Fic: Mirrored Glass (Merlin/Arthur)
Title: Mirrored Glass
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur (pre-slash - yeah, I know. I thought the same thing)
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: Epi Tag for 01x13
Word Count: 10,000+
Summary: He was supposed to protect his people, starting with his servants and if Merlin believed he couldn't come to Arthur with this then of what purpose was Arthur?
Disclaimer: Merlin and Arthur (in this form, because in this form they certainly aren't anything like legend) belong to BBC.
Beta: lilithilien
A/N: So, this 'little' fic started with the 'little' idea prompted by the conclusion of epi 13. And you know how these things go, you're talking with your beta who dragged you into the fandom kicking and screaming, you mention 'you know, Merlin...' and then it essplodes into this enormous episode tag that you've got to dissect and you're telling it from a different angle and bam, you're at 10k words with no memory of how you got there.
Kinda like those Vegas Wedding Chapels after 12 shots of tequila and an inspired Captain and Tennille duet with a man named Oscar. Or so I hear.
Arthur stormed through the castle, caring naught for the servants and guards who bobbed and curtsied out of his path with jilted inquiries as to his health and recovery. Distractions, all of them, and obviously he was in good health as he was dressed and breathing. Any other details were none of their concern.
Idiots. Camelot was filled with idiots.
And one particular idiot lacked even the best of sense.
The fool had taken a horse. Where in all of Albion had he needed to go so quickly that he hid it from his master - who was more than capable of fight and worthy of company - and departed with such a cryptic message that had, upon reflection, sounded like goodbye?
Arthur could best any man twice his height and thrice his weight, not to mention he was the Prince of Camelot. His name did have bearing and Merlin was his manservant (questionable following this latest offense). It was his responsibility to settle disputes, even if most times the idiot deserved a good thrashing rather than protection.
Scowling, Arthur worried if perhaps Ealdor had been threatened again. Or maybe Merlin was fleeing from a servant girl he'd gotten in trouble. That thought did little to dispel his growing irritation; now he had visions of dark haired idiot children staring up at him with big blue eyes and calling him 'prat'. Multiple children.
What if it was twins?
He cursed as he rounded the corner, honing in on Gaius' chambers. Arthur didn't want to think of his manservant ever fathering children, and the idea was ridiculous anyway. He'd know if Merlin was visiting the beds of a servant girl and Arthur kept him far too occupied to engage in those pursuits. Not that it was intentional - Arthur wouldn't keep his servant celibate if Merlin wished to find himself some skirts to ruffle. But his needs were demanding as the Prince, and Merlin hardly had time for such dalliances.
Arthur stopped in front of Gaius' door as a thought struck him far more painfully than it should have.
What if it was Gwen and that's why she was reportedly in Gaius' chambers?
He considered the possibility for a moment, then laughed it off.
Mostly.
Not bothering to knock, Arthur threw open the door and was surprised to see no one at Gaius' tables. Gaius was always concocting some potion and Arthur really owed him thanks for the miracle juice he'd brewed to save his life. Perhaps he would like a new set of tincture bottles. He would have to instruct Merlin to -
No, he couldn't. That's why he was here. The damned fool had run off without him, doing who knows what and risking his scrawny little neck because he wielded a sword like a girl.
Excluding Morgana, of course. But then Arthur really didn't count her as a girl.
"Gaius?" Light emanated from one of the lower rooms, and Arthur was drawn towards it as Gaius failed to respond. Maybe the physician was ailing - that was something he could excuse his delinquent manservant for and concern grew as he quickly crossed the room.
Arthur was surprised despite having been informed of her location by his guards as Gwen emerged from the room, a finger to her lips while she whispered, "My lord, if you please."
With a sharp nod that he understood the occupant was asleep, Arthur crossed the threshold to look in on Gaius for himself, then stopped in confusion.
It wasn't Gaius sleeping fitfully on the bed.
"She's much improved, actually." Gwen smiled at him while she tucked the loose blanket under Hunith's shoulders. Arthur didn't know which concerned him more, that the woman struggling for breath under the weight of giant pustules was better than before, or that Merlin had not told him she was ailing.
How could he have possibly failed to tell Arthur this in his pathetic excuse for a goodbye? Arthur liked Hunith. She'd kissed his forehead just as she had Merlin's before they'd left Ealdor, and he didn't permit just anyone to kiss his forehead like a favored child. He didn't permit anyone, but he allowed Hunith. Because she was Merlin's mother. And he rather liked her for her bravery. And Arthur didn't know of any other who could understand the depths of his despair over how terrible a cook Merlin was.
"What sort of ailment is this?" Crossing his arms, Arthur dealt with his primary concern, even if it was Merlin's mother.
"I don't know, sire." Gwen dabbed a cloth in a saucer of water and wet Hunith's lips. "But Gaius assured me I wouldn't take ill. Couldn't leave her here alone anyway "
"Yes, where are they?" Arthur's eyes darted about the room, searching for any sign of Gaius or maybe where Merlin had run off to. All he saw were drying herbs and a bundle of rough wool he assumed Hunith had traveled with. Maybe his servant had ridden off to Ealdor to check on the rest of the villagers? But that made little sense if Gaius had said Hunith was safe to tend. "I can't imagine Merlin would leave his mother's side."
"Didn't he tell you?" Arthur could see the moment Gwen understood what she had asked. Her eyes widened and she wrung the cloth in her hands rather than using it to refresh Hunith. "I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't know ... I mean, I do know, I'm sure he meant to tell you-"
"Gwen."
"-because he wouldn't have forgotten and he probably meant to just keep you from worrying after you nearly died-"
"Guinevere," Arthur patiently drew out her name into the four syllables he knew would get her attention and just get her to stop before he threw her in the stocks for frustrating him. Not that he would actually do that - he'd send Merlin instead. But he had no time for her babbled reasoning excusing her friend's actions. And true enough she stopped, lips sealing as though she had more to say but was honoring his request. "Where is Merlin?"
"Gwen! I have the-" Morgana's voice faded away as Arthur turned, refusing to be surprised yet again but growing quite irritated that everyone seemed to know but him. She gave him a once over before turning to Gwen with the shallow dish of porridge and goblet of something fruity - at least that's how it smelled as she whirled past him. "Arthur, you're looking slightly less dreadful. Uther let you out?"
Arthur's eyes narrowed at Morgana's back, for all the good it would do him since neither Gwen or Morgana were paying him much mind as they bustled about Hunith's bed. In fact, he rather thought they were deliberately ignoring him. Him. The Prince. He was short one manservant, he was being ignored, and his shoulder still ached something terrible.
