cider and thought of Gwen’s suggestion that it be something simple, and Gaius' advice that the gift be something Arthur would never get for himself. Paired with this woman's advice, Merlin still couldn't think of anything. He still wasn’t sure if he was going to give Arthur a gift at all, but the idea was interesting to consider.
"Speaking of which," the woman said. "Would you mind delivering a gift for me? It's for my friend Aberforth who works in the castle kitchens."
"I'm the last person you'll want delivering your gifts, believe me," Merlin said. "I've already lost one today."
"Oh, you won't lose this one, I'm sure of it," she said, and handed Merlin the lead to a mangy goat.
"I see," Merlin said. He gave the rope a perfunctory tug, and the goat chewed its cud, unperturbed.
"What a nice lad," the woman said, and Merlin felt he had no choice but to walk with it back to the castle.
As he went, he thought of presents he himself had received which fit the three tenets. There was the neckerchief that Will had given him on the day he‘d left Ealdor, because Merlin had been shivering that early in the morning and didn't have one of his own. There was the magic book that Gaius had given him the first week in Camelot, of course, which had helped him save Arthur’s life numerous times, and he had studied every word. But the most important, perhaps, was the dragon figurine that Merlin kept well-hidden, safe under a loose floorboard in his tower room.
The goat tugged at the rope, and Merlin waited while it ate an apple core that someone had thrown into a snowdrift. Whittling couldn’t be that hard, could it?
*
Livestock delivered, he was now sharpening a sword with a whetstone, slicking it down the blade again and again while Arthur perched across the room, watching from the corner of his eye and peering out the window in turns. Merlin felt a particular creeping along the back of his neck.
This was another sort of waiting game.
A long while later, a platter of cheese and soft bread arrived from the kitchens, and Arthur came to the table, radiating boredom. He tore bits of the loaf apart in his hands and ate some, but bread had never been his favorite. Merlin, on the other hand, ate bread like the king ate chicken, that is to say gleefully, and with intent. He knew that Arthur had noted this, and, as if on cue, Arthur shoved the platter over to him with a pointed dispassion.
Merlin should have put all this off, should have got on with the multitude of chores he had yet to do, but when he was up here, in the little turret which was cozy inside with a lovely view of the bustling, snowy courtyard, he lost all sense of immediacy. He had neglected to clean the stables and hadn't yet found Gwen's gift, and probably had loads of other things to do, but instead of taking leave, Merlin dropped the sword he'd been sharpening with a clatter on the tabletop to grab for the food. Arthur retrieved the blade with a expression that was pained, but he simply rolled his eyes while Merlin pushed a large chunk of sour dough into his cheek and then reached for more.
Past his chewing, Merlin could hear that steady hum which always echoed up from the courtyard - the voices and human sounds of merchants and messengers, the unsteady racket of cart wheels on wet cobblestones. He had missed these sounds during the few hours when the world had lain still.
He ate freely in non-silence for a few minutes. Arthur pulled out a sheaf of documents to the table to peruse, muttering something about lackadaisical and Merlin, so Merlin seated himself in a chair.
"You'd think you'd never had bread before coming to Camelot," Arthur said after a minute. "The way you wolf it down."
Most people back home ate flat bread or a certain oatmeally porridge, and any cheese produced was usually sold off at the neighboring town because everyone in Ealdor really needed the money. Merlin knew that mentioning the dearth of the stuff would provoke some sort of angry sympathy on Arthur‘s part, which is why Merlin had never mentioned it.
"Never had it honeyed in Ealdor," he said instead, making himself intelligible only with great effort. "You castle folk are spoilt rotten."
He grabbed for some goat's cheese.
Arthur rubbed at his mouth, hiding a smile behind his ungloved hand.
"You really can't say things like that to me, Merlin."
"Who else is going to tell you?" Merlin reasoned. "A king ought to have a good sense of things, I'm only here to help."
“Are you now? Help in the more general sense, then? Because I don’t see any of your chores finished.”
“I’m getting to it,” Merlin said, and thought briefly of that morning when time had been blessedly everlasting.
Merlin wanted this moment to go on forever, thought maybe time would stop now but leave Arthur untouched, and he could just sit and breathe while Arthur did the figures for this month's grain stores.
Seconds later, the scritching of quill to parchment slowed and became a non-sound.
Merlin took a moment to consider Arthur's static form, how time had stopped and left him with a telling look on his face, open in a way he would never usually allow for.
Merlin sighed, and finally stood with a disappointed noise that no one else would hear.
He went into the antechamber and Arthur’s clothing began folding itself in the air. He ordered a broom sweep the floors, especially the corners where Merlin usually swept the dirt towards, and deposit the dirt out the window. He then returned to change the sheets on Arthur’s beds. He struggled to tug them over the soft mattress, at one point falling entirely over the bed in a manner that would have made Arthur chuckle, but for the fact that Arthur was dead to the world at the table. Merlin quickly gathered the bundle of old sheets along with some dirty clothing, and left the room.
He passed hallways and stairways of frozen forms, and called to mind a time the year before when the entire castle had fallen into a deep slumber. Upon entering the courtyard with Arthur and seeing all those slumped forms of soldiers and peasants, he had thought they were dead.
Now it was rather frightening as well, being surrounded by those he spoke with daily, yet being completely alone. Their eyes were open and sightless, and Merlin went quickly past. And when he had deposited the bedding and clothing on the lower floor, he made directly for the main entry.
There was that sound again, like a faint pattering in the distance, like someone clapping their hands together or beating a rug against the stone wall. He wondered if it wasn’t a leak somewhere, but knew that that wouldn’t be possible. The roof of the castle was four floors up, and besides, everything had stopped but him.
Merlin paused to listen. Soon the sound faded off, but it took him until he had finished mucking out the stables to put it from his mind.
The rake and one shovel which had been flinging around, scooping soiled hay into a wheelbarrow, dropped to the ground, and Merlin set about laying the last of the fresh hay from a broken up bale with his hands.
Next, he went off to retrieve a set of mail he was meant to shine that afternoon. He entered through the front door of the armory, and, avoiding the squires who were frozen into positions of going about their duties, he found the armor and left again as quickly as he could. He went to the stables once more, because it was less strange there, the only living things were the horses, and they were a quiet presence anyway, even when life was running smoothly.
He picked dirt out of the armor in a dusty, empty stall, seated on a bale of hay and taking comfort in hiding, even if it made little difference. The mud had gotten lodged in the links when Arthur had tumbled in the mud the day before, and had let it dry instead of handing it off to Merlin immediately. Merlin thought that he would have to soak it later.
He considered all of the things he would accomplish if he could learn to control this propensity he had developed to stop time. It felt necessary, it felt not impossible.
He delivered five notes and a bouquet of wild flowers. He thought about the feast the next day, how Christmas in Ealdor was a traditional affair, with holly, wine, and a Yule log. The people of Camelot gathered at the castle or in a few of the pubs around town which were set for the feast, and sang carols that Merlin was just learning the words to.
