Someday Out Of The Blue, Part 2
Continued from here.
The robes are surprisingly nice. They fit very well, the fabric is soft and expensive-looking. There are breeches, a tunic and a long coat, all in black, blue and silver. Yet he feels like an idiot wearing them, and he must look a bit stupid, too, because people pause and stare when they see him.
‘I hate Arthur,’ he says matter-of-factly to Gwen, who’s looking even more lovely than usual in a yellow dress, with her hair done up. She flashes him a brilliant smile.
‘No, you don’t. And that’s King Arthur for you.’
‘Oh, stop it. He’s just as insufferable now as he was before.’
‘Sure,’ she doesn’t sound convinced, and carefully looks him over. ‘Where did you get these clothes?’
‘Arthur made me wear them. I hate them, too.’
‘No, they’re… nice,’ she says, and he doesn’t quite believe her.
Then they have to stop talking and focus on the ceremony, because there’s Arthur, approaching the throne, followed by his knights. Merlin knows them all very well, considers them good friends even, but in this moment they seem unfamiliar: sombre, otherworldly and magnificent.
He stays quiet, and can’t fight the smile of his face throughout it all. He barely pays attention to Geoffrey of Monmouth pronouncing Arthur the King and laying the crown on his head, because the way every living soul in the hall is looking at Arthur - with pride, love and hope - means so much more than crowns and titles ever will.
When Arthur stands to look at his people, there’s a sound of cheer and applause so thunderous Merlin is surprised the windows stay intact. Gwen is sobbing next to him, and he offers her a grin and pulls her into a hug.
Arthur makes a speech - written by Merlin the previous day, when Arthur was too nervous to pick up a quill, not that anybody needs to know that - and then there comes the part when knights and vassals can swear their fealty to the new King, each one announced by the herald.
Gwen, whose side is pressed to Merlin, his arm around her shoulders, gives a sound between a giggle and a sob.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ she shakes her head. ‘It’s just everything is so-so…’
‘Huge,’ Merlin finishes helpfully, and she makes that strange sound again.
‘Yes. Yes, exactly that.’
He sees a shadow pass her face, and doesn’t have to wonder to hard about who she’s thinking about. He just hugs her a little tighter, for a tiny second, and knows she understands.
It gets repetitive after a while, not that Merlin is complaining, but he can’t help thinking that Arthur would give anything to be able to just sit down and have some wine. It’s already huge for them; he can’t imagine what it’s like for Arthur.
His concentration slips a little, lost in the cacophony of sounds and colours and the sheer number of people present. He’s therefore unsurprised when he hears his name. It could all be his imagination after all.
Gwen stills at his side, and the herald’s words finally register in Merlin’s brain.
‘Merlin, the Court Sorcerer.’
There’s a surreal moment of existential dread when every face in Camelot - those that know him and those that notice what everybody else is focusing on - turns towards him, expectant.
Merlin just stands there.
After a moment of silence, the herald clears his throat.
Merlin stands there.
Gwen breaks their half-embrace and pushes him forward, towards the throne, towards Arthur, who’s looking at him with a carefully blank expression. His feet move on their own accord, and he follows unthinkingly, kneels down at Arthur’s feet, kisses his extended hand.
The low murmur of voices grows steadily louder. Merlin stands up and joins the knights and vassals.
The crowd around him starts moving towards the Table, probably to begin feasting. Merlin wants to go, too, but his body refuses to obey.
Somebody’s hands push at his back, directing him towards the empty chair next to Arthur’s. He sits dumbly, along with all the knights, mind still completely blank.
‘Merlin,’ Arthur hisses, not dropping the smile. ‘Will you please calm down? I get nervous just by looking at you.’
‘I, er, what?’ Merlin finally finds his voice, which seems to have eloped to another kingdom along with his ability to think straight.
‘Merlin.’
‘I… you just made me a Court Sorcerer!’ He is surprised to hear his own voice, and he can hear the surprise in his own voice, and his head spins.
‘I was thinking about Court Jester, but you’re jokes aren’t even funny,’ Arthur tells him calmly, so calmly, in fact, that Merlin finally manages to gather his thoughts.
‘You know I have magic,’ he says after a moment, horrified.
‘I’m glad you’re aware of the meaning of the word “sorcerer”.’
Merlin pays him no mind.
‘You know about my magic,’ he repeats dumbly. ‘Oh God. I’m going to die.’
‘See that you don’t. That could really ruin the festival spirit,’ Arthur helps himself to the plentiful food, some other servant standing behind his chair on goblet-refilling duties. The knights are uncharacteristically quiet. Most of them watch Arthur. Some of them watch Merlin.
‘I, I. I don’t know anything anymore.’
Arthur raises and eyebrow.
‘That surprises you?’
