The Easiest Thing (1/8 +epilogue)

[latenightchai]

Title: The Easiest Thing
Author: latenightchai
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin
Words: 68,400
Rating: R
Warnings/Spoilers: Post S3. memory loss, graphic/terminal illness, dub-con, angst, ridiculously sappy ending
Notes: Originally posted on the kink meme here, based on the prompt: "Merlin spells himself to be the perfect servant, and loses his whole personality in the process." I had no idea how long it would get (or how long it would take to deanon and repost somewhere, oops!), but I'm very grateful to all the anons on the kink meme for their encouragement and feedback, especially seeing as this is my first real fic for fandom :)

Summary: When an inadvertent spell changes Merlin from the inside out, Arthur must face Camelot's latest threat alone - and unravel the mystery of Merlin, or else risk losing him forever.


[ Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Epilogue ]

It’s not as if Merlin meant for it to happen, or that he woke up one morning and thought, ‘why yes, I do think I need to use my brain a little less often.’ There was deference and then there was senselessness, and he was surrounded by enough Yes sire’s and Yes mi’lady’s and Whatever you might command, your O-great royalness’s all day long to know the difference. Merlin had also broken enough of Camelot’s laws (only out of necessity, of course, and always very sensibly) to know that he didn’t fall into either category -nor did he really want to.

But Merlin, to say the least, had had a very, very bad day. It wasn’t the type of day when monsters were rampaging or armies were sieging or Arthur was in very, very grave danger. It was just the type of day when everyone in Camelot decided that from the moment Merlin emerged from Gaius’ chambers, he was at their every beck and call, and Merlin’s barely-there sense of balance decided not to bother even getting out of bed.

He’d tripped on his sheets, and again over his stool. He did something to his ankle when he stepped on one of Gaius’ mortar and pestles (after being the one to knock it on the floor), and spent the first half of the morning hopping around like a lame chicken.

Arthur had been in a sour mood and sent him to muck out the stables; the stable master had been hungover and said Merlin was scraping manure too loudly, and so sent him to the kitchens. The cook had been stressed and, when Merlin dropped a cauldron of near-boiling water, screamed at him so loud he could hear her all the way to the armory, at which point the knights had come in after a long training session with sour-mood Arthur and left him to clean up all of their muddied, dented armor. He’d barely started when the stable master had come back and demanded he finish his original job…

And so it went, on and on and on. He was exhausted and filthy, sore from head to toe. His ears were still ringing, his ankle was still smarting, and his hands were cramped and burnt.

He thought he’d at least get a respite in fetching Arthur’s dinner. The Prince had seemingly worked off his ill mood, and so he and Merlin would dine together - like they usually did - in his chambers, drinking and talking and being somewhat decent to each other - more like friends than master-and-servant.

Instead, to top off his very, horrible, no-good day, Merlin had gotten a sharp, vicious lecture about how he was the worst manservant possible- and, yes, he’d gotten some variation of that lecture hundreds of times and would get it a thousand more before Arthur got tired of it, but this time it rankled. Today the insults didn’t bounce off; instead they seeped into his skin and left a sullen knot in his stomach. He was too tired to be angry or resentful, but the thought popped into his mind that maybe if he were a better servant, he wouldn’t have to deal with this at all. Maybe it was his fault.

The thought followed him, long after the scolding was over, after Arthur had retired and Merlin had slunk back to his room. If he were a better servant… he could still do everything he needed to. He could help Camelot in his own ways -and maybe he’d do a better job of that, too, if he didn’t have to worry about being caught. Servants knew how to go about unnoticed- that was their job after all. Merlin could barely take two steps without making some sort of commotion.

If he were a better servant… he wouldn’t get criticized at so much, by Arthur or Gaius or anyone else. Arthur wouldn’t insult him, or make him feel like a fool -an underappreciated fool. And yes, Arthur still wouldn’t know the truth about how truly useful Merlin was, but not having to deal with the insults about his incompetence every day would make it… bearable. Maybe.

He thought about it until he fell asleep- and yes, that was far later into the night than usual, but that was all. He didn’t mean for anything to come of those thoughts, and for all his fleeting depression, hoped nothing would. By morning, those ‘ifs’ should have been long forgotten.

Unfortunately for Merlin, his magic responded best to those impulses he didn’t have to think too hard on, and spells he didn’t need to say aloud. He doubted there was a spell out there that would do this -or at least he hoped there wasn’t, because he was buggered enough as it was that he didn’t want to think that it could (and with Merlin’s luck, would) possibly occur again.

It didn’t happen immediately. He didn’t wake and find himself suddenly changed, a complete stranger to himself. Instead, he woke and felt something was… off.

The obvious difference was that he was up early. Most servants were up and working before dawn but Merlin rarely found himself opening his eyes before Gaius came to knock on his door. But here he was, up before the sun had peaked over the horizon line, because he needed to wash his clothes.

But no- that wasn’t right. All his clothes were dirty and he would need to wash them before he could get dressed and get to work, but it shouldn’t take long. He stared at the pile and thought that he didn’t need take long to wash them because he usually used magic… he used magic, but…

He shook his head, trying to make his thoughts come together, but they just wouldn’t. There was something he was forgetting, about how he cleaned his clothes, and… well, it didn’t matter anyway. He couldn’t just sit here thinking; he’d woken up early to wash these clothes, and he’d better do it or else he’d be late -and we couldn’t have that, could we?

He managed to be late, anyway, because in his mood last night he’d forgotten that he’d promised Gaius he’d label the new vials he’d prepared yesterday. His fingers flew over the bottles, ink spilling into the bed of his nails, but even writing as fast as he could he didn’t make it to the kitchens until just after dawn.

As he carried the tray for Arthur’s breakfast up to his chambers he watched his steps carefully just in case anything should jump out and threaten to trip him up, be it forgotten laundry or rats or dragons or anything else that Merlin tended to have problems with. But he still made sure to hurry -he was delayed enough as it was.

And it was fine, really. He was usually late anyway… -but no, that wasn’t right, either. He should always be on time, and he shouldn’t make excuses like that. He told himself firmly that he would not be late again.