Merlin tried to come up with any chores he had left, and was pleased to find that he had none. The sheets had been sent to be laundered, rooms had been aired and then the shutters had been closed again, and the waste had been disposed of with all chicken bones and the skeletal remains of grape clusters tossed into the medieval-style incinerator.
He even had time to bathe and change his clothing, after which he finally made it back to Arthur’s chamber, passing the frozen people once more, feeling a bit frightened but also conflicted. Camelot had been plunging into the darkest winter for the past month, and Merlin had managed to stretch today's few hours of daylight into nearly ten. He felt like it was early spring, the ground breaking with tentative green, instead of lying dormant under a blanket of snow just past winter solstice.
When he entered Arthur’s chambers once more, Merlin shot the broom a pointed look, and it sprung to attention once again from where it had fallen, lazy, by the cabinet. It swept a final pile which deposited itself into a waste basket. Merlin stood back now in the entryway, noting that this front room was so clean it was suspicious. Surfaces had been dusted and corners had been swept of crumbs. The colored glass of the windows was so polished it stung to look at.
Suddenly, Merlin got a feeling which began at the base of his spine and ran all the way up to the nape of his neck, like a warning. He sprinted to the inner room, and dove for the chair at the table that he had vacated a few hours before.
He made it just in time.
Arthur jerked awake. He stood up immediately.
"Merlin? What's wrong?"
"I-"
Merlin was out of breath. He attempted to straighten in his chair, to smile reassuringly, but Arthur only looked at him with consternation.
"Did you choke?" Arthur asked. He was frowning, and Merlin accepted this out. He nodded pathetically, and took a sip from the goblet on the table.
Arthur sat again, looking bemused. "It's the way you eat," he said. "Like you're half-starved. Try chewing."
"Thank you for the advice, sire."
"Really Merlin, I can think of few more embarrassing ways to go. And haven't you had enough?"
"I'm actually quite hungry," Merlin said. And he was, because he had been jaunting about the castle, working up an appetite.
Arthur screwed up his mouth, and looked at the plate, and then back to Merlin.
"Merlin, the loaf's half-gone," he told him.
"Is it?" Merlin looked at the platter, at the still warm bread. "Oh, right. Well, we shouldn't let this second half go stale I suppose."
"No, by all means," Arthur said. He sat again to look over his papers, but Merlin felt his gaze, the certain disbelief, the entire time Merlin ate.
Five minutes later, wholly concerned, Arthur dragged Merlin away.
"You'll be sick," he said, and gave him a gift to deliver to Morgana, a whole quiver of arrows and a fine bow of hawthorn that he had carved himself and had sent away to be finished with a tree sap glaze.
“Not you, too,” Merlin groaned.
“Listen, if I don’t give Morgana something for the holidays she’s bound to do something evil,” Arthur said.
“I don’t doubt it,” Merlin muttered. It had only been a month since she’d let loose a skeleton army on Camelot, which, however quickly Arthur and the others seemed to have forgotten, Merlin expected he would remember for quite some time.
“What do you know about evil?” Arthur said. “You weren’t here when I crossed her as a child. She is more subtle than you would imagine.”
Merlin sighed. “But really, Arthur, does she need a weapon?”
“Of course she does. Girls love gifts, Merlin, and you don't just forget to give something to someone you care about. Oh, what do you know about gifts, anyway?”
Judging by Merlin's latest dilemma, it was a fair point.
“Well, Will once left a dead rat on my pillow on my birthday,” he told Arthur, laughing at the disgusting memory but feeling that familiar pang in his chest when he thought of his friend.
“Who’s Will, then?” Arthur sneered. “Your cat?”
Merlin looked at him.
“He was my friend, Arthur,” he said. When Arthur failed to look repentant, he continued, “In Ealdor? He died for us?”
“Oh, right,” Arthur shuffled his papers.
Merlin left soon after, quiver slung over one shoulder. He dulled the tips and loosened the bowstring, because a faulty gift was better than an arrow in the back.
*
Merlin met a conversation midway down a corridor near the pantries. Time had stopped hours ago and had only just resumed, the sound swelling up around him without warning, so that he had to stop for a moment and catch his breath.
"Of course he won't mind," he heard Gwen say.
"But he always seems in a rush."
Merlin followed the sound of voices to a cracked door.
"Merlin just has long legs," Gwen was explaining. "He has loads of time, don't you worry."
He peered inside and saw her speaking with a servant whose name he had forgotten. He tapped at the door.
"Merlin!" Gwen looked pleased at his arrival.
"Hello, there," he said to them both.
"Would you mind? I mean, could you-" the girl offered something to Merlin, something wrapped in cloth and a piece of twine. "If you wouldn't mind, I mean."
"Of course Merlin doesn't mind," Gwen said, pointedly.
"Sure, I mean-" Merlin said.
"Oh you're wonderful!!"
"Isn't he?" Gwen said, smiling like a proud older sister. Merlin played his role well, and frowned like he was the petulant younger brother.
The girl rushed off.
"Gwen," Merlin said. "I've got loads to do."
"Why you're always taking things back and forth as it is! How could one more thing hurt?"
"Yes," he said. "For Arthur. Just as you do for Morgana."
"No I don't, Merlin. That's what the other servants are for! You know this."
Merlin did not know this.
“Have you been sending them all my way?" he asked. "Those girls earlier who wanted me to deliver packages to their friends if I had the chance?”
“Only some people. Everyone’s so busy, Merlin,” she explained. “And you’ve really got a very open schedule by comparison. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”
“I suppose I do,” Merlin said. He had seen how hard everyone worked, and with his magic he really couldn’t complain.
“Oh you’re the best!”
"Alright then," Merlin said, a little pouty, because he was kind of tired, and this really did explain a lot.
"I've got to see to Morgana," Gwen told him. She hesitated for a moment, and then pressed a kiss to his cheek before moving out into the hallway. "You're sweet, Merlin."
Merlin clutched yet another parcel in his hands, feeling forlorn.
He went to speak to Gaius about it, but the man was snippy, pressed as he was sending off tonics to all those who were exhibiting pre-pneumatic symptoms.
On seeing him, Gaius immediately ordered Merlin to deliver a parcel to the steward, placing an ornate box of bone into his hands because he knew Merlin would say yes, as well as a sac of jars and salves. Merlin put the box in the pocket of his saggy trousers and then wandered the halls a bit and wasn’t surprised at all when time slowed to a halt, that lazy bastard.
*
The castle really was more manageable when he had hours instead of minutes. It was when he was on his way to his room to lie down, perhaps do a bit of reading, when he overheard something peculiar. It was the sound he had heard time and again, something he had put from his mind because it hadn’t seemed important in lieu of all of the other things he had to look into.
There was the pattering again. It was definitely footsteps, he could be sure of it now, and they were coming closer.