Merlin hears the mocking tone, but doesn’t fully register it. He blinks, stares at Arthur, not really seeing anything else, even though the hall is noisy and packed with people. Arthur’s amused expression slowly falters, and he frowns.
‘Merlin. Relax. I’m not going to execute you after announcing you the Court Sorcerer,’ he says quietly, so that no-one else can hear.
‘You know,’ Merlin repeats, because the prospect of his imminent death is nothing new, he can handle it, but this little fact is still something he can’t wrap his mind around.
‘Yes. I’ve known for a while.’
‘And this doesn’t… bother you?’
Arthur sighs and takes a sip of his wine.
‘It does, a little, although probably not in the way you think. But now is not the time for that conversation.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Merlin asks hysterically.
‘No, Merlin, why didn’t you tell me?’ For the first time Arthur actually sounds angry, and his eyes narrow. But then he calms down, even smiles.
‘Why at the feast, though?’ Merlin persists. ‘We could find somewhere more private.’
‘Honestly? Because I wanted to see the expression on your face. And I wanted to be sure you wouldn’t run away screaming.’
‘Right.’
Merlin stares down at his plate, and over the Round Table. Gwaine’s smile is friendly and mocking; Elyan is amused, Lancelot - sympathetic. Gwen looks a little troubled, but she beams at him nonetheless and shakes her head.
None of them are surprised.
‘I’m terrible at keeping secrets, aren’t I?’ he asks weakly.
‘Not really,’ Lancelot says. ‘The king only found out recently.’
‘And now I can’t wait to find out if you’re as terrible at magic as you’re at everything else,’ Arthur says.
Merlin opens his mouth, wanting to give Arthur a sharp retort - that he’s one of the most powerful sorcerers well, ever, that he’s defeated Nimueh, Cornelius Sigan, Morgana, that the Great Dragon has to obey him, that it’s his destiny to make sure Arthur becomes the greatest king in history - but stops.
Arthur may know. He doesn’t need to know everything.
‘I can’t wait to give you a demonstration, your majesty,’ he says instead, part mocking, part sincere.
‘Wise choice. A good king should be aware of all the resources at his disposal.’
‘Yes,’ Merlin says quietly. ‘He should.’
They catch each other’s gaze, smile - and it’s an endless moment, when everything seems possible, when all their dreams are suddenly within arm’s reach. He sees it all, clear as day - the greatest kingdom and the most beloved king. He can’t tell if it’s a prophecy or just a promise, and he honestly doesn’t care.
Destiny, Merlin decides then, is not a bad thing after all.
The robes are surprisingly nice. They fit very well, the fabric is soft and expensive-looking. There are breeches, a tunic and a long coat, all in black, blue and silver. Yet he feels like an idiot wearing them, and he must look a bit stupid, too, because people pause and stare when they see him.
‘I hate Arthur,’ he says matter-of-factly to Gwen, who’s looking even more lovely than usual in a yellow dress, with her hair done up. She flashes him a brilliant smile.
‘No, you don’t. And that’s King Arthur for you.’
‘Oh, stop it. He’s just as insufferable now as he was before.’
‘Sure,’ she doesn’t sound convinced, and carefully looks him over. ‘Where did you get these clothes?’
‘Arthur made me wear them. I hate them, too.’
‘No, they’re… nice,’ she says, and he doesn’t quite believe her.
Then they have to stop talking and focus on the ceremony, because there’s Arthur, approaching the throne, followed by his knights. Merlin knows them all very well, considers them good friends even, but in this moment they seem unfamiliar: sombre, otherworldly and magnificent.
He stays quiet, and can’t fight the smile of his face throughout it all. He barely pays attention to Geoffrey of Monmouth pronouncing Arthur the King and laying the crown on his head, because the way every living soul in the hall is looking at Arthur - with pride, love and hope - means so much more than crowns and titles ever will.
When Arthur stands to look at his people, there’s a sound of cheer and applause so thunderous Merlin is surprised the windows stay intact. Gwen is sobbing next to him, and he offers her a grin and pulls her into a hug.
Arthur makes a speech - written by Merlin the previous day, when Arthur was too nervous to pick up a quill, not that anybody needs to know that - and then there comes the part when knights and vassals can swear their fealty to the new King, each one announced by the herald.
Gwen, whose side is pressed to Merlin, his arm around her shoulders, gives a sound between a giggle and a sob.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ she shakes her head. ‘It’s just everything is so-so…’
‘Huge,’ Merlin finishes helpfully, and she makes that strange sound again.
‘Yes. Yes, exactly that.’
He sees a shadow pass her face, and doesn’t have to wonder to hard about who she’s thinking about. He just hugs her a little tighter, for a tiny second, and knows she understands.
It gets repetitive after a while, not that Merlin is complaining, but he can’t help thinking that Arthur would give anything to be able to just sit down and have some wine. It’s already huge for them; he can’t imagine what it’s like for Arthur.