He thought it sounded like a hollow conviction. Even though his steps were steady he felt somehow unbalanced, at odds with himself. And yet the reason behind it escaped him, like sand through the hourglass.

The door to Arthur’s chamber appeared soon enough, and he knocked twice, gently, before nudging the door open with his shoulder. Despite his attempt to be discreet the door swung open wide, loose on the hinges, and he was met with the sight of Arthur, already up and dressed and seated at his table, mouth quirked into a half-frown.

“You’re late.”

Merlin froze in doorway. His eyes widened and his hands tightened painfully on the tray, almost against his will.

“I’m sorry,” he said, unable to do more than stand in the doorway and feel his stomach squish about in his shoes.

When he continued to stand still, Arthur leaned back in his chair, a put-upon expression crossing his face as he drawled, “Merlin.”

A part of Merlin heard that tone and knew Arthur that was only teasing, and wanted to grin and banter away, but the larger part only heard disappointment and it was… Merlin didn’t even know how to describe the feeling other than that it was awful. Even though he tried so hard, he did everything right and didn’t even use… he didn’t… he did it right and he still got it wrong. He got it wrong and Arthur was disappointed and Merlin didn’t know how he’d bear it -he couldn’t live with himself if he knew that Arthur was disappointed in him.

And that was the moment when he knew that something was very, very wrong.

*

Merlin spent the rest of the day desperately tidying up the Prince’s chambers, cleaning out all the corners he’d previously -appallingly, insolently- neglected before. He was down on hands and knees scrubbing the floor most of the morning, and as much as he wanted to take a break he just knew he had to get it clean; he wanted to be able to see the color of his face shining back at him from the stone. His hands were dry and his skin cracked painfully, but he kept up the forward-back-forward-back rhythm, dragging the wet rag over the floor. He knew he had to do this now; he’d put it off for far too long and therefore it was all his fault to begin with.

Though… that thought didn’t sound quite right, so he rationalized by telling himself that once this was all done, he wouldn’t have to do it again for a long time. Spring cleaning, even if it was actually autumn, on the cusp of a promisingly cold winter, and the windows he’d opened to let in some fresh air were bringing in a draft that laced a stiff chill into his aching bones.

Better to get it done and over with now. Right.

But Merlin didn’t remember cleaning being this tiring, really. He felt like there should be an easier way to do this, some spell or… or, well, of course there was a better way to do this, he knew that, and he could… but no, Merlin simply hadn’t been cleaning like this long enough to know how to do it right. Of course. That must be it.

Surely the other servants knew a more effective way to clean. He’d have to track one down and ask. Maybe Erik, the boy that cleaned the kitchens -he would definitely know the best way to clean; the kitchen floors were filthy. In fact, once Merlin was done with all his duties tonight, he should go and help the boy. Erik always worked well past midnight, and surely Merlin could sacrifice a few hours of sleep to help a fellow out.

Yes, Merlin resolved, he’d do just that. As long as it didn’t interfere with his duties with the Prince (and he wouldn’t, couldn’t let that happen), it would be fine.

He stood and winced as his joints cracked, ankle to spine. He was breathing hard, exhausted, and felt heavy with satisfaction that the job was done. He didn’t think he could handle more… but his eyes kept catching on things around the room, like the ashes piled in the hearth, the faded color of the bed curtains, the chest by the door of garments to be laundered and mended…

With a clenched jaw and a feeling of dismayed resignation, he ignored his body’s protests and set to work once more. The more he worked, the more he felt the pressing need to keep going, to find something else to do. He beat the tapestries twice over and cleaned out every sconce and polished each link in the Prince’s spare chainmail.

And now, the more he worked, the more cathartic it became. The feeling of something being wrong came and went, those off-beat moments coming less frequently, until his mind felt empty and calm. That was good, empty was good, the manservant told himself, even when he felt dizzy and his vision fizzled black at the edges, like it did sometimes when one stood up too fast, or when Merlin had used too much… too much….

Magic, the word drifted into his mind, but he shook it away.

Merlin wouldn’t use magic. Sorcery was the worst crime there was, and Merlin would never do something like that …would he? He’d done it before -to save Arthur. To serve Arthur. Yes, that’s all he’d done. Serve the Prince, that’s all he’d ever done.

And so, like a good servant should, he made sure he was not present when the Prince returned mid-afternoon from treaty negotiations. Such talks always made the Prince ravenous afterward, and despite the early hour Merlin went to fetch a full plate of food from the kitchens.

“Oi, git out,” the head cook cried as soon as she saw him. “I ain’t wantin any a’your muckin about today!”

He raised his hands conciliatorily. “I apologize for yesterday, Owena, truly,” he said formally. “I only need a plate for the Prince, he’ll want to dine early today.”

She gave him a suspicious glare, but eventually grunted. “Fine, but don’t bother me or my girls none.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgement, and made sure to stay out of the away when he stepped over to one of the cellars, where young Erik was sleeping on a great sack of grain. By the time he’d woken the boy up and offered his assistance for that night -which was received with bemused agreement- the tray was ready, and he hoisted it up, only swaying a bit under its weight.

“Don’t you dare go droppin-” Owena stopped, looking over the manservant once more. “You look a’bit peaked, boy. You sure you alright?”

Yes, Merlin thought automatically.

No, he thought a second later, an echo of afterthought.

“Thank you, but I’m fine,” he answered, voice and head lowered.

The cook didn’t look convinced. “Well, give us a smile then. Anything else on that foolish face a’yours don’t look quite right,” she added, in a tone that told Merlin it wasn’t a compliment. He grinned anyway, because she’d told him to. It felt foolish.

Owena shooed him out of the kitchens, and he let the smile drop from his face. He didn’t need to smile so much, anyway. It only drew attention to himself. And a manservant didn’t want that, did he?

He crossed the familiar path from kitchens to chambers with an ease he wasn’t quite used to, but without having to worry about other… things, whatever they were, he was able to walk with the tray quite capably.

He knocked twice, gently, and only reached for the door once he’d heard the Prince give a distracted, impatient “Enter.”

“Your dinner, sire,” Merlin announced solemnly, while covertly surveying the room and assuring himself that everything was as clean as he’d left it.