He peered around the corner just barely, on instinct, because life had been quiet for nearly a week, and they were due for another terror. A figure was just rounding into the corridor, and Merlin ducked away quickly, heart pounding at what he‘d seen.
It was Morgana. He threw back the corner of a tapestry and slipped behind it into the alcove it covered just as she rounded the corner. Merlin’s heart beat loudly in the still world. He felt panicked, but breathed as shallowly as he could, replaying how he had narrowly escaped being caught out just seconds before. That could have meant the end of something.
He was able to see out the crack where tapestry met wall, mainly because Morgana seemed to think, as had Merlin himself, that she was the only person animate. She passed close by where he stood, peering around down the hallway and into a nearby room.
When she found no one, she came out again to continue down in the direction of the meeting hall. It was as if she was searching for someone in specific, and at this thought it became clear what Merlin had done. He had, however inadvertently, left the castle open to treason.
Morgana could do whatever she pleased so long as time lay still. The castle was like a sleeping thing under her feet, and Merlin imagined she would unbalance it soon if she could, removing bits of it with her bare hands, if she had to, stone by stone.
Merlin stepped out from behind the wall carpet and turned to watch her disappear down the next hallway, feeling that same burn of confusion and betrayal that accompanied all thoughts of her. He heard a click and knew that she had entered her chambers.
Instead of fleeing like he wanted to, to be anywhere other than where he was just then, he found a chair and propped it carefully against the wall. He clambered up to peer through the grating that looked in on the antechamber, in hopes that he would see something telling.
It was a frightening prospect, this being watched. As Merlin looked on, Morgana went directly to the armoir and took a mirror from its place in her top drawer. She breathed upon its surface and stared into it. Merlin stood there while Morgana held the mirror in both hands, as if waiting. What was it? What was she doing?
They waited for a long time.
*
Uther, he grappled out of his chair and dragged in an ungainly fashion to the floor beside the royal bed.
"Safe here, sire," Merlin explained, on the off chance that Uther could, in fact, hear him. In which case Merlin was very dead already, but at least his actions were somewhat explained.
He threw some sheets below the bed, and added some pillows and then rolled Uther under it where Merlin himself had hidden once, where Morgana had hung the mandrake. This achieved, he stood back to look from all angles, trying to catch sight of the king, tugging at the bed skirts and arranging a chest in the right position so as to hide the king entirely.
At long last, Merlin stepped back and looked around at the apparently empty room, hands on his hips and a feeling of momentary relief warming in his chest.
Satisfied, he dusted his hands and smiled. Perfect.
But on the way back up the long hall that led from the king's wing of rooms to Arthur's own, the sound of pattering could be heard once more. It came on sudden and swift, and if Merlin hadn't been so pleased with himself, protecting the king he kind of disliked more than most people, and protecting Arthur in doing so-
The footfalls were nearly upon him. Merlin trembled where he stood, watching the corner. He swiveled his head around, looking for a hiding spot he normally could find in a quick fix, but the walls were straight and flat, the light bright through the windows, no column or alcove that he might duck into.
Part 2
Words: 15,500
Rating: PG-13
Summary: prompt: Merlin uses magic to stop time to deliver presents to everyone in the castle. Cold-day fluff, warm fire mulled wine, should be getting home, but baby it's cold outside.
Disc: Not mine.
Spoilers: takes place somewhere during s3, before the last few episodes.
A/N: written for colour-me-troll for the merry-merthur challenge. beta = the forever shifty-gardener.
master fic post
Merlin was yawning by four o‘clock in the afternoon on his way to the stables, just as the last curve of November sun was pinking out behind the forest. He thought that, if time hadn't stopped completely, it was at least going slow as honey today and it really couldn’t be bedtime soon enough.
Some days were like that at the castle. Some days no users of magic entered under the guise of something they were not, all affectation of goodwill with a half-cocked story to tell the king. Some days no one enchanted Arthur or attacked Merlin, no one dragged down the dream of magic that Merlin was trying to examine and make rational and hang out to dry.
No, instead some days were downright boring in the best ways possible: a bucket to retrieve here and a piece of pie to pinch there, and a long day that ended in his yawning his way back to the little pallet in the far tower, right after shelving that last pile of Arthur's warm and freshly laundered clothing.
Some days Merlin found himself at loose ends.
He met Arthur by the stable door, somehow arriving just as he was needed, and he stood back while Arthur dismounted and handed him the reins. He walked Hengroen in through the wide doors while Arthur gave final directions to his men.
The horse clopped into its stall and let go the spitty bit from between its teeth with little fuss. Merlin was folding the halter nicely over a hook when there came a slush of footsteps behind him.
“You don’t have to follow me in,” Merlin said. He didn't look up, but the footsteps had ceased at the entrance to the stall, and it was most likely Arthur waiting, obscured by the horse.
Merlin was cold through and through, goosebumps pricking up even at his elbows of all places, and neckerchief doing little to protect appointed area. The muttering of squires and other knights floated back and forth and past him through the quiet darkness of the stables, along with the fresh scent of iced hay and the scritch of Arthur’s boots in the mud beside him. He said: “You don’t need to oversee everything I do.”
“Of course I do,” Arthur told him. “Think of it as your master checking over your work.”
Merlin moved to heft and hang the saddle on the wall, then, and the saddle blanket over a leather horn.
"I'll need to move practice to midday rather than two," Arthur thought to him out loud. "Sir Hayden was an unfortunate shade of blueberry by the end of drills today."
"I saw actually," Merlin said, because Sir Hayden had stumbled past, looking chilled. He picked up the tack box and held it limply in a hand and Arthur stamped his feet, impatient with cold, sweat cooling and hair matted. Merlin frowned.
"Sir Leon even looked a bit frosty by the end of patrol."
Merlin was at a loss as to what to do with the brushes, now that he was holding one, an unfamiliar tool in his right hand. He smoothed down the horse's flank with his left for something to do while he thought. He’d watched some squires do this once, so had been able to replicate it with his magic, like it had photographic rather than muscle memory. It had just happened from that point on, brushes brushing down the horse while Merlin hunched over it to look like he was working, the magic expended to do the task barely a twinge at the back of his mind.
Arthur stood with his hands behind his back, staring into the middle distance.
Merlin scrubbed at the horse's matted back with a fervor and smiled half at Arthur. He tried what he normally did when he was in the tightest spots, and fell back on bald honesty.
“I’ve never actually done this,” he admitted.
Arthur laughed.
But it was true!
Merlin had always been a distractible lad, the type who had been given all-encompassing goals rather than specific tasks to complete during the day in rural Ealdor. Herd the cows slowly back to pasture, Merlin, rather than Bring me a bucket of milk, Merlin. Darling would you please hang the washing and weed the garden, rather than Merlin, mend this chair and baste this chicken. That’s why life at Camelot seemed so different.