His day could not possibly get any worse.
Right. The court physician was also missing and Hunith was sick.
"Where has Merlin gone?" Arthur tried again, his tone as close to his father's as he could manage without a crown upon his head. He was getting tired of the shared looks and the familiarity between the two women. They didn't even speak to tend to Hunith's cracking skin, just moved about in a perfectly timed fashion which made Arthur wonder in what ways Gwen served Morgana. "He," Arthur frowned, waving a hand in casual indifference because he certainly was not concerned about Merlin in the same manner that Morgana cared for Gwen, "said goodbye."
Morgana and Gwen both straightened with yet another look, but it was not of them who spoke. "My son considered you a friend, Prince Arthur." All of Arthur's attention focused on Hunith in a fairy's breath, heart thumping alarmingly against his chest like moments after a fight, only he hadn't even moved. He barely even breathed for fear he'd miss something Hunith might say, even if she made little sense. Merlin wasn't dead; he was an idiot but not such an idiot that he'd go off and get himself killed. Not without bringing Arthur. Though he had intended to leave for Ealdor on his own. But that had been different. That had been before Gedref.
"Where did he go?" Arthur snapped, looking from Hunith to Morgana and Gwen, who appeared guilty for whatever role they had played in not stopping the fool. The sentry had reported Merlin leaving nearly twelve hours past, but Arthur was a better rider. He could make up the difference, take better routes than what Merlin had most likely taken. The lands of Camelot were Arthur's homeland, he knew them better than even his father. "Why did Gaius not send for me before he left?"
"Gaius left long before Merlin did."
Arthur didn't wait for Gwen to say anything more; he simply rushed from the room with a curse on his lips. Merlin was even more a fool than he'd thought. The stubborn, ungrateful little wretch, had he that little faith in Arthur that he'd run off on a fateful mission without asking for assistance? Arthur would have offered a legion of knights if Gaius' safety was in question. Or gold, had there been a ransom.
Boots stomping as he ran down the steps into the courtyard, Arthur gave little thought to the fact he had no idea where he was headed. He needed a horse, a sword, he could send one of the stable boys to fetch a small parcel of food for the journey, then he'd -
"Gaius?" Arthur could not quite keep the surprise from his voice, though he had no need to question the figure he saw. There was no mistaking - no matter the distance - the slumped figure or the tangled mess of snow-white hair, almost distressingly unkempt for the generally tidy physician. A second horse was tethered to the one Gaius rode, and in a moment of panic unbefitting the crown, Arthur's belly sank to his toes when it was quite apparent that the second saddle was empty.
With complete disregard for how the Crown Prince should or should not act, Arthur shouted for assistance as he rushed out to meet the horses. Gaius hadn't even moved and that was most troublesome. As Arthur drew closer with two knights at his side, his haste was met by a sight he hadn't expected, one that gave him pause. There was an arm wrapped round Gaius' chest. And as the horses trotted forward, Arthur saw the figure seated behind him, a remarkably alive-looking figure who was helping keep Gaius upright.
Merlin.
Relief flared and then vanished just as quickly as Arthur stood with arms crossed, waiting for the horses to approach. He'd done it. Whatever it was that Gaius had gotten into, Merlin had done it. Without Arthur's help. The idea was absurd, and the more Arthur thought on it the more absurd it became, until even the stocks looked too tame for the idiot who rode in looking like a hero for saving Gaius when he had certainly received help from some quarter.
Someone not Arthur.
Lancelot?
Anger scorched the backs of his eyes and Arthur swore he heard one of the horses nicker in fear. Lancelot wasn't even a proper knight, skilled though he was with the blade and braver than most under Arthur's command. He'd fled the kingdom, however, run off on whatever silly quest he believed would make him noble.
Not Lancelot, then.
Merlin appeared to say something to Gaius, and that was enough to distract Arthur for the time as he saw the old man stir. "Gaius," Arthur stepped forward with a smile that wasn't forced and met the horse carrying the two riders. He noted that it was his horse - the fastest and wildest beast Arthur had ever the pleasure of saddling, now acting like a docile twenty-year-old mare. He had half a mind to check to see if Merlin had gelded the beast. Still might, once the idiot had dismounted and explained to Arthur - in great detail - why he had run off with not just any horse, but one that would happily throw Merlin to the ground and trample him just to make sure everything was broken. "You look terrible. Get some rest, I'll ensure no one troubles you until morning."
Gaius returned the smile and nodded with a stiffness Arthur was unaccustomed to seeing in the man who usually moved as spryly as someone half his age. He didn't even respond to Arthur - not out of disrespect he didn't think - but whatever had transpired had taken a high-priced toll, one that hopefully would be remedied by a long night's sleep in a warm bed. Arthur had known Gaius for as long as he could remember and he didn't like to consider what the physician's absence would feel like.
His servant, on the other hand ... "Merlin."
Something was different, something off in the snap of attention to Arthur's face. Frowning, Arthur tried to name it but came up with nothing - except the thought that heroism looked as disastrous on Merlin as Arthur had imagined it would. Perhaps he shouldn't have left behind those that assisted him. "My chambers."
It was almost comical how Merlin's mouth seemed undecided whether to openly insult the crown prince in the company of others or maintain silence. Arthur almost amusedly hoped Merlin would call him a prat in front of his knights, just so that he could be excused for throwing Merlin in the stocks; 'he returned to me looking like a knight after battle' wouldn't pass as worthy, no matter it being truth. The idiot wouldn't have looked like that, if he had asked Arthur to come with him. They might have even made it to Gaius sooner. Most likely would have; Merlin was the most inept tracker Arthur had ever met.
"I beg of you," Merlin finally said, surprising Arthur a bit with the tone which only served to annoy him for feeling any sort of sympathy towards the fool who felt it unnecessary to ask for protection on this rescue. "Allow me to tend to Gaius and my mother first."
"Gee, Merlin," Arthur sneered, annoyance finally giving way to anger as he remembered the delightful vision of health in Gaius' chambers. "Why would you need to do that? Oh, right, because she's ill. But don't worry! She looked much better when I visited earlier." Merlin visibly flinched, Arthur noted with satisfaction, which completely justified him not clarifying that he had been unaware Hunith was ailing until he'd come searching for everyone but her.
"Arthur, I couldn't tell-" Merlin's voice broke before he turned away and a twinge of guilt curled in Arthur's belly, stabbing at him with mini-swords for his cruelty when Merlin was obviously travel-weary. He brought it on himself though, Arthur mitigated, refusing to believe that a suitable reason to fail to inform him of Hunith's illness.