The Prince didn’t even look up from the table, absorbed in scribbling something into some ledger. “Yes, put it over there,” he replied, waving a hand absently.

The manservant nodded and fixed the setting at the head of the table, where the Prince liked to eat. Once he’d put everything down properly he waited a beat for further instruction, but when none seemed forthcoming he started to back carefully out of the room.

He was already at the door, one foot in the hall, when the Prince called out. “Wait- Merlin!”

“Yes sire?” he answered, stepping back into the room.

The Prince gave him a strange look. “What are you doing? Come back here,” he demanded curtly. “What the devil was that? I didn’t even realize it was you.”

“I-” he started, only to realize he had nothing to say. That he shouldn’t say anything at all. His jaw shut with a sharp click.

“Trying to sneak off for the night, were you?” the Prince continued, ignorant to Merlin’s inner conflict. “Tell me, Merlin, what on earth could possibly be so important that you thought you were free to run off as you please?”

“I didn’t- I thought-” Merlin fumbled over his words, unused to having to explain himself so quickly, so desperately. The Prince didn’t seem to have the patience for it -like Arthur had patience for anything, Merlin thought… but then again, he didn’t need to have patience for a servant. The Prince could act however he wanted towards Merlin, and Merlin had no right to complain. No right at all. And yet…

“Out with it, Merlin. I haven’t got all night.”

“I thought you wouldn’t want me here, sire. Forgive me.”

The Prince leaned back into his seat heavily, eyebrows up so high they disappeared under his bangs. His hair was getting rather long, Merlin noticed; he would have to cut it soon, tomorrow maybe-

“Forgive you?” the Prince repeated, sounding incredulous. Merlin couldn’t imagine why, and all the while his eyes were already roaming, looking around the room for the scissors, unable to get the thought out of his mind that there was something to be done, something that he must do- At the Prince’s word, though, he forced himself to focus.

“Yes sire. I’m truly sorry, I-”

“Alright,” the Prince broke in, “What do you want.”

“Sire?”

“You heard me, Merlin. What do you want? You’re never this respectful unless you want something. Are you in trouble?” he ranted, voice growing in strength and sarcasm. “Is it Gaius, or Gwen? Have you broke something, or angered someone, or, I don’t know, is a kitten stuck up a chimney or something else so ridiculous that you were too stupid to keep your nose out of? Well? What is it this time?”

“There’s nothing, sire,” Merlin licked his lips, one of those bad habits of lying. Was he lying? He wasn’t sure. “I wouldn’t trouble you with anything,” he added, and surely that was the truth.

Yet once more Arthur looked cut off at the knees, surprised and almost… hurt? But that was ridiculous. The Prince couldn’t possibly care about what his manservant did or thought. No, Merlin was imagining things; the Prince was just surprised he wasn’t in trouble. His manservant was so often in trouble and causing him problems. And even if it was sometimes justified, because… well, even if it… well, no matter, he concluded. It wouldn’t be happening any more.

“Was there anything you needed me for, sire?”

Arthur looked at him like he thought him daft. “Need you for…” he murmured derisively. “Nothing, it would seem. I don’t need you for anything.”

There was an old ache there, the words causing a painful, familiar twist in his gut, something deep and personal even when he knew Arth -the Prince was only confirming what they both knew to be true. He’d done all that was required of him; the pain faded as quick as the longing, until it was but an echo of feeling.

When the Prince spoke again, saying “You’re dismissed,” Merlin had already turned to the door. There was an awkward moment with the two of them paused together, but then Arthur barked a sharp “Go.” Merlin went.

*

After being so thoroughly ordered out of the Prince’s room, Merlin made his way to the kitchens. The scullery boy Erik wouldn’t begin working until after the King’s feast, when dishes needed washing and the midnight process of cleaning the giant kitchens began, but Merlin was sure there was someone who would require his help -and indeed there was.

He was roped into serving one of the visiting nobleman; the Lord Torryn, who’s lands stretched beside a very strategic part of the border between Camelot and Mercia. A member of Torryn’s retinue had fallen ill (his most beloved sister, the gossips said) and so he’d left his own servants to attend the fallen relative.

There was another advantage to Merlin’s presence, though: once Torryn saw that he was being served by the Prince’s manservant himself, he’d made a point to tell the King (and all the other nobles present) that he must be very fortunate indeed. The King had smiled graciously at the nobleman, but given Merlin so sharp a glance that, had he been in a different, former frame of mind, he might have tripped over his own boots.

As it were, the servant served Lord Torryn perfectly. He didn’t make a single mistake, and for that he was grateful -he didn’t know what he’d do if he had. Uther wouldn’t need to punish him, once Merlin was done beating himself up for messing up something so important.

Eventually the feast ended, however, and Merlin was sent back to the kitchens along with all the dishes and trash. He cleaned plates and goblets and scoured pots and when asked, went back to scrub the floors of the banquet hall. By the early hours of the morning he couldn’t feel his hands, or anything below his knees. Yet he kept moving, working purely by rote, until the last of it was done and he could stumble back to Gaius’.

“Merlin, my boy, where have you been?” Gaius demanded the moment he walked in the door. It was almost sunrise, and Gaius always woke early. “You didn’t return last night, and- goodness, what happened to you? You look like you’ve been brawling all night!”

Merlin looked down at himself, and most certainly he did look worse for wear. He was pale from exhaustion, which made the bruises on his knuckles all the more livid. His clothes seemed like they’d had years worn into them - threadbare at the knees, torn at the sleeves. He was covered in dirt and soot and was swaying on his feet.

“I was helping in the kitchens,” he said.

“Whatever for?” Gaius asked, as if Merlin’s response hadn’t been the answer to everything.

“I needed to help in the kitchens,” he repeated. It was about all he had strength for.

“And what did Arthur have to say about this? No doubt he’s expecting you to attend to him in a few hours, and you’re in no shape-”

“I will be,” Merlin said firmly, despite the fogginess in his mind. “I’ll just clean up, ‘m fine, I know a… somethin, damnit” he shook his head, muttering under his breath before continuing to the physician, “I’m fine, Gaius. I’ve gone without a night’s sleep before. I’ll be fine.”