It wasn’t the standing at attention or tending to extravagant furs, it came down to the base way of things, how he was tethered now to one other person’s life and made to do things then and there, specific and quickly. Given the situation, it became clear that finishing even one of said duties was effectively impossible without some sort of outside aid, and so Merlin, whose heart, if not attention span, was in the right place, went about making it so in the most natural and non-fuss way possible: he used magic. It was this way with the saddle and curry comb, it was this way with Arthur's boots and with the charred detritus after the hearth had been used for a week without cleaning.
When he finally kicked open the stable door and moved aside to let Arthur pass him, the evening light was blue and the ground muddy and crystalled. His lungs protested the frigid air. Arthur stepped on ahead like he owned the very ground and Merlin followed, skirting shallow puddles and wondering what sort of fare he could hassle out of the kitchens. Arthur loved most in this world two foods: grapes and chicken. Merlin would try to get extra of both to make up for his secret lack of equestrian know-how.
The evening outside shone winter down around like it was in the air, and Arthur’s jacket looked purple along with the crude wood of the shantytown. They raced each other across the evening courtyard and up the main stair at lung-straining speed, and Arthur got there just a leap before him.
He swung the door open with a fierce grip of the handle and shove, and then yanked Merlin by the back of the jacket to fling him inside, inertia working with them, the guards standing at stiff attention just inside the entry so that they caught the tail end of this scuffle. At the sight of the guards, Arthur adjusted his pace to a meaningful stride, the show of immaturity allowed in Merlin's presence alone.
“Indulgent,” Merlin chided, but then Arthur was running up the next flight of stairs, this one inside the castle so blooming with heat that it was pleasant to push through.
When Merlin reached the rooms, Arthur had already entered and kicked off his boots in the antechamber, and was shoving aside a stack of parchment to make room for the pitcher of mulled wine that was sure to arrive shortly, the guards having doubtless notified a passing servant of the prince‘s return.
“Fire, Merlin,” Arthur ordered.
“In a moment, sire,” Merlin said, because he was hanging his wetted jacket over a chair back and rubbing some feeling back into his hands. Magic stung on frozen fingers, like a jump of static on dry skin.
He gathered the logs, bark scratching at the numbed pain in his fingers. When he sensed Arthur turning away as he always did, as if he knew, Merlin lit the flames with a flash, the logs reflecting the gold of his eyes, rather than vice verse.
“If there’s one thing that can be said of you,” Arthur told him. “You’re skilled in starting fires.”
“If there’s one thing that can be said for you-” Merlin returned. “-sire. It’s that you’re skilled at giving compliments.”
Arthur came up to stand beside him, and leaned both elbows against the mantle. He hung his head down to look into the flames as he warmed, sighing at Merlin's general lack of etiquette. Merlin straightened to lean in the opposite direction, shoulder blades to mantelpiece and knees warming at the back. He wrapped his arms around his front, hands in his armpits and shivered once all over.
“Your behavior has been lackadaisical as of late, absolutely deleterious,” Arthur told him quietly, some time later. When Merlin lolled his head to the side, Arthur‘s eyes were closed and a small smile lurked around the soft corners of his mouth.
"I'm dying of a chill. It's warmer up here. My tower's downright freezing."
"Shoddy excuse for-"
The wine arrived then, the serving boy entering on a knock, through the antechamber and into the current one. He laid the tray on the table, and bowed out, eyes flicking to Merlin more than once - Merlin who was, to all intents and purposes, relaxing like an equal beside the prince and not jumping to retrieve the wine. The door clicked shut and Merlin turned so that he could warm his front.
“Lackadaisical,” Arthur laughed. “What did I tell you?”
He shoved Merlin in the side, saying, “Go.“ with a grasp at the cloth at Merlin's waist and gentle push, and Merlin walked backwards to the table, saying, “Thank you for explaining, sire, I didn’t want to have to look that up.”
“You are the very definition,” Arthur told him. “of lackadaisical. And so many other words.”
“Words, words, words,” Merlin said. He returned to press a goblet into Arthur’s pale hands and said, uselessly, “Drink.”
“You’d best drink as well. I don’t doubt that you’ll beg off your duties at the smallest cold.”
“When have I ever taken time off!”
He went to retrieve the second goblet anyway from a cupboard that he had once hid in. In fact, he had been inside of and under and on top of most of the furniture in Arthur’s chambers.
“Quiescent,” Arthur continued. “There’s another one for you. Throw out the rug.”
Merlin did and they sat in the furs, leaning with their backs against the legs of a heavy chair. Merlin’s shins heated through the cloth in his trousers, which were so threadbare as to allow for the heat off the fire just as quickly as the winter chill.
“I require your services here all evening,” Arthur told him, frowning at how Merlin was still rubbing his hands together.
“Of course you do,” Merlin said.
When he woke the next morning he was slumped against the side of the wooden chair, but at least he could feel his feet.
*
“Would you mind delivering a small parcel to Arthur?”
The air in Gwen’s house was frigid. Their every breath became visible in the rays of frosty sunlight which fell in through the single window and at the cracks in the unfinished walls. Merlin liked to believe that a prince would look past these rough details to the values one so impoverished embodied. Merlin knew that Arthur did, but that he would subsequently try to make Gwen forget it all by giving her chambers of her own in the castle, curtain-hung and satin-sheeted.
“Oh you will, Merlin," Gwen said. "Tell me you will.”
“Of course I will, Gwen.” He took the bundle from her hands and wanted to know what it was, but he didn’t ask and Gwen didn’t offer up the information. The parcel felt hard in his hands, though, and almost sharp. Something metal, then.
When Arthur was being bossy or jumping with anticipation, he seemed just himself, some guy Merlin had to spend a lot of time with. He was a bit trying at times but was not without heart or ideals, so wasn‘t all that horrible to work for. But when it came to gift-giving, Arthur became the prince again and was therefore nearly impossible to impress. Merlin was glad, for once, not to be in Gwen’s position.
“He’ll love anything you give him,” Merlin told her.
"Do you think so?"
“Gwen,” he gave her a look.
“Are you giving him anything?”
"D'you think I should?" Merlin asked. "At home I’m rather good at presents - a new chair, a bag of dried fruit. But Arthur, well. Arthur's got everything."
“Perhaps Arthur would enjoy something simple like that.” Gwen looked uncertain.
“Gwen, he’ll love it,” he told her again. “Whatever it is.”
Holiday time was busy for everyone it was true, but this year seemed especially unfortunate.
Among other tasks, Merlin was also scheduled to clean Gaius' leech tank and deliver a load of medicinal tinctures. Arthur came up with the bizarre idea that he might need not one, but all of his jackets, within the next week, so ordered them aired out before the Christmas feast. Finally, that morning five gifts were put in his trust.
“Why me?” he asked Gaius.
“Perhaps you seem dependable,” Gaius said, although he didn’t seem to believe it.
All this would take about twice as long now that Merlin was avoiding the entire side of the castle where Morgana's chambers could be found, so it was only lunchtime and Merlin had already started to panic about whether or not he would finish for the day. It was one thing to slack off on chores, but when people were depending on him to deliver things it seemed a different matter entirely.