"After I see to mother and Gaius, I'll come." And with that, Merlin rode off with his back as unbending as the thickest of oaks. Arthur could not say a word, so stunned by the audacity of the words that it was all he could do not to roar for the guards to capture and execute Merlin on the spot. His knights shifted awkwardly beside him; he could hear the cloth rubbing against fibers. By the fruits of Albion did Merlin have to challenge his authority in front of his men? It was bad enough in the privacy of his chambers. Honestly, his idiocy knew no bounds.
But Arthur felt no vindication as Merlin pulled up the horse near the steps, dismounted, then struggled to safely remove Gaius. The man was doing nothing to help but tilting precariously to one side. "Go on," Arthur said with a sigh, flicking his fingers in Merlin's direction, indicating to his knights that they were to help. It would serve no purpose to have the court's physician tumble in a dead heap as people stood round the courtyard and watched.
Besides, that quiet part of him with the mini-swords stabbing at his belly reminded him that Merlin would be inconsolable if Gaius were to die now. Arthur didn't want to see that look added to the 'something different' he had seen earlier.
His Merlin wept over unicorns; and Arthur would rather keep it that way.
***
Arthur didn't move when the door whisked quietly shut, just continued to stare out the tower window as he had for hours, entranced by the flickering torches twisting light into the wind. If he moved now, he feared he might strangle the servant standing in the middle of the room for making him wait that long.
For making him wait that long and for deceiving him.
Him. Arthur. The Crown Prince. And Merlin had willfully lied to him while he told him not to be a prat and goodbye - even if he never so much as said the words. Maybe not lied, but certainly had omitted a few key points in his little speech.
I couldn't tell.
No. If Merlin had told him that Hunith had taken ill, that would have raised questions about Gaius. Gaius, who Merlin had run off to save, in an attempt he thought likely to bring his own death but needing to protect Gaius all the same. Gaius, who had cured the incurable in Arthur, and yet Merlin went without Arthur, no matter the danger Gaius was in.
I couldn't tell.
He couldn't tell Arthur, specifically. Gwen had known and Morgana had known, and if those two were nothing else, they were loyal friends to Merlin.
And Arthur wasn't?
Merlin was lucky he had taken so long. Arthur had growled at the servant who had brought him wine and snarled at the one who brought him food and actually yelled some fairly derogatory things at the one who had lit the candles and stoked the fire.
But Merlin had been gone a very long time, and Arthur had plenty of time to let the hurt subside and to actually think about what had been said.
Morgana had helped the Druid. Gwen's father had been killed by Uther's orders for it.
I couldn't tell.
Him. Him. Arthur specifically. Merlin couldn't tell him.
And once Arthur had begun to really think about that, he couldn't help but wonder at the remarkable coincidence: his miraculous recovery, Hunith's ailment, Gaius' disappearance. And then he couldn't help but wonder at all the inexplicable things he'd previously ignored: his father's defeat of Tristan, the snakes suddenly coming to life on Valiant's shield, the Afanc, that mysterious light in the cave...
And then he couldn't help but wonder.
I couldn't tell you. I couldn't tell you. I couldn't tell you. I couldn't tell you.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Arthur scraped a fingernail over the stone window ledge. The gravely sound was the only noise in the room save for the obnoxiously loud breathing of his servant. "Gaius is a sorcerer."
Statement, no question necessary. Arthur knew. And Merlin couldn't ask him for help because of his father's decrees and bullishness when it came to magic, no matter the lives Gaius had saved.
Even Uther's.
And Arthur's.
So Merlin had what, gone off on his own? Partnered up with someone sympathetic? Instead of asking the best, he put his own life at risk. And for some reason that thought made Arthur furious - not at Merlin but at his father, because things could have gone so very, very differently. He was supposed to protect his people, starting with his servants and if Merlin believed he couldn't come to Arthur with this then of what purpose was Arthur?
Arthur turned and took a good look at his manservant. He appeared more exhausted than defensive in the candlelight, shadows bending and curving around the sharp angles until even his hair looked stretched thin and weary. For a moment, just a moment, Arthur was curious what had transpired in the previous hours. What had brought that look to Merlin's face, the one he couldn't identify but was familiar enough that Arthur could recognize its existence? "Why didn't you tell me? Did you think I would throw Gaius to my father?"
"No, Arthur, you-" stammered Merlin, but Arthur had never allowed someone else talking prevent him from interrupting before. Rank had its privileges after all, courtesy or no.
"Did you think I'd give you over to my father for protecting Gaius' secret?"
"No, you-" Merlin's face twisted into something far harder than anything Arthur had before seen, something that would have scared him if he wasn't a prince with no time for such novelties. Hard, hard and bitter, the likes of which should never have been worn on the face of one who cried over unicorns. It wasn't right and he should have been there to stop whatever it was that caused it. That was his duty.
"Why didn't you let me help you?" Arthur couldn't quite halt the escalating volume in his voice as he interrupted yet again, frustrated and angry as he was that Merlin could be so frustratingly stupid some times.
Merlin laughed and threw his hands up in the air, a sure sign that he was just as frustrated, but all Arthur could think about was that Merlin had laughed and that had been most unpleasant. "Because you couldn't help me get Gaius back!"
Because Merlin was trying to protect him of all things. The idea was admirable, but unnecessary. Like he'd said, Merlin looked terrible as a hero. It did funny things to his expression, making him look older, experienced, something that Arthur couldn't quite put a finger on. But it wasn't right on him. And he most certainly didn't need to shield Arthur from Uther's wrath when magic was involved. Satisfied that he was finally getting somewhere, Arthur smirked and leaned against the castle wall. "So you admit he's a sorcerer?"
Merlin's eyes widened in alarm. "What? No, I never said-"
"I trust Gaius with my life!" Arthur pushed away from the wall with his foot, approaching Merlin but staying just far away enough that he could use his hands to prove a point if needed. "I would have joined you!"
"You trust-" Merlin cut himself off, but Arthur didn't miss the scorn in the laughter. Scorn and laughter directed at him, and it was again unpleasant and off-putting. "Do you even...no, of course you don't." Arthur couldn't help but stare speechlessly, feeling as off-balanced as he sometimes did in verbal spats with Morgana. But this time it was Merlin who was making him feel like one sleeve was longer than the other and red wasn't really red but blue. Typically he would have drawn his sword on one who dared to confound him like this, but this was Merlin not acting like his Merlin but some ... other Merlin. "Do you realize what you're saying? Who stood by your father during the Great Purge?"