His concentration slips a little, lost in the cacophony of sounds and colours and the sheer number of people present. He’s therefore unsurprised when he hears his name. It could all be his imagination after all.
Gwen stills at his side, and the herald’s words finally register in Merlin’s brain.
‘Merlin, the Court Sorcerer.’
There’s a surreal moment of existential dread when every face in Camelot - those that know him and those that notice what everybody else is focusing on - turns towards him, expectant.
Merlin just stands there.
After a moment of silence, the herald clears his throat.
Merlin stands there.
Gwen breaks their half-embrace and pushes him forward, towards the throne, towards Arthur, who’s looking at him with a carefully blank expression. His feet move on their own accord, and he follows unthinkingly, kneels down at Arthur’s feet, kisses his extended hand.
The low murmur of voices grows steadily louder. Merlin stands up and joins the knights and vassals.
The crowd around him starts moving towards the Table, probably to begin feasting. Merlin wants to go, too, but his body refuses to obey.
Somebody’s hands push at his back, directing him towards the empty chair next to Arthur’s. He sits dumbly, along with all the knights, mind still completely blank.
‘Merlin,’ Arthur hisses, not dropping the smile. ‘Will you please calm down? I get nervous just by looking at you.’
‘I, er, what?’ Merlin finally finds his voice, which seems to have eloped to another kingdom along with his ability to think straight.
‘Merlin.’
‘I… you just made me a Court Sorcerer!’ He is surprised to hear his own voice, and he can hear the surprise in his own voice, and his head spins.
‘I was thinking about Court Jester, but you’re jokes aren’t even funny,’ Arthur tells him calmly, so calmly, in fact, that Merlin finally manages to gather his thoughts.
‘You know I have magic,’ he says after a moment, horrified.
‘I’m glad you’re aware of the meaning of the word “sorcerer”.’
Merlin pays him no mind.
‘You know about my magic,’ he repeats dumbly. ‘Oh God. I’m going to die.’
‘See that you don’t. That could really ruin the festival spirit,’ Arthur helps himself to the plentiful food, some other servant standing behind his chair on goblet-refilling duties. The knights are uncharacteristically quiet. Most of them watch Arthur. Some of them watch Merlin.
‘I, I. I don’t know anything anymore.’
Arthur raises and eyebrow.
‘That surprises you?’
Merlin hears the mocking tone, but doesn’t fully register it. He blinks, stares at Arthur, not really seeing anything else, even though the hall is noisy and packed with people. Arthur’s amused expression slowly falters, and he frowns.
‘Merlin. Relax. I’m not going to execute you after announcing you the Court Sorcerer,’ he says quietly, so that no-one else can hear.
‘You know,’ Merlin repeats, because the prospect of his imminent death is nothing new, he can handle it, but this little fact is still something he can’t wrap his mind around.
‘Yes. I’ve known for a while.’
‘And this doesn’t… bother you?’
Arthur sighs and takes a sip of his wine.
‘It does, a little, although probably not in the way you think. But now is not the time for that conversation.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Merlin asks hysterically.
‘No, Merlin, why didn’t you tell me?’ For the first time Arthur actually sounds angry, and his eyes narrow. But then he calms down, even smiles.
‘Why at the feast, though?’ Merlin persists. ‘We could find somewhere more private.’
‘Honestly? Because I wanted to see the expression on your face. And I wanted to be sure you wouldn’t run away screaming.’
‘Right.’
Merlin stares down at his plate, and over the Round Table. Gwaine’s smile is friendly and mocking; Elyan is amused, Lancelot - sympathetic. Gwen looks a little troubled, but she beams at him nonetheless and shakes her head.
None of them are surprised.
‘I’m terrible at keeping secrets, aren’t I?’ he asks weakly.
‘Not really,’ Lancelot says. ‘The king only found out recently.’
‘And now I can’t wait to find out if you’re as terrible at magic as you’re at everything else,’ Arthur says.
Merlin opens his mouth, wanting to give Arthur a sharp retort - that he’s one of the most powerful sorcerers well, ever, that he’s defeated Nimueh, Cornelius Sigan, Morgana, that the Great Dragon has to obey him, that it’s his destiny to make sure Arthur becomes the greatest king in history - but stops.
Arthur may know. He doesn’t need to know everything.
‘I can’t wait to give you a demonstration, your majesty,’ he says instead, part mocking, part sincere.
‘Wise choice. A good king should be aware of all the resources at his disposal.’
‘Yes,’ Merlin says quietly. ‘He should.’
They catch each other’s gaze, smile - and it’s an endless moment, when everything seems possible, when all their dreams are suddenly within arm’s reach. He sees it all, clear as day - the greatest kingdom and the most beloved king. He can’t tell if it’s a prophecy or just a promise, and he honestly doesn’t care.
Destiny, Merlin decides then, is not a bad thing after all.