He lined the gifts on the tabletop, and tried to remember which gift was meant for who. Many of the servants did not know how to read or write, so had told Merlin rather than written it on the gift. Merlin stared at them and pushed both hands through his hair, as if grabbing his brain could help him recall what had been told to him quickly, in passing.
This starburst of localized worry was enough to turn reality to a sort of gently oozing syrup.
There was a faltering of the light, and the murmuring of the outside world slowed to a halt, until the only sound he could hear was his own panicked breathing. Merlin noticed this change of pace immediately and with a sick feeling of relief.
He had said it once and he’d say it again: without magic who was he? Not to use it seemed ludicrous, like the opposite of breathing. He understood the idea of moderation, but not the necessity. Magic was something natural, something lucky, a real godsend, and it had detrimental effects on the development of his work-ethic.
The few times this had happened before, this freezing of time, the effects had lasted for a few minutes maybe, or a few seconds. This time, however, he had some feeling in his gut, some sureness, that this was more permanent. He gathered the presents under an arm, and jogged down the halls even so, even though he expected he could walk easy now because time would wait to catch up to him when the task had been done.
His gait didn’t even falter as he outran two guards who had been racing off down the hall ahead of him. As he leaped into the chilly sunshine of the courtyard, he thought, I am free! I am invincible! I've got all the time in the world!
He passed everyone by with the easiest of steps.
Compared with the raw power Merlin had channeled through himself in times previous, to control lightning and to fell men with a simple thought, or compared to the magic that he felt enter him in the presence of crystals that left him with a head aching for days - compared to all that, this was nothing. This seemed harmless and a means of getting things done, and when Merlin had completed his gift-delivering, time would probably cough back into life, and would leave none the wiser.
He reached the market, and began dispersing the gifts and notes with a bounce in his step and a floaty sensation of traversing the grounds of an unreal world. Every move he made was loud against the stark quiet of doors mid-slam and dogs mid-pant.
He placed a tonic bottle on the cart of the woman who provided Gaius with a good part of his dried herbs, those which Merlin couldn't readily find in the forest. He tucked a note under the edge of the bottle, and then was off to track down the woman who had come in complaining of a horrid cough the day before. She, too, was gifted anonymously.
Merlin passed out of the upper town and into the lower, the short slope of iced-over rubble just as treacherous to navigate as when the world was animate.
Before he'd left that morning, Gaius had pressed a poultice into his hand and told him to get it speedily to a man in the lower town who had a minor wound which might become infected. It was hours later, and Merlin creaked into the man's home in a guilty fashion, hesitating in the doorway of the cozy shack. He slouched in to place the bundle on the tabletop with a note. Only later would he consider how strange it would be to wake to find the remedy on the table, especially as the man had been seated just there, frozen in the act of stretching a cheesecloth across a frame.
On the way back to the castle proper, Merlin jumped into a snow drift just because he could, but then his trousers were soaked through. He was just veering towards Gaius' lab when he heard it.
So there was, in fact, a noise in this frozen world.
Only it was nearly imperceptible and Merlin only heard it because he was between breaths. The sound came like a faint pattering in the absence of all else.
When he went to the closest door and pressed an ear to it, he ascertained that no, the sound wasn't coming from inside. He went to the end of the hallway and looked round, down a staircase to the floor below, but saw nothing, only an empty foyer and a massive statue of a griffin.
The sound ceased then, and although it left Merlin with a curious niggling at the back of his head, the damp slog of his trousers made for a more immediate issue, and so he shrugged to himself and kept on to go change into something dry.
Back in his room, Merlin sat at the edge of his bed and watched his breath push the stuck dust mites in a weak ray of tepid sunlight. He thought that, if this was the space between moments, he could do with more of them.
He hummed, enjoying the idea of a lie in, and removed one boot and then the next. Just as he was feeling a bit pleased at having some sort of free time, just after throwing himself front-first onto his bed and reaching for the loose floorboard, he heard outside his door a renewal of Gaius' clinking and then a shout from out the window, echoing up from the town far below. The sound was so sudden he flinched, like the world had rushed in on him once more.
“Merlin! Are you in there!”
Gaius came to knock at the small door.
“Yes,” Merlin said. He sat up and slipped a boot back on his foot.
“Haven’t you somewhere to be?”
“Yes, I have.”
Merlin left.
He served lunch to the royal family. This particular one of his duties had been a bit strained at first, how silence would often fall over the room or how he had to stand by as Uther made outrageous comments, only some of them which Arthur disagreed with. He had gotten used to it, though, and really, today this sort of calm meeting seemed rather loud compared to the silence he had experienced earlier that day. The air circulated obtrusively, and he tried to acclimate to the rush that was time in motion, standing back against a pillar, waiting and invisible.
"I'd like you to wear your circlet at the feast tomorrow,” Uther was saying. “The people must see that you are a symbol of this kingdom and, by extension, all of Albion."
"Yes, father," Arthur said, possibly not listening. He caught Merlin’s eye, and Merlin looked away, but not before quirking an eyebrow.
"And Morgana, how are you feeling today?"
Morgana looked hesitant. Merlin had made a study of her facial tics as of late, had been watching for the rare moments where her mask of sweetness cracked at the edges.
"Fine, my lord," she said. "But have you noted anything-"
"Anything what, Morgana?" The king stabbed a slice of ham with a dainty forchette.
"-anything odd? About the light or the air?"
"Odd? Odd how?" Uther asked.
"There's a queer quality to the day," she said. “I can’t explain it. Kind of cold, or still.”
Merlin watched her from his post, how her eyes took on a distance that had not been there a year before. Not for the first time he wondered if exposure to crystals and potions hadn’t altered Morgana irreversibly, if she had healed completely after she had ingested a strong dose of hemlock.
"It's winter, that's hardly a surprise," Arthur said.
Morgana didn't respond, but all at once her eyes found Merlin. Their gaze clicked and held.
Merlin privately thought of this waiting game as a small slice of heaven, because this couldn't go on for long, something would have to give and that would be the end of life as they knew it. Morgana was in and out of Camelot these days. He had followed her through the damp, night forest. Merlin sometimes felt she stood for all those amassed against Uther - Cenred's army and others like it - all of the outside world, the forest so much larger than this little stronghold and likely to swallow the castle whole.
Gwen entered with a tray of root vegetables. Morgana looked pleased while Arthur quickly hid his scowl; he never had been fond of greens. Merlin watched as Arthur accepted a portion of broccoli, saw how he smiled up at Gwen, only to shove the piece away in favor of a leg of chicken when she stepped back.
And Merlin worried for Gwen's safety, he really did. And for her heart, and for her future. He worried for-
His eyes widened as he did mental inventory of his person.
He had lost Gwen's gift.
He gasped, and Uther frowned over at him. He shifted further into the shadow of the pillar.