Crossing his arms, Arthur frowned but played along. "Gaius."
"Then you place your trust in a man who would stand by and watch his friends burn."
Merlin's words hit him with the weight of a dragon and for one horrible moment Arthur couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't even think of an argument that wasn't childish or befit the sixth son of a millworker. His servant appeared remarkably at peace with his words - but then he had not been the target of such cruelty. And they had been terribly cruel - taking Arthur's words and conflating them until if he truly believed Gaius was a sorcerer, then his placement of trust was at fault. And if he didn't, then Arthur's own beliefs regarding Merlin's motivations were false. In either case he was wrong and Arthur loathed being wrong. He was the prince - if things were incorrect he ordered them right.
"You trust him," Arthur pointed out, ignoring every belligerent tone in his accusation.
"Yes."
Arthur blinked, expecting an answer but not one so quick or so emphatic. But how could ... Gaius was a sorcerer. It fit every ... well, almost every situation and unexplained event. There was still Ealdor, and Hunith taking ill didn't entirely fit as why would she be threatened. But Arthur was right. He knew he was. But then how ... Merlin knew something he didn't, Arthur decided quickly before his mind could spin more in disbelief. Something that made it acceptable to trust Gaius despite his faults from twenty years ago. Twenty years could change a man. His father had unquestionably changed since Ygraine had died - not that any said that to Arthur explicitly, but he'd heard stories and knew that his father today would be unrecognizable just twenty-one years ago.
And if Merlin trusted Gaius that completely, despite him being a sorcerer who'd stood by Uther as his companions burned, then ridiculous as it was, Arthur knew where to stand, even if Merlin was just a servant. A servant who'd nearly died for him. And hadn't advised him terribly astray. He was an idiot, but the idiot considered him a friend - so said Hunith, and quite honestly, Merlin was the closest thing to a friend as Arthur had ever had. Before Merlin, he had called his knights friends, but they would die in his place because they had to, not because they chose to.
"Well, you may be the worst servant I have ever had," Arthur prefaced his admission with a couch - he wouldn't want Merlin to think himself above his position and he was already taking great liberties with that, "but I trust you. If you thought Gaius was worth saving, then he was."
"You-" Merlin threw his hand up but aborted the crude gesture Arthur knew he had been so close to giving. Or maybe it was simply exasperation that caused Merlin to turn and pace, quick steps to and fro in groups of three.
For a time, Arthur was entranced by the long, pale fingers curling and uncurling, agitation so clearly written that even an infant could not have missed it. But as the silence grew, Arthur drew back behind his armor and the crown, comfortable and worn like his most loved britches. He was not one to suffer insult; if Merlin cast aside the trust of a Prince, then it was just as well Arthur discover now before he went so far as to call him friend. One treated it as the honor it was, not to disregard as one would passing news of the weather. So while Merlin paced, Arthur straightened, disdain for Merlin's station on every thought as he planned the trips to the stocks and balanced that with his people's needs - he'd hate for them to starve, after all.
Finally Merlin stopped and spun towards Arthur, an amused but taunting laugh on his lips. "You understand nothing."
"You do realize who you're speaking to," Arthur said flatly, already plans for week two growing in his mind. The stocks were too easy and Merlin seemed to suffer no ill effect. He could always reassign him to scrubbing used chamber pots. Arthur couldn't quite stop the smirk at that idea.
"I killed someone."
Rolling his eyes, Arthur ignored the pathetically small voice which had stated the fact. "Don't be such a girl. I've seen you kill many someones." An exaggeration, but he had seen Merlin kill at Ealdor, despite his utter lack of skill with the blade, and this new prattle was most ridiculous.
"No." Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin's defiance - this was definitely worthy of worse punishments. "I killed someone. Not in self-defence or...or to stop them from harming someone."
"You?" Arthur's snort of disbelief was making quick work of his attempts to remain angry at Merlin for so easily dismissing his trust. The idea was ludicrous - this was Merlin, the softest thing this side of any girl save Morgana. Merlin who'd run off without him to save Gaius - if it involved rescue it certainly wasn't murder. His servant had gone mad. "What?"
Merlin was pacing again, furiously walking back and forth in a manner so dizzying Arthur made to stop him but was halted when Merlin whirled and focused all that pent up agitation on him. "I killed someone." Merlin stalked forward but Arthur didn't give any ground; it would take more than Merlin looking frightfully ... different ... to make him move. "I wanted revenge and so I killed her." Arthur crossed his arms, feeling most uncomfortable but uncertain really why as Merlin grew more distressed. "You place your trust in me, and I'm no better than your father!"
His hold completely broke, the sharp bark of laughter that definitely wasn't nerves escaping before Arthur could stop himself, though whether it was his servant putting himself on any sort of level with the King of Camelot or the rather treasonous insinuations he wasn't sure. "Do you want to tie your head to the chopping block or shall I? Because that is where you're headed if you continue this talk." Silently, Arthur begged Merlin to stop, and those damned mini-swords were back, stabbing his belly. Treason, yes. But then he was guilty of treason as well as he pled to all the deities for Merlin to stop the comparisons. His Merlin was nothing like his father.
"Oh, believe me, I had a long, quiet ride to think about this and I am really just like him. And you trust me ... I chose who lived and who died!" For a terrifying moment - and Arthur admitted to himself that it was indeed terrifying - he thought he saw just what this mysterious someone may have seen right before she died. But that was ridiculous. It was just Merlin whose shouting was giving him a headache and he wished Merlin would just stop. "She took Gaius and she tried to take my mother!" Something odd about the phrasing made Arthur pay attention as he hadn't before, Merlin's words making little sense for all they vehemently demanded to be taken as such. "So I decided she had to die."
He stared, he couldn't help himself. Arthur knew that look, that different haunting Merlin's eyes.
It was the same one that stared back at him if he peered into a looking glass following yet another execution of one of his father's pathetically desperate 'sorcerers'.
He'd only started to see it recently, and then quit looking in reflective surfaces altogether when it proved too intolerable to entertain. And now it was on Merlin's face, turning his eyes into the same granite he'd first noticed in the battle-worn elder knights who limped past him in the streets. Once he knew it, once he'd seen it, Arthur saw it everywhere: in the parent-less children of the recently executed he encountered in the villages, in Gwen when she thought no one was watching, even Morgana wore a vestige of the expression.