“No need to get angry, Merlin. I’m just concerned.” And concerned he sounded; the eyebrow of disapproval was there (and god, how he hated it, he couldn’t stand the sight of it) but the tone of Gaius’ voice was saturated with worry. “You shouldn’t tax yourself like this.”

“I have to do this, Gaius. I can’t help it.”

That earned him a strange look. “I think you’ll find you can. I don’t want to see you risking your health over something so trivial. I need your help, and Arthur needs-”

Merlin shook his head, ignoring how it made him feel even dizzier. “No, Gaius, you don’t understand. I’m doing this for Arthur.”

Gaius’s gaze was full of sympathy. “Did he order do you to do this?”

“Well, no, but-”

“I know he gives you a hard time, Merlin, but you can’t let it get to you. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“You don’t understand,” he snarled, suddenly furious. Ignoring Gaius’ attempts to interrupt, he ranted “You couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like -to never feel good enough, to know that everyone thinks you’re useless. It won’t get better unless I do something about it, and this is me doing something about it. I won’t stand by anymore and-”

“Merlin! Calm down, let’s speak about this rationally. I had no idea you were feeling this upset, and it’s not completely unjustified,” he soothed. “But you are helpful, more than anyone will ever know. Your magic-” Merlin jerked, his head swimming, and whatever Gaius said next was lost in the sudden rush of blood in his ears. “ -whatever strange notion has come over you, you can’t possibly believe-”

“It’s not strange. This is who I am,” Merlin pleaded, feeling slightly nauseous as the anger drained from him completely. “I’m trying to make myself better. Please don’t stand in the way.”

And Merlin was struck with a strangest sense of déjà vu -that, though he couldn’t quite remember when, he knew that they’d had this conversation before. He was sure he’d had some variation of this argument, with Gaius, with himself, many times, although in a very, very different context.

The feeling made his nausea worse. He should stop this. Why was he even arguing with Gaius? He was Gaius’ -well, he wasn’t really his apprentice, but he was the closest thing the man had to one- and Gaius was far beyond him in station. Gaius was the Royal Physician after all, and Merlin was only a servant; he needed to show him more respect. He definitely needed to stop arguing with him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The physician still appeared worried, and so he straightened, trying to pull himself together and look like he wasn’t about to pass out. “I’m tired, I don’t mean to…”

“It’s alright,” the physician said softly. “You’ve been under a lot of stress. Why don’t you go lie down? I’ll send a message to Arthur, tell him you’re ill.”

“No!” Merlin cried. “I don’t want him to know, the Prince shouldn’t be bothered with this.”

“You haven’t minded about bothering… the Prince before,” Gaius pointed out. “Are you sure you’re feeling well? If you’re truly ill-”

“I’m fine, really. I’m actually feeling a bit better,” (which was only half a lie; he was still worn out, but didn’t feel so sick to his stomach now that he’d stopped resisting Gaius), “so I’ll just freshen up and then head out. Were the vials I labeled yesterday all right?”

“Yes, they were quite well done. I could actually read the writing,” Gaius teased, before his forehead creased into a frown. “Actually, I need a few of them to be delivered this morning. If you’re feeling up to it, before you take Arthur’s breakfast…?”

“Of course,” the servant said, bowing his head. Gaius didn’t see him, already turning to whatever potion he’d been up brewing before Merlin had returned. The physician siphoned off some into three separate vials and held them up. “I need these delivered to Lady Aerona. She’s-”

“The sister of Lord Torryn, who’s here for the council meetings,” he finished. Torryn had spoken much about his sister the night before; as much as Merlin had tried to be unobtrusive and not eavesdrop, he’d absorbed the information anyway.

Gaius looked surprised at Merlin’s quick response, which grated. “Why yes. She’s come down with a severe headache ever since her arrival in Camelot -she’s been much indisposed since. Hopefully this potion will alleviate some of the pain.”

His explanation complete, Gaius shooed Merlin off to his rooms. “Do try and get at least a bit of sleep, Merlin,” he’d said, and this was one order that didn’t cause Merlin anxiety in obeying. He collapsed on his bed, filthy clothes and all, and fell into a deep sleep. He had no need to worry about oversleeping; yet again he woke up exactly when he needed to, his body having miraculously discovered some type of internal clock.

For all that he’d gotten some rest, though, he didn’t feel any better; he still hurt all over, and now he felt groggy too. He forced his eyes open and his body to move with its usual exuberance. Despite that, though, he found he still couldn’t smile. He just… didn’t have reason to.

A bucket of cold water helped take the edge off his fatigue, and once clean he headed off to deliver Lady Aerona’s medicine. It was still early and the castle was just coming to life around him; Merlin lost himself in the hustle of servants moving quickly through the corridors, the silent cogs of Camelot turning seamlessly.

The Lady Aerona, however, was already well-up; she answered her door herself, which surprised him greatly. He caught a glimpse of full, dark hair and a hooked nose before his eyes dropped to the ground, unwilling to stare so brazenly at the noblewoman in her nightwear.

“What is it?” she demanded.

“I have medicine from the Royal Physician, mi’lady,” he mumbled. “For your headaches.”

“Yes, yes,” the noblewoman said abruptly, stepping back. “You’re the apprentice, then? Come in.”

The servant struggled internally, knowing it was improper but unwilling to disobey a direct order, especially once the Lady repeated herself, “I said come.”

He stepped in, but only as far as the propriety would allow -and yet then the lady closed the door behind him. Merlin gulped. “Mi’lady, I’m not sure-”

“Did I ask for your opinion?” she sniffed. Merlin thought she was rather sharp for someone supposedly indisposed with terrible migraines, but then reprimanded himself for the thought. “My brother spoke of you last night. You’re also the Prince’s manservant, are you not?”

“Yes, mi’lady.”

“And you’re by his side most of the day?”

“When I’m not with the Physician, yes, mi’lady.”