Lost was the wrong word, perhaps. Misplaced it, or even left it somewhere, those were more correct.
He was freed soon enough, but not before he'd tailed Arthur all the way to the weapons shed, wrestled him into some armor, and tried to memorize a list of new instructions.
"Merlin stop slurping, you've got time," Gaius told him while Merlin shoveled his soup to distraction at their late lunch.
"No, I really haven't," Merlin said. "Arthur's got me attending the practice session this evening, even though it's three hours long and I don't really do much except get dragged out onto the field from time to time to be embarrassed in front of all the men, but before that he has me cleaning all of his shoes and then helping him decide on a holiday gift for Morgana, and then wiping windows of all things."
"You can still eat like a homo sapien, not a beast in one of my annals."
"Do you know how many pairs of boots he has, Gaius?" Merlin clunked his empty bowl on the table with conviction. "Twelve. Twelve pairs. Also, I lost something important to Gwen. Also, I haven't eaten in at least six hours!"
"Nonsense," Gaius said, and chose the most unimportant point to address. "I sent you off with a sandwich not three hours ago, and frankly I'm not sure why you're back so soon. It‘s probably best to begin your chores."
Merlin pushed his empty bowl away.
"Gaius?" he asked. "What gift would you give to someone who has everything?"
"Everything?"
"Yes, everything."
"And who would this person be?"
"Oh, no one." Because the idea of him giving royalty a present...well.
"Indeed," Gaius said dryly. "Well I’d say the best gifts are useful ones. However, for someone who has already got everything, I suppose you'll have to do with a gift that this person would never ask for themselves."
“Doesn’t that mean that they don’t want it, then?”
“Be creative, Merlin,” Gaius occluded. "Now, off with you, there's work you've been assigned. If you're so set on choking, you might as well do it running."
Merlin did not ascribe to this school of thought, but sped off anyway. He had to find the missing gift.
Now that time was running smoothly, the day really was frightfully chilly. He walked down to the town again, cold air cutting briskly against any exposed part of him. He rubbed his hands together until they were red and raw, and his legs were tired from retracing his steps as he looked everywhere for the lost gift.
He could have been doing all manner of pressing things, but instead he was quickly using up what hours he had gained earlier in searching for something he had been distracted enough to misplace, something that wasn’t his to lose. He walked quickly down the long road which bisected the town, where he had been just hours before. He knocked at a few doors, and asked if they hadn't seen a flattish thing, wrapped in red cloth, but they all said they hadn't. There was no sign of the gift.
After half an hour of this, he crunched his way back up the road, past groups men huddled around chess boards, and some youths churning milk. He felt dejected and something of a useless friend, especially knowing that Gwen had doubtless spent a lot of time and effort on whatever it was that was in the package, and that she had depended upon Merlin completely. The windows of houses were shuttered against the cold, and merry curls of smoke puffed out of unstable chimneys. Merlin tried to walk only in the pasty sunlight, but it did little to thaw him.
If he had help, if he had any friends other than Gwen, whose gift it was he'd lost, or Arthur, who was the recipient of the gift, and whom Merlin couldn't really call a friend besides, things might have gone quicker. Not for the first time Merlin thought of Gwaine, who would help him in an instant and make light of the situation, or even Lancelot, who he hadn't seen in a year, but heard word from occasionally.
Feeling gloomy, he stopped when he passed a woman who was selling hot cider. She ladled him out a cup from a steaming pot, and shaved a fine powder of cinnamon stick into it as well.
Merlin stood and waited for his cider to cool a bit. The woman hummed a tune to herself.
"If you were to give someone a gift," Merlin asked her suddenly. "How would you decide what to give them?"
"Gift-giving is all about showing that you care," the woman said.
"Right,“ Merlin said. "I really don't know how to-"
"It doesn't need to be big, just big on sentiment. It must be something meaningful to the both of you, of course."
"Meaningful," Merlin tasted the word like something foreign. He sipped at the scalding cider and thought of Gwen’s suggestion that it be something simple, and Gaius' advice that the gift be something Arthur would never get for himself. Paired with this woman's advice, Merlin still couldn't think of anything. He still wasn’t sure if he was going to give Arthur a gift at all, but the idea was interesting to consider.
"Speaking of which," the woman said. "Would you mind delivering a gift for me? It's for my friend Aberforth who works in the castle kitchens."
"I'm the last person you'll want delivering your gifts, believe me," Merlin said. "I've already lost one today."
"Oh, you won't lose this one, I'm sure of it," she said, and handed Merlin the lead to a mangy goat.
"I see," Merlin said. He gave the rope a perfunctory tug, and the goat chewed its cud, unperturbed.
"What a nice lad," the woman said, and Merlin felt he had no choice but to walk with it back to the castle.
As he went, he thought of presents he himself had received which fit the three tenets. There was the neckerchief that Will had given him on the day he‘d left Ealdor, because Merlin had been shivering that early in the morning and didn't have one of his own. There was the magic book that Gaius had given him the first week in Camelot, of course, which had helped him save Arthur’s life numerous times, and he had studied every word. But the most important, perhaps, was the dragon figurine that Merlin kept well-hidden, safe under a loose floorboard in his tower room.
The goat tugged at the rope, and Merlin waited while it ate an apple core that someone had thrown into a snowdrift. Whittling couldn’t be that hard, could it?
*
Livestock delivered, he was now sharpening a sword with a whetstone, slicking it down the blade again and again while Arthur perched across the room, watching from the corner of his eye and peering out the window in turns. Merlin felt a particular creeping along the back of his neck.
This was another sort of waiting game.
A long while later, a platter of cheese and soft bread arrived from the kitchens, and Arthur came to the table, radiating boredom. He tore bits of the loaf apart in his hands and ate some, but bread had never been his favorite. Merlin, on the other hand, ate bread like the king ate chicken, that is to say gleefully, and with intent. He knew that Arthur had noted this, and, as if on cue, Arthur shoved the platter over to him with a pointed dispassion.
Merlin should have put all this off, should have got on with the multitude of chores he had yet to do, but when he was up here, in the little turret which was cozy inside with a lovely view of the bustling, snowy courtyard, he lost all sense of immediacy. He had neglected to clean the stables and hadn't yet found Gwen's gift, and probably had loads of other things to do, but instead of taking leave, Merlin dropped the sword he'd been sharpening with a clatter on the tabletop to grab for the food. Arthur retrieved the blade with a expression that was pained, but he simply rolled his eyes while Merlin pushed a large chunk of sour dough into his cheek and then reached for more.
Past his chewing, Merlin could hear that steady hum which always echoed up from the courtyard - the voices and human sounds of merchants and messengers, the unsteady racket of cart wheels on wet cobblestones. He had missed these sounds during the few hours when the world had lain still.
He ate freely in non-silence for a few minutes. Arthur pulled out a sheaf of documents to the table to peruse, muttering something about lackadaisical and Merlin, so Merlin seated himself in a chair.