Morgana would have a name for it, bordering on romantic ideas of simpler times when everything had been one way or the other, and there was none of this mushy mess in between. Like Gaius, the sorcerer who'd stood by the King while his brethren died. Or Merlin, who claimed he was a killer, unmercifully laying down death upon those who defied his law.
His people were suffering, and Arthur had surprised himself by discovering he could blame only one.
But he'd never so much think it, much less speak it aloud.
Seeing it in Merlin's eyes, however, knowing what that look was, did terrible, horrible things to his insides. "Don't be a fool, Merlin. It's ridiculous that you're speaking of yourself and my father in the same breath."
Arthur wasn't sure if it had been what he'd said, or which words had stung so painfully that there was even a need to retaliate, but he'd seen the look before on knights in battle who lost all reason whether it be anger or desperation. And he knew before Merlin attempted his first swing which fist would lead and how high it would cut; it was etched as clearly in Merlin's eyes as if he had vocally informed Arthur of his intentions.
What Arthur simply hadn't been expecting - and only because he hadn't believed Merlin capable of it - was to be dropped to the floor once he'd avoided Merlin's fist and captured his wrist. The shock of striking the floor momentarily stunned him, if only for a moment. Arthur grew genuinely concerned for both his nose and his manservant, two conditions he couldn't say had ever truly concerned him before, not in regards to his personal safety.
"Merlin, will you-" Arthur easily captured both of Merlin's hands, although that had little effect on Merlin's attempts to hit him. His arms still strained and pulled against Arthur's grip, Arthur giving enough with the movements that Merlin wouldn't hurt himself. He tried to use his leverage sitting atop Arthur in a way that might have induced indecent thoughts about his manservant before, but were anything but lecherous now. Arthur had seen this all before too, but that it was Merlin acting like a knight gone raving mad may have scared him, just a little.
"Merlin!" Arthur spoke sharply, trying his best to snap whatever blind circles had trapped Merlin's attention as they struggled; well, more Merlin struggled and Arthur contained. But his typical remedy was simply to strike the knight unconscious, and the one time he had lost himself while fighting his father - a moment as a young boy he'd sooner forget and his father and he never spoke of again - his father had simply shoved him in an empty wardrobe and locked the door, letting Arthur howl in rage until he could no longer speak. Neither choice was suitable now, not when it was Merlin.
Why that made it any different, Arthur wasn't quite sure.
The fight was leaving Merlin; Arthur could feel it draining from him as quickly as it had presented itself, the growl that had been alarmingly fierce before fading to more a whimper, though Arthur held his tongue as now was not the time to taunt his manservant, no matter how tempting. What he did do was use his bodyweight and training to flip their positions in a well-executed roll, straddling Merlin's hips and better controlling the resurgence of strength in the arms he held, knowing full-well it wouldn't last.
"Merlin, stop it." When that failed and Merlin still attempted to both buck him off and hit him, coordination that would have impressed him on any other day, Arthur released Merlin long enough to take hold of his shoulders and thump them into the floor hard enough to make himself wince when Merlin's head struck the floor as well. At least the rug muffled it a bit, but it was really Merlin's fault for going half mad and attacking the Prince. Except Arthur knew Merlin's target wasn't him, not really. "Merlin."
To Arthur's relief Merlin finally stilled, the weak blows at his shoulders and side ceasing as the dawning recognition of what he'd done and where they were at swept over Merlin's face in such surprise Arthur would have laughed if he hadn't felt so dreadfully awful about it all. And he didn't even know why, and that was the most frustrating thing. Nothing about Merlin ever seemed to make sense - Arthur found himself risking his life to save a servant, or going off to defend a village in another kingdom, or feeling remorse for the hunted, or dammit, for entertaining the idea that he might actually be a prat on occasion.
And now Merlin said he'd killed someone - not in defense but in revenge. And while Arthur wouldn't say he'd never do such a thing, the idea that Merlin could broke every last notion of sense Arthur had thought he'd held.
"You idiot." Arthur pushed on Merlin's just to make sure he had his attention - and dutifully Merlin's eyes focused squarely on him, even if guilt and shame lined every angle. It wasn't right - none of it was right - from Merlin's gasping breaths from his struggle to what he had said to his guilt for whomever he had killed. "You've more kindness than my father has ever possessed." Not that Arthur would ever voice that aloud in his father's presence, and he trusted Merlin not to repeat such treasonous words.
"Besides, you're a terrible hunter." Arthur added grimly, not with any real warmth but more of the certain facts that they both understood. "The one you killed - whomever it was - they were no innocent." The words left his mouth before he could question them, but once they were spoken, Arthur knew with certainty that he was right and if he had to make it a Camelot decree to impress upon Merlin how right he was, then he'd go to his father now and have it issued. As it was, lying on the rugged floor with a fire crackling in the hearth, Arthur had no decrees in his hands. Just Merlin, looking bewildered and desperate enough to believe Arthur, and damned if Arthur didn't want whomever it was that Merlin had killed to come back to life just so that he could kill them properly. He'd have no qualms or guilt for his actions.
Merlin was his servant. Arthur was supposed to protect all of his people, but his servants were under his explicit care. That he'd never really been concerned or bothered before Merlin meant nothing. Or maybe it did. Impetuous, disrespectful little fool who'd plagued Arthur's life by making him think. And once he'd started Arthur found himself unable to stop. It was all Merlin's fault for him caring whether or not his manservant let guilt tear him apart.
Then again, if it weren't for the duties performed every day, Arthur would wonder if Merlin was truly a servant at all, for all he failed to act like one.
The gesture was so small Arthur at first thought he'd imagined it, but something just changed and he knew Merlin's nod had been very real. Arthur loosened his grip on Merlin's shoulders but didn't let go, only moderately worried that Merlin would begin striking him again but mostly because he didn't know how to proceed now that he knew Merlin had at least heard what he'd said. Merlin would no longer meet his eyes however, going so far as to turn his head away no matter how Arthur tried to hold his attention through sheer command of will. Didn't work, and it wasn't until Merlin finally started adding 'let go' to his increasing struggles against Arthur's hold that he finally did, releasing his servant as quickly as one would a hot kettle. Lifted himself off Merlin's hips, too, and Merlin rolled away quickly, though he never left the floor. Just curiously curled up on the rug with his back to Arthur, which would have made him most indignant for the slight were it not for the tremors he saw shaking the thin shoulders of his servant.