She’d perched herself on the seat by the window, and stared at him with a openly calculating look. Her hand came up to touch a golden brooch, wrought into the shape of an intricate knot and pinned right between her breasts and -Merlin dropped his eyes quickly once more. How dare he stare at her like that? How dare he be so…

But it wasn’t the sight of skin that had enticed him to look. He had sensed something from her, hadn’t he…? Something familiar: strength, and a sort of vibrancy, a thrum of energy… familiar, but for the undercurrent of darkness and malcontent swirling beneath it.

…Yet for the life of him he couldn’t place it. He thought hard, but the more he tried to remember the more the familiarity slipped away from him. The Lady Aerona was still staring at him, he could feel it, and so he resolved to forget about it entirely. The Prince was always saying he’d hurt himself thinking so much, anyway. He shouldn’t think so much.

“Do you consider the Prince to be a good man? I’ve heard rumors he can be difficult to serve,” she hissed the words, and he was taken aback by her obvious distaste. “It must be hard, being in his constant company. Intolerable, even.”

“I am loyal to his Highness,” he stated evenly.

“Are you?” the Lady murmured, her question just hovering on the edge of rhetorical. Merlin remained silent. “He’s lucky to have such a loyal follower, then. Many a servant might be tempted to find a different position. My brother is well-known for treating his servants well. He rewards them handsomely for their service... as well as their discretion.”

“That is very generous of your brother, mi’lady,” he demurred as quietly as possible. “But I am not looking for a different household to serve.” He had no desire to leave the Prince. It was his job to serve the Prince; it was his life.

The Lady sniffed again, not seeming put off by his refusal. “Very well then,” she said. “No need to think too hard, but you would be good to remember my words, in the coming days…” She raised a hand to her forehead, murmuring under her breath. “My head is hurting me once more, you will leave now.”

“Good day, mi’lady.” He bowed deeply and backed out of the room, leaving with the distinct feeling that he had missed something in that conversation. There was something strange about the Lady Aerona -but as a servant he was in no position to question the actions of his betters. Once again, he resolved to put it out of mind. He had a Prince to attend to.

Except, the Prince was nowhere to be found. By the time Merlin made it to his chambers (on time, of course), the Prince had already left. The servant didn’t think too much of it; the Prince often went out early on days devoted to council meetings. He liked to experience some activity before he was confined indoors, and so would go for early hunts, or supervise morning drills. It was just, normally, he’d wake Merlin to go with him.

Merlin wasn’t hurt by the fact he’d been left behind. He wasn’t, because that would be foolish. That would be expecting something of the Prince, and Merlin had no expectations in regards to himself.

Instead he spent the day engaged in other menial tasks. There wasn’t much to do inside the Prince’s chambers after yesterday’s cleaning spree, so the diligent servant went around the castle and found all sorts of odd jobs that he could help with. He was surprised by how many varied things that needed doing, and how little he knew of what it took to keep castle running.

He worked with a solemn frown and, thankfully, no one bothered him. They didn’t yell at him or berate him -nor did they praise him (not like he cared if they did), or stop to chat like some of the servants used to do. He might be a useless servant, but he had friends in the castle and they would often take small breaks to chat and catch up.

But, without his wide smile or hapless attitude, it almost seemed as if no one recognized him. Even Gwen walked by him, once, and didn’t look give him a second glance. He went almost completely undisturbed and congratulated himself for his inconspicuousness.

He served the Prince at the night’s feast with no words between them. When Merlin entered his chambers before dinner the Prince barely looked up, like the night before, but Merlin knew by the tightening of his shoulders the Prince knew who it was this time. “Shall I help you dress, sire…?”

Arthur glared and Merlin dropped his gaze.

“No,” the Prince finally said, when Merlin remained locked in his staring contest with the floor. “Leave me.”

So Merlin went to the banquet hall and waited until the Prince came, and stood silently in the background as the Prince entered and ate, and drank and drank and drank. Each time his cup emptied his servant stepped dutifully forward to fill it, ignoring the glare directed his way, until one time he stepped back and Gwen nudged him firmly in the side.

“That’s enough, Merlin,” she said. “You shouldn’t give him any more.”

Merlin gave her a cold look. “I’ll do whatever the Prince asks of me.”

Her eyebrows shot up in incredulity. “Merlin, what-?” She was cut off before she could finish when another one of the visiting nobleman called for her attention. Gwen stepped away but not before sending Merlin a curious, pointed glance.

But Merlin didn’t get a chance to speak with Gwen again; shortly afterwards the Prince (after a severe-looking aside from his father) announced he would retire. His servant followed after him without a thought. He trailed the Prince all the way back to his chambers, at which point the Prince shrugged off all Merlin’s attempts to help him undress.

“Get off, get out-” he grumbled, leaning unsteadily against a chair as he tried to tug off one boot.

“Sire, let me help you with that. If you’d please, sire, just sit down-”

“Stop saying that,” the Prince demanded.

Merlin didn’t wince, schooling his face against the reprimand. “Stop saying what, sire?”

The Prince just cut him another glare. “Whatever you may think, this isn’t funny. Your insolence for… not being insolent, or whatever, I won’t have it. You’re mocking me isn’t… it isn’t…”

“I would never mock you, sire,” Merlin said solemnly. Yet for all his earnestness he only received an unimpressed snort in response.

“Stop calling m’that,” the Prince said, his words slurring in his ire. “Sire,” the Prince added after Merlin bit his lip in confusion; but even as he heard the title, the command, the servant in him rejected the notion entirely. His eyes darted sideways and he shifted awkwardly.

“God,” the Prince continued, shoulders slumping. “I’d never thought I’d ever say that. I thought… Why d’you… always make me…” he trailed off, not seeming to know how to carry on.

“I’d never make you do anything, sire.” Merlin’s response was again in all seriousness, but it only seemed to cause the Prince more distress. His face screwed up into something almost like a pout, something Arthur would never admit to when sober, but if Merlin could have his way he’d tease… he’d… he’d never mention it again, so as to not cause the Prince any embarrassment. “Shall I help you into bed?”

“Do what y’must,” the Prince sighed, his tone sad and resigned. Merlin worried but was very careful not to show it, his face a mask of impassivity, and only hoped the Prince would feel better in the morning.