"You'd think you'd never had bread before coming to Camelot," Arthur said after a minute. "The way you wolf it down."
Most people back home ate flat bread or a certain oatmeally porridge, and any cheese produced was usually sold off at the neighboring town because everyone in Ealdor really needed the money. Merlin knew that mentioning the dearth of the stuff would provoke some sort of angry sympathy on Arthur‘s part, which is why Merlin had never mentioned it.
"Never had it honeyed in Ealdor," he said instead, making himself intelligible only with great effort. "You castle folk are spoilt rotten."
He grabbed for some goat's cheese.
Arthur rubbed at his mouth, hiding a smile behind his ungloved hand.
"You really can't say things like that to me, Merlin."
"Who else is going to tell you?" Merlin reasoned. "A king ought to have a good sense of things, I'm only here to help."
“Are you now? Help in the more general sense, then? Because I don’t see any of your chores finished.”
“I’m getting to it,” Merlin said, and thought briefly of that morning when time had been blessedly everlasting.
Merlin wanted this moment to go on forever, thought maybe time would stop now but leave Arthur untouched, and he could just sit and breathe while Arthur did the figures for this month's grain stores.
Seconds later, the scritching of quill to parchment slowed and became a non-sound.
Merlin took a moment to consider Arthur's static form, how time had stopped and left him with a telling look on his face, open in a way he would never usually allow for.
Merlin sighed, and finally stood with a disappointed noise that no one else would hear.
He went into the antechamber and Arthur’s clothing began folding itself in the air. He ordered a broom sweep the floors, especially the corners where Merlin usually swept the dirt towards, and deposit the dirt out the window. He then returned to change the sheets on Arthur’s beds. He struggled to tug them over the soft mattress, at one point falling entirely over the bed in a manner that would have made Arthur chuckle, but for the fact that Arthur was dead to the world at the table. Merlin quickly gathered the bundle of old sheets along with some dirty clothing, and left the room.
He passed hallways and stairways of frozen forms, and called to mind a time the year before when the entire castle had fallen into a deep slumber. Upon entering the courtyard with Arthur and seeing all those slumped forms of soldiers and peasants, he had thought they were dead.
Now it was rather frightening as well, being surrounded by those he spoke with daily, yet being completely alone. Their eyes were open and sightless, and Merlin went quickly past. And when he had deposited the bedding and clothing on the lower floor, he made directly for the main entry.
There was that sound again, like a faint pattering in the distance, like someone clapping their hands together or beating a rug against the stone wall. He wondered if it wasn’t a leak somewhere, but knew that that wouldn’t be possible. The roof of the castle was four floors up, and besides, everything had stopped but him.
Merlin paused to listen. Soon the sound faded off, but it took him until he had finished mucking out the stables to put it from his mind.
The rake and one shovel which had been flinging around, scooping soiled hay into a wheelbarrow, dropped to the ground, and Merlin set about laying the last of the fresh hay from a broken up bale with his hands.
Next, he went off to retrieve a set of mail he was meant to shine that afternoon. He entered through the front door of the armory, and, avoiding the squires who were frozen into positions of going about their duties, he found the armor and left again as quickly as he could. He went to the stables once more, because it was less strange there, the only living things were the horses, and they were a quiet presence anyway, even when life was running smoothly.
He picked dirt out of the armor in a dusty, empty stall, seated on a bale of hay and taking comfort in hiding, even if it made little difference. The mud had gotten lodged in the links when Arthur had tumbled in the mud the day before, and had let it dry instead of handing it off to Merlin immediately. Merlin thought that he would have to soak it later.
He considered all of the things he would accomplish if he could learn to control this propensity he had developed to stop time. It felt necessary, it felt not impossible.
He delivered five notes and a bouquet of wild flowers. He thought about the feast the next day, how Christmas in Ealdor was a traditional affair, with holly, wine, and a Yule log. The people of Camelot gathered at the castle or in a few of the pubs around town which were set for the feast, and sang carols that Merlin was just learning the words to.
Merlin tried to come up with any chores he had left, and was pleased to find that he had none. The sheets had been sent to be laundered, rooms had been aired and then the shutters had been closed again, and the waste had been disposed of with all chicken bones and the skeletal remains of grape clusters tossed into the medieval-style incinerator.
He even had time to bathe and change his clothing, after which he finally made it back to Arthur’s chamber, passing the frozen people once more, feeling a bit frightened but also conflicted. Camelot had been plunging into the darkest winter for the past month, and Merlin had managed to stretch today's few hours of daylight into nearly ten. He felt like it was early spring, the ground breaking with tentative green, instead of lying dormant under a blanket of snow just past winter solstice.
When he entered Arthur’s chambers once more, Merlin shot the broom a pointed look, and it sprung to attention once again from where it had fallen, lazy, by the cabinet. It swept a final pile which deposited itself into a waste basket. Merlin stood back now in the entryway, noting that this front room was so clean it was suspicious. Surfaces had been dusted and corners had been swept of crumbs. The colored glass of the windows was so polished it stung to look at.
Suddenly, Merlin got a feeling which began at the base of his spine and ran all the way up to the nape of his neck, like a warning. He sprinted to the inner room, and dove for the chair at the table that he had vacated a few hours before.
He made it just in time.
Arthur jerked awake. He stood up immediately.
"Merlin? What's wrong?"
"I-"
Merlin was out of breath. He attempted to straighten in his chair, to smile reassuringly, but Arthur only looked at him with consternation.
"Did you choke?" Arthur asked. He was frowning, and Merlin accepted this out. He nodded pathetically, and took a sip from the goblet on the table.
Arthur sat again, looking bemused. "It's the way you eat," he said. "Like you're half-starved. Try chewing."
"Thank you for the advice, sire."
"Really Merlin, I can think of few more embarrassing ways to go. And haven't you had enough?"
"I'm actually quite hungry," Merlin said. And he was, because he had been jaunting about the castle, working up an appetite.
Arthur screwed up his mouth, and looked at the plate, and then back to Merlin.
"Merlin, the loaf's half-gone," he told him.
"Is it?" Merlin looked at the platter, at the still warm bread. "Oh, right. Well, we shouldn't let this second half go stale I suppose."
"No, by all means," Arthur said. He sat again to look over his papers, but Merlin felt his gaze, the certain disbelief, the entire time Merlin ate.
Five minutes later, wholly concerned, Arthur dragged Merlin away.
"You'll be sick," he said, and gave him a gift to deliver to Morgana, a whole quiver of arrows and a fine bow of hawthorn that he had carved himself and had sent away to be finished with a tree sap glaze.
“Not you, too,” Merlin groaned.
“Listen, if I don’t give Morgana something for the holidays she’s bound to do something evil,” Arthur said.
“I don’t doubt it,” Merlin muttered. It had only been a month since she’d let loose a skeleton army on Camelot, which, however quickly Arthur and the others seemed to have forgotten, Merlin expected he would remember for quite some time.