Arthur bit his tongue, stopping himself from reproaching Merlin like one of his knights. This ... it bothered him more than he wished to mock it and for all he had ever learned, he couldn't call it weak. Merlin was silent, there were none of the great wails of grieving widows or pitiful, snotty tears of opponents who begged for mercy. He'd sympathy for the one and no tolerance for the other. But this ... he wouldn't have understood had he not traveled to Ealdor.
He couldn't help but wonder how many times Merlin had wept in silence in that one-roomed hut, hiding any pain from his mother who slept just a curtain away.
Settling into a crouch, resting easily on the balls of his feet with his arms on his knees, Arthur watched. He took no pleasure in it, no joy in finding something to exploit or a weakness to taunt. If anything, he found himself inexplicably angry, fists clenched without conscious decision. He wished again that this person were alive so he could beat them, throw them in the dungeons, then beat them again and again until they pled for death.
Which made little sense. He'd never have been that concerned had it been the red-haired servant boy who bought him food when Merlin was detained by Gaius.
And also led to another problem. These were Arthur's chambers and he knew he couldn't possibly sleep knowing Merlin lay in the room near the table, silently shaking and alone as he mourned whatever it was he mourned. He could leave his servant there, but he couldn't.
He just didn't know what to do about it.
A flash of inspiration had Arthur thinking of Gwen who would be more than capable (and willing) to help Merlin. Then he remembered she was tending to Hunith and Gaius, as was Morgana. Not that he'd ask Morgana - not that she wouldn't be concerned for Merlin, but Arthur feared her biting tongue in regards to his inability to cope with a crying servant. He'd never hear the end of it, and he could do without that torment as she never failed to find targets to taunt and twist. Which really eliminated all of Camelot's servants as well; loose lips would bring it to Morgana's ears before the next day's nightfall.
Still, Arthur watched, and despite his misgivings, wished Morgana was with him. She had a natural way with people that he utterly lacked and envied, if only within his private thoughts. It wouldn't be suitable for him to admit otherwise. She'd rush into the room in a flowing trail of dress and gather Merlin into her arms, rocking him like Arthur had seen their governess do to Morgana when they had been children. He remembered nights she'd wake up crying, crying for her father, crying for her mother, and Arthur would watch from his doorway as Mary rushed into her room in all her voluminous bedrobes to coddle and coo while pressing Morgana's head against her ample bosom.
Smirking, Arthur also remembered a time, much later in his years, when he'd pressed his lips against Mary's ample bosom for far different reasons.
Tilting his head to study the trembling back, Arthur wondered if that's what Merlin needed. Or even wanted. He glanced down and noted his lack of Mary's ample bosom, questioning whether he would work as a substitute. It seemed like it might be a proper response, but whether or not it'd be well-received ... well, he could always banish Merlin from Camelot before he wagged his tongue. Or have his tongue actually removed and then banish him.
But it was Merlin. And for whatever reason, when it came to Merlin, Arthur found himself doing things he'd never before dreamt.
After a deep breath of what Arthur refused to call courage, he shuffled forward, making quick work of the short distance between himself and the curled figure shaking on the rug. Settling himself behind Merlin was far easier than he'd expected - Merlin hadn't so much as moved - and even though his injured shoulder twinged at the stress, pulling Merlin up and into his arms was remarkably smooth as well.
It was figuring out what to do with Merlin now that Arthur had moved him that was awkward. Merlin wasn't helping, protesting with a flail of hands and nearly cracking his head against Arthur's jaw. "Stop, before I have you thrown in the stocks," Arthur murmured, trying to keep Merlin still by wrapping his arms around his squirming manservant.
Merlin surprised him by doing just as he'd asked, quieting and after a few snuffed attempts to control himself, gave up on that pretense as well. It was almost ... nice. Not Merlin crying or whatever had precipitated the event, but Arthur could see the appeal as Merlin relaxed against him, tears beginning to seep into his tunic so he tightened his arms in what he hoped was reassurance. He would never mock Merlin for this, nor would he ever use it against him. And so Merlin's shoulders continued to quake and Arthur continued to sit, soaking up whatever stress had simply become too much for Merlin's slight frame to contain - in part because he was Prince and it seemed a princely duty, but also because it was Merlin. He might be the worst manservant in all of Albion, but he was Arthur's idiot.
***
Some time between his left leg falling asleep and his arse going numb, Arthur finally made sense of everything that had been troubling him about recent events. Angling his chin, Arthur looked down at his servant's tousled hair, slightly curled and tangled after having gotten wet in the same fashion as Gaius' had, he assumed. Merlin had fallen asleep some time before, his breath evening out until the rhythm nearly made Arthur doze. He would have moved then but he feared waking Merlin who was so obviously overwhelmed; the idea of waking him just so Arthur could climb into bed was almost insulting to consider. Besides, he'd grown fond of sitting near the dying fire, holding Merlin in his arms.
Not that he'd admit it to anyone, but it was definitely nice.
Pieces hadn't added up, especially when Arthur reflected on the past months as a whole, rather than in just fragments of experience. But when one shifted the pieces slightly, like looking through one of those mirrored glass toys he'd had as a child, everything aligned in perfect color.
Merlin. Merlin was the sorcerer.
Not Gaius, as Arthur had initially suspected. Maybe he was as well, but Merlin was the center of events and the only constant amidst all things strange and miraculous, including what had been claimed as Will's doings in Ealdor. It was Hunith, though, the ailing Hunith which had ultimately failed the Gaius theory. The ailing Hunith whose illness wouldn't spread, following so close to Arthur's near-death and unprecedented recovery, and Gaius' impaired return.
Of Merlin killing, not in defense but in revenge.
He should have been stunned and horrified by the very notion. He should have immediately called for guards to drag the sleeping figure away, sleep unimportant to those facing the executioner's axe the next day. He should have been and done a great many things.
Instead, Arthur was aware that he rather thought he'd always been aware, as terribly unsurprising as the revelation had been.
And the fact that he knew now had no remarkable effect on the conviction of his earlier words - Merlin would not harm an innocent. Arthur believed this as deeply as his father believed all magic was evil and needed to be eradicated. A unicorn was a magical beast and yet he would not call the pure creature evil, even if the magic which protected the animals was more cruel than just. Arthur had learned and not forgotten, however, all the lessons taught during that time of great strife, not the least of which being that he would rather his life than Merlin's, for his people or for them both.
He should call for his father and throw Merlin in the dungeons. So many things he should do, would have done had this been just months before, when Merlin had yet to set foot in Camelot and Arthur wasn't aware that there were any questions to ask.
Instead, Arthur just sat with Merlin in his arms, propped against his chest, his hair tickling Arthur's nose if he looked down upon the sleeping figure.