“Goodnight, sire,” he finally said, once his duty was done and he was bowing out of the room. The Prince was still awake, eyes glassy and staring sightlessly at the ceiling, but he didn’t bother to reply.

*

Merlin had to steady himself as soon as he left his Prince’s chambers, one hand trailing along the wall, bracing him, as he made his way back to his rooms. Maybe, he thought, just maybe he overdid it today… he was just so tired, bone-weary, and that certainly wasn’t the best way to be the best servant, but…

“Merlin?”

He was surprised but too sluggish to jump, or whip around; he turned slowly at the sound of his name, his head listing over his shoulder as he faced Celeste -or Celia, was it? Cecelia? He didn’t remember, but he knew she was one of the girls who worked in the chandlery. He nodded his head and waited for the rest of her question.

“’ello, um. I was wondering… I’ve ‘eard that you were - not that I’m ‘ssuming nothing, you’re the Prince’s manservant, and shouldn’t ‘ave to ‘elp with something so menial, but…” the girl babbled, fiddling with globs of wax that clung to her apron.

“What is it, Celia?” he sighed, guessing the name, rightly so if her smile was any indication.

“Um. Y’see, Erik is my, um, a good friend o’ mine and ‘e said you’d ‘elped in the kitchens last night, of your own accord. An’ tonight I’m supposed to replace all the candles in the banquet ‘all for tomorrow’s feast, but it’s such a big job, y’see and the other girls is ill-”

“You’re asking for my help?” he asked, straightening, feeling the bones in his spine slide roughly into place.

She nodded meekly, and he swept out an arm, signaling her to lead the way. She smiled again, and seemed to take his acceptance as permission to start talking and never stop. It grated on him, but there wasn’t much he could do to stop her; she’d asked for his help, and he was obliged to obey, if not out of duty, then chivalry. After all, as the Prince’s manservant he was the sole representative of the Prince’s household: his honor was directly linked to the Prince’s.

“-and I know you’re from the country an’ all,” Celia went on, unaware he was barely paying attention, “but y’speak so well and proper, compared to most o’ us. Lots’ a people thought you were seein’ yourself above us, always ‘anging around the Prince an’ his knights an’ not us servantfolk. ‘Cept for that Guinevere - but she’s always ‘ad an eye out for a ‘igher station, or so I think. Y’see the way she looks at the Prince-”

Merlin pursed his lips, not sure whether it was the gossip or the thought of Gwen that bothered him the most… although, he already knew Gwen liked the Prince, didn’t he? Still… it wasn’t proper. He’d have to have a word to her; that would be right...

Celia seemed to sense his disapproval, because she quickly changed topics. “-But the past few days you been ‘elping out so much, and not makin’ a mess o’ things at that, well. It’s certainly put you in favor with some folk, and they’ll be certainly tryin’ to win your favor, next.”

“Whatever for?” Merlin murmured. Why would anyone want to speak to him?

The girl giggled. “Everyone knows you got the Prince’s ear. Now that you’re playin’ politic, you’ll ‘ave to be expecting some bribery. Madoc, the King’s manservant -and rumors ‘ave it they’re in relation, if y’know what I mean- he takes ‘em all the time.”

He did know what she meant -and he filed the information of things Arthur was never to find out, ever. It would ruin a part of his heart already broken by Morgana’s betrayal. It was, and always would be his job to protect Arthur, the Prince… yes. Yes, he would always protect his Prince.

Though… -only if he could do it without being meddlesome, of course.

It was sometime after midnight when he was first able to leave the banquet hall. The two of them had been working ceaselessly since the feast had cleared, the work as seemingly endless Celia’s gossiping, and getting out of the room was sweet relief to his ears. Unfortunately he wasn’t headed to bed -he was just going to get more candles from the chandlery.

The halls of Camelot were disturbingly quiet, he’d come to realize. The spheres of servant and nobility were vastly separated, and while places like the kitchen and laundry rooms were bustling even in the darker hours, the rest of the castle was soundly asleep… and strangely deserted. Merlin himself had gone through these halls so many times and never really noticed… but then again, he’d always been so intent, so with purpose as he… on… well, it had been different, then. Merlin had been different. How so, he couldn’t really remember… but it wasn’t all that important anyway, was it? And he certainly wasn’t without purpose now, so he increased his pace, shivering when gusts of cold autumn air occasionally blew through and caused the candle flames to spin wildly.

It was when he was on his way back when he finally ran into someone -the Lady Aerona, stalking through a cold hallway, footsteps echoing and cloak fluttering ominously behind her. For a second the servant had the bizarre urge to follow her, but he brushed the thought aside. Curiosity wasn’t in his nature.

Besides, people stalked the halls of Camelot all the time (that he did know) and no one ever took notice, not even servants. Or if they did, they never said anything. Merlin wasn’t any different; he turned on a heel and walked the other way.

Fortunately they finished their work just a little while later, which was for the best seeing as Merlin was about ready to fall asleep on his feet. He walked Celia back to the servant’s quarters and then went back to his own room, collapsing into bed much like the night before -and waking well before dawn, just like the morning before.

He opened his eyes, and in that split-second between already-forgotten dreams and consciousness, his mind was up and running, thinking of all the thousand little things he needed to do. He didn’t think he could stop thinking if he wanted to, and he stepped out of bed to a fervent rhythm of raw impulses.

Again, he fixed his clothes, mending the holes he’d worn into them the day before. Again, he washed up with a bucket of cold water. Again, he didn’t smile. He followed Gaius’ orders to the letter, keeping his head down and avoiding the worried looks sent his way. He delivered the Prince’s breakfast, this time before he woke. He prepared a fire in the hearth and laid out a set of clothes, and left the room in silence. Again, he went searching for someone, anyone, who was in need of his services, his skin itching with the need to do more.

“Woah- Merlin! Where are you off to so fast, my friend?”

Merlin blinked, coming back to himself, to this single moment in time. “…Gwaine?”

The new Knight was standing in front of him, his crooked smile already slipping away. “Ay, it’s me. But what’s this I see? Merlin, my friend, you look like hell.”