“What do you know about evil?” Arthur said. “You weren’t here when I crossed her as a child. She is more subtle than you would imagine.”
Merlin sighed. “But really, Arthur, does she need a weapon?”
“Of course she does. Girls love gifts, Merlin, and you don't just forget to give something to someone you care about. Oh, what do you know about gifts, anyway?”
Judging by Merlin's latest dilemma, it was a fair point.
“Well, Will once left a dead rat on my pillow on my birthday,” he told Arthur, laughing at the disgusting memory but feeling that familiar pang in his chest when he thought of his friend.
“Who’s Will, then?” Arthur sneered. “Your cat?”
Merlin looked at him.
“He was my friend, Arthur,” he said. When Arthur failed to look repentant, he continued, “In Ealdor? He died for us?”
“Oh, right,” Arthur shuffled his papers.
Merlin left soon after, quiver slung over one shoulder. He dulled the tips and loosened the bowstring, because a faulty gift was better than an arrow in the back.
*
Merlin met a conversation midway down a corridor near the pantries. Time had stopped hours ago and had only just resumed, the sound swelling up around him without warning, so that he had to stop for a moment and catch his breath.
"Of course he won't mind," he heard Gwen say.
"But he always seems in a rush."
Merlin followed the sound of voices to a cracked door.
"Merlin just has long legs," Gwen was explaining. "He has loads of time, don't you worry."
He peered inside and saw her speaking with a servant whose name he had forgotten. He tapped at the door.
"Merlin!" Gwen looked pleased at his arrival.
"Hello, there," he said to them both.
"Would you mind? I mean, could you-" the girl offered something to Merlin, something wrapped in cloth and a piece of twine. "If you wouldn't mind, I mean."
"Of course Merlin doesn't mind," Gwen said, pointedly.
"Sure, I mean-" Merlin said.
"Oh you're wonderful!!"
"Isn't he?" Gwen said, smiling like a proud older sister. Merlin played his role well, and frowned like he was the petulant younger brother.
The girl rushed off.
"Gwen," Merlin said. "I've got loads to do."
"Why you're always taking things back and forth as it is! How could one more thing hurt?"
"Yes," he said. "For Arthur. Just as you do for Morgana."
"No I don't, Merlin. That's what the other servants are for! You know this."
Merlin did not know this.
“Have you been sending them all my way?" he asked. "Those girls earlier who wanted me to deliver packages to their friends if I had the chance?”
“Only some people. Everyone’s so busy, Merlin,” she explained. “And you’ve really got a very open schedule by comparison. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”
“I suppose I do,” Merlin said. He had seen how hard everyone worked, and with his magic he really couldn’t complain.
“Oh you’re the best!”
"Alright then," Merlin said, a little pouty, because he was kind of tired, and this really did explain a lot.
"I've got to see to Morgana," Gwen told him. She hesitated for a moment, and then pressed a kiss to his cheek before moving out into the hallway. "You're sweet, Merlin."
Merlin clutched yet another parcel in his hands, feeling forlorn.
He went to speak to Gaius about it, but the man was snippy, pressed as he was sending off tonics to all those who were exhibiting pre-pneumatic symptoms.
On seeing him, Gaius immediately ordered Merlin to deliver a parcel to the steward, placing an ornate box of bone into his hands because he knew Merlin would say yes, as well as a sac of jars and salves. Merlin put the box in the pocket of his saggy trousers and then wandered the halls a bit and wasn’t surprised at all when time slowed to a halt, that lazy bastard.
*
The castle really was more manageable when he had hours instead of minutes. It was when he was on his way to his room to lie down, perhaps do a bit of reading, when he overheard something peculiar. It was the sound he had heard time and again, something he had put from his mind because it hadn’t seemed important in lieu of all of the other things he had to look into.
There was the pattering again. It was definitely footsteps, he could be sure of it now, and they were coming closer.
He peered around the corner just barely, on instinct, because life had been quiet for nearly a week, and they were due for another terror. A figure was just rounding into the corridor, and Merlin ducked away quickly, heart pounding at what he‘d seen.
It was Morgana. He threw back the corner of a tapestry and slipped behind it into the alcove it covered just as she rounded the corner. Merlin’s heart beat loudly in the still world. He felt panicked, but breathed as shallowly as he could, replaying how he had narrowly escaped being caught out just seconds before. That could have meant the end of something.
He was able to see out the crack where tapestry met wall, mainly because Morgana seemed to think, as had Merlin himself, that she was the only person animate. She passed close by where he stood, peering around down the hallway and into a nearby room.
When she found no one, she came out again to continue down in the direction of the meeting hall. It was as if she was searching for someone in specific, and at this thought it became clear what Merlin had done. He had, however inadvertently, left the castle open to treason.
Morgana could do whatever she pleased so long as time lay still. The castle was like a sleeping thing under her feet, and Merlin imagined she would unbalance it soon if she could, removing bits of it with her bare hands, if she had to, stone by stone.
Merlin stepped out from behind the wall carpet and turned to watch her disappear down the next hallway, feeling that same burn of confusion and betrayal that accompanied all thoughts of her. He heard a click and knew that she had entered her chambers.
Instead of fleeing like he wanted to, to be anywhere other than where he was just then, he found a chair and propped it carefully against the wall. He clambered up to peer through the grating that looked in on the antechamber, in hopes that he would see something telling.
It was a frightening prospect, this being watched. As Merlin looked on, Morgana went directly to the armoir and took a mirror from its place in her top drawer. She breathed upon its surface and stared into it. Merlin stood there while Morgana held the mirror in both hands, as if waiting. What was it? What was she doing?
They waited for a long time.
*
Uther, he grappled out of his chair and dragged in an ungainly fashion to the floor beside the royal bed.
"Safe here, sire," Merlin explained, on the off chance that Uther could, in fact, hear him. In which case Merlin was very dead already, but at least his actions were somewhat explained.
He threw some sheets below the bed, and added some pillows and then rolled Uther under it where Merlin himself had hidden once, where Morgana had hung the mandrake. This achieved, he stood back to look from all angles, trying to catch sight of the king, tugging at the bed skirts and arranging a chest in the right position so as to hide the king entirely.
At long last, Merlin stepped back and looked around at the apparently empty room, hands on his hips and a feeling of momentary relief warming in his chest.
Satisfied, he dusted his hands and smiled. Perfect.
But on the way back up the long hall that led from the king's wing of rooms to Arthur's own, the sound of pattering could be heard once more. It came on sudden and swift, and if Merlin hadn't been so pleased with himself, protecting the king he kind of disliked more than most people, and protecting Arthur in doing so-
The footfalls were nearly upon him. Merlin trembled where he stood, watching the corner. He swiveled his head around, looking for a hiding spot he normally could find in a quick fix, but the walls were straight and flat, the light bright through the windows, no column or alcove that he might duck into.
Part 2