It helped, he figured, that Merlin was unable to respond to the accusation. There were hours before dawn for Arthur to consider his options and think back to all the times in which Merlin had most likely saved his life. Back even to the days of their first meeting, when Merlin had saved him from that vengeful witch. He wasn't a normal villager, and Arthur should have considered it then. And the fool had even admitted to Uther that he was a sorcerer! Arthur snorted at the thought, then quickly quieted himself before he woke Merlin.
Merlin. The most hapless servant in Camelot was a wizard.
If Arthur had been told that days ago he would have laughed in the face of the messenger and sent them off to muck the stables with a spoon for punishment. Merlin, who could not lie to save himself, was apparently lying brilliantly to save himself. And the entire time Arthur had seen but ignored, pretended it wasn't true, or accepted Merlin's story of a strong wind dropping a tree branch on the head of a bandit simply because the alternative was both frightening and absurd.
But it was undeniably true. Arthur would swear upon his mother's name that it was true.
Merlin was a sorcerer.
"I couldn't tell."
***
By the time Morgana burst into his chambers the next morning, Arthur had seven reasons why he should tell his father that Merlin was a sorcerer, and one hundred and twenty-three reasons why he should not. Although, it may have been one hundred and twenty-four, he lost count somewhere around "Merlin's death would bring great grief to Hunith" and he wasn't quite sure if "I want to take Merlin on the table in the middle of a feast" counted as a legitimate reason not to turn him over.
"Arthur, you mustn't-"
Reason seven for turning Merlin over was that the wretched servant had forced him to sit on the floor all night long. His arse was numb and the fire had dwindled to embers far before dawn. He was cold, stiff, and quite honestly his shoulder gave him great pain, though he'd never admit the extent to anyone. And yet another cause for number seven - the shift on Morgana's face from one of fear to one Arthur had seen her use with babies and hatchlings when she saw him sitting on the floor, holding Merlin.
There truly was no justice in the world.
"As you can see, I haven't." Arthur had no idea how Morgana knew what he had been thinking; maybe Hunith had sent her to stop him from turning over her son. In any case, her timing was impeccable if for nothing else than she could help move Merlin, who had yet to wake and was sleeping with the weight of the dead. "Help me shift him to my bed."
Nodding with a flurry of green fabric, she spun and closed the door in a graceful movement Arthur would be jealous of, had he been a girl. Carefully, he turned Merlin about so Morgana could lift his feet and he could slip out from under Merlin, but he hadn't quite worked out how he was going to manage his end without dropping the ungrateful, unaware servant on his arse when he heard Morgana's gasp. "He's injured?"
"What?" Arthur swore and touched the tattered remains of Merlin's tunic over his chest. He hadn't noticed in the shadows the night before, though he supposed he should have asked when Merlin had said he'd killed someone. That implied a fight of sorts, and Arthur hadn't even considered it amidst the yelling and the tumbling. He moved swiftly now, forgetting his shoulder as he timed his lift with Morgana, only moderately concerned that he'd been sitting on the floor all night with a dead man. Merlin had still breathed, Arthur had felt the breaths warming his skin all night - he knew Merlin wasn't dead.
Merlin didn't even stir when they deposited him on the bed, and Arthur heard Morgana's relieved sigh just as loud as his own when they peeked beneath the layers of burnt cloth. Pale skin appeared whole and untouched, just mottled with bruising. "There's a jar of Gaius' healing balm on the shelf." Arthur jerked his head towards the wall he meant, and Morgana moved without question or, thankfully, insult. Tearing the remains of the clothing - wasn't much left but Arthur resigned himself to the fact that he would have to purchase new as he couldn't have a servant dressed in the same tunic every day - he winced at the circular pattern etched in purpled-red standing out in sharp relief on Merlin's chest. It looked like he'd been hit by a damned battering ram.
Whoever Merlin had killed, they had indeed not been innocent.
"Here."
Arthur took the jar from Morgana and unsealed it, ignoring the pungent smell - not quite mint but settling on the tongue just as sharp. No matter how it smelled, he knew it worked, bringing relief to abused muscles and painful bruises. He'd simply never applied it on anyone before, never had cause as his knights were tended by their squires or a lucky servant girl and he'd always ... well, had Merlin. Or Gaius before Merlin arrived, as not just anyone tended the Prince. But if the worst servant could manage, then he could, and while the first touch was an unsure glob of smelly cream, Arthur realized Morgana was not going to laugh at him and Merlin wasn't complaining.
He was touching Merlin.
Albeit in a particularly non-pleasuring manner and Merlin wasn't even awake to feel it. Setting his jaw, Arthur ignored the soft skin beneath his fingertips and concentrated on rubbing the balm into the bruises, taking care not to press too hard for fear of causing further injury. While he worked, Morgana bustled about him, finding a bowl of water and rags to wash away some of the dirt from on Merlin's scraped hands. "You knew he was a sorcerer," Arthur accused, though he didn't mean it as a threat so much as an allegation against himself for failing to see it from the beginning something that Morgana had worked out before he had.
Reason number six stung his pride in particular: betrayal.
And while Arthur could understand the need, given his father's decrees against magic, that Merlin believed he could not trust Arthur with this secret spoke ill of what was to be when he was king.
"He offered his life for yours," Morgana said instead of responding to his accusation, which confused him horribly until he realized that it was confirmation that Merlin had been involved in healing him after the Questing Beast's bite.
His smile dwindled however when he realized that whatever Merlin had initially done hadn't worked and his mother had been stricken in consequence. And then Gaius'? No matter whose life was offered in sacrifice, Arthur grew furious that any life at all had been risked to save his. That was not how he faced his trials, standing aside to permit one of his people - much less his servant - die in his name. He thought he had made that explicitly clear to Merlin on the beaches of Gedref.
Arthur took a deep breath to steady himself, easing the force of his fingers on Merlin's skin when they'd again pressed too hard. What was that, but evidence that his father was correct - magic was evil, fulfilling reasons three, four and five. Merlin had offered his life in exchange for Arthur's, but it had attempted to take Hunith. Such flagrant disregard for order had no purpose in this life; it was but chaos, and where there was chaos there was anarchy. That was an evil upon the people of Camelot and he would not tolerate it in his rule or his father's.
But there had been the unicorn. And defeating the Afanc. Those instances of magic had not been evil (though the existence of the Afanc certainly had), had not led to chaos. And Merlin was central to all those positive outcomes.