The servant blinked again, too slow. “’m fine,” he mumbled, licking his lips, ducking his head and wondering how he could slip around Gwaine; how he could avoid this sudden, unwanted attention. He was in the courtyard, he realized, and Gwaine was standing with his horse- Gwaine, and Lancelot, and Elyan, and all the other new knights that had been sent out on the latest patrol.

Uther had been sending the patrols out almost constantly, just as fanatically as when Morgana had first disappeared, but this time it was to make sure the witch sisters were nowhere in sight.
There could be no sign of them, especially now, during the council meetings. There had been growing strife amongst the allied kingdoms since Cendred’s death, and Camelot’s de-facto acquisition of his lands. These current negotiations were just the latest attempt to prevent a war Camelot desperately didn’t need.

And so the patrols went out -and the Prince’s unconventional knights were often assigned them, because, though they were new, each had fought the witches firsthand. Their many, long absences also helped keep the other knights (Uther’s knights, those of noble blood) quiet on the matter.

Here they were, however, returned after a week on the former border between Camelot and Cendred’s lands.

They must have just come back, Merlin thought absently, watching Sir Leon trot into view and dismount his horse. It was his only thought; he didn’t think he was able to process much more beyond that.

“You don’t look fine,” Gwaine said, hands coming up to fix themselves on Merlin’s shoulders. He almost collapsed under the weight and Gwaine’s grin faded completely. “You can barely stand-”

“No need to worry about me, Sir Gwaine,” he replied, turning slightly so that those too-familiar hands fell from his shoulders.

Gwaine looked like he had something to say about that, but they were interrupted by the sudden toll of Camelot’s warning bells. Everyone looked up at the echoing sound, as if the danger would at any moment drop out of the skies, and so most missed the arrival of the messenger until he was right amongst them.

“Sir Leon!” the man cried, drawing the attention of all of them. He ran forward and knight came to meet him halfway, and everyone watched as the messenger said something that made Leon frown sharply.

Those first words were drowned out by the bells, but there was a sudden break in the noise that let the rest of his message be heard by all, loud and clear.

“-Prince needs to see you right away! It’s Sir Robin -he’s dead.”

***

Arthur woke with a headache that would kill a lesser man, he was sure of it.

He was quite sure it had been the wine that had done him in -although the whole affair with his manservant could have very well been the cause. God knew Merlin could drive anyone to insanity if he tried hard enough.

But just thinking about Merlin was enough to turn the pounding in his skull up a notch or four. The warmth of the room, usually a comfort in the later seasons, was suffocating. He’d gotten used to waking up to cold rooms, the castle stone leeching the meager heat from the air. Merlin was rarely awake before Arthur, and it wasn’t like Arthur would light his own fire. That would be ridiculous.

It had been years since he’d regularly woken up to a steady fire… though it wasn’t as if it the cold had been all horrible. He’d come to enjoy it, in a way: it made sure that he didn’t sleep in too long, as he’d done when he was young (before Merlin had arrived). It also meant that, upon waking, he was more alert: a good skill for any knight.

He was up now though, and despite the pounding headache, he was operating in full mental capacity. God, why had he drunk so much? Oh yes -because of things he carefully wasn’t thinking about.

Arthur unraveled himself from the tangle of blankets and winced at how they stuck to him, as sweaty as he was.

“Damn…” he moaned, and then groaned again when his tongue moved like sandpaper in his mouth. Stupid, stupid, to drink so much. To let that idiot get under his skin-

No, not thinking about that. Arthur couldn’t afford to now: he would be expected at councils before noon, and he couldn’t look anything less like the strongest champion of the greatest kingdom in Albion. His father had been less than stable as of late, and Arthur had been taking his place in the debates more often than not. The Prince could not let anything undermine his focus -not if Camelot was going to survive, and he to be her King.

He pulled back the bedcurtains and squinted into the stark sunlight. The tapestries had been pulled off the windows -so the idiot had been here. Yet he still had to look around to confirm it; he saw the fire roaring, his breakfast on the table, his tunic laid over the chair.

Merlin had been here, and no doubt left as quickly as he came. It was what any normal servant would do, but in four years Merlin hadn’t been anything close to ‘normal.’ He was still messing with Arthur (he had to be) but Arthur was in no mood to be messed with. The episode last night was… foolishness, on his part. A melancholy made of too much wine.

He wasn’t upset over the strange, distant behavior of his manservant, regardless of how close they’d become. He repeated this in his head as he dressed himself, while he ate and used the time to go over the latest reports from Cendred’s kingdom -Leon and the men would be returning today, he remembered. He’d have to make time to see them in, and talk with them, and…

It had also been many years since he’d had to eat his breakfast alone. When the ache in his head migrated down to his chest, he pushed it firmly back up.

He’d barely made it out his door when he heard the bells.

All of Camelot had to have heard the bells. He cursed under his breath, thinking What now-? His first thought was to head to the throne room, in hopes that his father knew what was going on, but fortunately (or unfortunately, it could be said) the answer came to him in the form of an out-of-breath squire.

“Well, Ewyn? What the hell’s going on?”

The boy heaved a few times more before he could speak. “It’s Sir Robin… sire. He was… found dead… inhisroom…”

The boy was still catching his breath but Arthur was already moving, striding towards the room in question. The young squire scrambled after him, barely able to keep pace, but Arthur couldn’t have time to care. This needed to be dealt with, fast.

“Has my father been alerted?”

Young Ewyn nodded. “Yes… Sir Lucan went…”

Arthur considered this. Lucan and Robin were close boyhood friends, and from Torryn’s lands. This could bode very badly for them, if the death wasn’t natural. “What about Gaius? The Physician?”

“Yes’sir… I sent a page…”

“Good lad,” he answered quickly. “Does anyone else know about this?”

The boy stumbled. “Well, sir, the bells…” he looked guilty, but he doubted it was the boy’s fault. Damn.

They were almost at the knight’s quarters. Arthur could see men, mostly squires and pages, milling about in uncertainty and curiosity. He cursed again. “Has Sir Leon returned?” he asked. The young Ewyn shook his head to say he didn’t know, and Arthur grabbed at a passing servant.

“You! Go see if Sir Leon has returned. Do not return until you find him, and tell him I need to see him immediately. And get those damned bells stopped!”

“Y-yes sire,” the man stammered out, before turning on heel and fleeing towards… wherever servants flee to.

A sharp bark of a command sent all those who were hovering about scurrying away, and Arthur dismissed Ewyn so that he could go into Sir Robin’s rooms alone. His father and Gaius were inside, standing on each side of the bed -the body. He shut the door firmly behind him.

Uther looked up at the sound, and though he didn’t say a word the tight lines of his face screamed his displeasure.

“What happened Gaius?” he asked quietly. The man on the bed appeared as if he was merely sleeping -yet at the same time diminished, as if he’d aged a hundred years in one night. Not that the body itself was old, but there was something about it… Arthur had seen Sir Robin just the night before, and he’d been in good health. As much as the man was a bit of a fool, made more for songs than the sword, he didn’t deserve to die like this…

Then again, maybe he did. Robin had been a relatively new knight, and had come from Torryn’s court as a squire with Lucan and a fellow friend to serve in Camelot. He was untried in real combat and had once, shortly after he’d been knighted, drunkenly confessed to Arthur he was terrified of dying in battle. Had Arthur know of his fears before Robin’s ascension to knighthood, he might have given that other boy (what was his name, Ivan?) more of a chance… but there was little he could do about it, when now both were dead.

Gaius straightened, giving both King and Prince that grave look he often got when things are not as they seem. Arthur cursed twice, and his head felt close to bursting.

“I’m afraid, sires, that things are not as they seem,” he started. “At first glance it might appear to be a natural death, but I noticed some peculiar bruising, and that Sir was bleeding from his gums- a sure sign of poisoning...”

“So he was poisoned,” Uther repeated, not so much asking as demanding confirmation. Arthur held his breath, almost hoping for it, because the alternative…

Gaius seemed to hesitate, looking from Prince to King. Arthur knew Gaius hated to lie to his King, but if there was even the slightest chance that magic was involved, it was best Uther be kept out of it. Arthur knew magic was treacherous, but Uther’s fanaticism was just as volatile, and sometimes just as dangerous. Arthur gave him the slightest of nods, and Gaius sighed in understanding.

“Yes, your highness. It was poison that killed him.”

But regardless of the cause of death, they still had a killer in their midst. An enemy of Camelot -and that could be any number of people, now that Camelot was bursting with visitors from all corners of Albion. And it wasn’t as if they could go about openly investigating their esteemed guests. Damn.

They all turned when the door opened behind them. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief when Leon and Merlin walked in -though the relief was for Leon alone, of course.

“You wanted to see me, sire?” his second-in-command asked.

Arthur nodded solemnly. “Yes. I’m afraid your arrival home has been overshadowed by less than fortuitous circumstances. Sir Robin has been murdered.” He took a gathering breath as Leon stood at attention, waiting for further instruction, and a plan of action fell into place in Arthur’s mind. “I need you to…” and he and Leon discussed logistics; what to tell the men, what to tell the people, how to go about looking into this matter.

Arthur barely noticed when the King stalked out of the room, looking distractedly wrathful, but he couldn’t help but notice the way Merlin edged around the walls of the room, deflecting every attempt by Gaius to draw him into some hushed conversation.

“Gaius,” Arthur finally asked, interrupting older man’s obvious distress. It disturbed him that Merlin was carrying on this irrational behavior with Gaius, who was so much like a father to him. He would have thought was Merlin above that. “Is it possible…?”

Gaius seemed far too weary for his liking. “That magic was involved, yes. Do you notice the way the body seems…”

“Drained,” Leon said, wonderingly, getting his first real look at the body.

The physician nodded. “Correct. I’ve seen such a spell before, and it was a common tool of dark magic. A sorcerer would kill a person in order to steal their vital energies.”

Arthur frowned. “Then why the poison?”

“Separating energy from a living body is dark, very powerful magic. There are few sorcerers left alive who would have such power, if any at all. It is much easier, however, if the person is already dying, and so the soul is beginning to detach itself from the body.”

“And the vital energies…?”

“Will strengthen the sorcerer’s power, if only for a short time.”

“So it’s possible this… assassination was just the first step in a much larger evil,” Arthur theorized. Everyone -Merlin aside- nodded in grudging agreement.

Merlin’s unresponsiveness sparked a raw edge of frustration that had been burning in Arthur all morning. “What do you think, Merlin?” he snapped, a painful twinge in his jaw reminding him of that horrible headache.

He felt viciously justified when the idiot jumped, startled at being addressed. He looked around wildly, as if there were some other fool named Merlin in the room, but sure enough, when there were none to be found, he opened and closed his mouth as if he hadn’t the sense to speak -which Arthur was beginning to think might be true.

“Any grand ideas? Usually I can’t get you to shut about them.”

Both Gaius and Leon gave him reproving looks -rather disconcerting in their similarity, if he thought about it -which Arthur wasn’t. Nor did he care. This morning had very quickly gone to hell and if Merlin wasn’t going to help (like he usually did, a small part of Arthur’s mind whispered), then he could at least have the decency to not annoy Arthur to distraction.

“I-I don’t know,” Merlin stammered, like he was just any old irritating servant. “I… I’m n-not…”

“Merlin,” Gaius said, gently, as if he were talking to startled colt. “Why don’t you go back to my chambers? Get my things together -I want to run some tests and see if I can discover what poison was used.”

The idiot bowed low and ran out of the room, almost knocking into the wall because his eyes were so focused on the floor. Once gone, Gaius turned back to Arthur with yet another sad look. “Sire…”

“Don’t, Gaius. If Merlin wants to act the fool, let him do it elsewhere. We have more important things to worry about.”

Leon was looking between the two of them, thoroughly confused, and if Arthur felt any less burdened he would probably feel that way, too. He did feel that way, but stress always made him short-tempered, and it wasn’t like he could stop and ponder the endless, intricate mystery that was Merlin right now. He could deal with it later; whatever was happening to Merlin would have to wait. It left a lump in his throat and an extra-hard pound at his temple, but it would have to wait.

[ onwards ]