"He's convinced himself that he's evil." Arthur wiped his hands off on one of the rags, believing as he had stated the night prior that Merlin himself was not a terrible creature to be killed by the executioner's blade. But his magic ... Arthur was certain he had his answer, but he couldn't deny he was seeking confirmation. And somehow Morgana knew, knew and hadn't spoken a word.
"Not evil." She glanced up from tending the scraped hands and looked pointedly at Merlin's booted feet leaving clodded dirt on the bedding. Arthur opened his mouth to protest - he'd just sat all night on floor! - but she clarified her statement before he could respond. "Powerful."
Arthur's eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms, refusing to move even an inch as he took in the pale, slight body lying on the bed, head turned in sleep and looking about as powerful as a hare. No, not even a full-grown hare. A fluffy baby hare. He'd seen knights run through and dying who still possessed more strength. "Morgana," he chided, "how powerful can Merlin be?"
When Morgana didn't answer, Arthur turned from Merlin to look at the woman who'd ceased cleaning the injuries and simply stared, wide-eyed and solemn as though there were no words to express how ignorant he was. Arthur snorted in laughter, pointing at the figure lying so still upon the bed. "Merlin? You're joking. He's-" Arthur's voice twisted in his throat, turning unwieldy and awkward until it was of no use at all. And Morgana's gaze never faltered, though it turned wary and made Arthur's belly churn like he'd consumed soured wine.
Of course, Merlin would be a very powerful wizard, finding shelter in the one place in all of Albion upon whose grounds he should never have tread. He was an idiot. An infuriating, incompetent idiot who had no more sense in his head than gold in his pouch. His father would take great pleasure in removing his head, or would tie him to an extra large pyre to make him sweat longer before his death. Uther might even turn creative in his manner of execution, reaching new lengths in torture and pain until death was a mercy, just for Merlin.
All that lovely pale skin, lifelessly sprawled in pieces on the courtyard's cobblestones, rivers of red spilling over dark curls into the cracks.
Reasons one and two were cast aside, tumbling like dice until they clattered discarded at his feet as new resolve settled in his limbs. He wasn't conscious of ever making a decision on the matter, but once he was aware that he had, there was no viable alternate path.
Father or not, prince or not, Arthur knew what he must and what he mustn't, as emphatically as Merlin placed his trust in Gaius.
Ignoring Morgana's knowing smile, he moved towards the foot of the bed and began unlacing Merlin's boots, placing them silently on the floor. He gathered the covers from the foot of the bed and tucked them around Merlin as he'd seen Gwen do for Hunith, only he knew it was with far less grace and familiarity.
Maybe ... some day they'd reach that familiarity. He did, after all, still have the vision of taking Merlin on the table amidst a feast. And when Arthur Pendragon set his mind on something, rarely did he fail to accomplish his goals.
But for now, he stood as watchful as Anhora over the pale figure just visible beneath the layers of blankets Arthur had buried him in. Merlin would wake, eventually, and hopefully emerge his Merlin. If not ... "We would be prudent, then," Arthur spoke to Morgana as much as himself, "to guard him from both Camelot and himself."
"Be careful, Arthur, that nearly sounded like wisdom."
Arthur smiled at Morgana's teasing tone, and didn't argue.
If he was going to be protecting Merlin, it was only proper that one of them not be an idiot.
Fin
***
End Notes:
1. I apparently have a need to insert rabbits or hares into my Merlin fics. I blame Monty Python.
2. I apparently also have a need to have Merlin lying asleep on Arthur's chest in my Merlin fics. I blame Bradley for having that chest to lay on.
3. I have a cat named Merlin. No joke. He's nearing nine years old. He's as skinny as BBC Merlin, and just as big of a pain in the ass. The other day, his meow sounded startingly like 'don't be a prat, fetch my cat toy and play with me.'
4. The point of the cat named Merlin reference - I am an Arthurian legend fiend. So my apologies, dear English Professor who helped foster my Arthurian legend love, for absolutely loving and adoring this complete break with everything you ever taught me.
5. Because I like rounded numbers in the end notes (5, 10, 15...) and also to mention that a Merlin POV has been requested by the demanding wench known as my beta, who I will pretty much do anything for save watching german pretty gay boy soaps. So...there may be a companion piece to this yet.
And btw? My beta rules. *loves*
Fin^2
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur (pre-slash - yeah, I know. I thought the same thing)
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: Epi Tag for 01x13
Word Count: 10,000+
Summary: He was supposed to protect his people, starting with his servants and if Merlin believed he couldn't come to Arthur with this then of what purpose was Arthur?
Disclaimer: Merlin and Arthur (in this form, because in this form they certainly aren't anything like legend) belong to BBC.
Beta: lilithilien
A/N: So, this 'little' fic started with the 'little' idea prompted by the conclusion of epi 13. And you know how these things go, you're talking with your beta who dragged you into the fandom kicking and screaming, you mention 'you know, Merlin...' and then it essplodes into this enormous episode tag that you've got to dissect and you're telling it from a different angle and bam, you're at 10k words with no memory of how you got there.
Kinda like those Vegas Wedding Chapels after 12 shots of tequila and an inspired Captain and Tennille duet with a man named Oscar. Or so I hear.
Arthur stormed through the castle, caring naught for the servants and guards who bobbed and curtsied out of his path with jilted inquiries as to his health and recovery. Distractions, all of them, and obviously he was in good health as he was dressed and breathing. Any other details were none of their concern.
Idiots. Camelot was filled with idiots.
And one particular idiot lacked even the best of sense.
The fool had taken a horse. Where in all of Albion had he needed to go so quickly that he hid it from his master - who was more than capable of fight and worthy of company - and departed with such a cryptic message that had, upon reflection, sounded like goodbye?
Arthur could best any man twice his height and thrice his weight, not to mention he was the Prince of Camelot. His name did have bearing and Merlin was his manservant (questionable following this latest offense). It was his responsibility to settle disputes, even if most times the idiot deserved a good thrashing rather than protection.
Scowling, Arthur worried if perhaps Ealdor had been threatened again. Or maybe Merlin was fleeing from a servant girl he'd gotten in trouble. That thought did little to dispel his growing irritation; now he had visions of dark haired idiot children staring up at him with big blue eyes and calling him 'prat'. Multiple children.
What if it was twins?
He cursed as he rounded the corner, honing in on Gaius' chambers. Arthur didn't want to think of his manservant ever fathering children, and the idea was ridiculous anyway. He'd know if Merlin was visiting the beds of a servant girl and Arthur kept him far too occupied to engage in those pursuits. Not that it was intentional - Arthur wouldn't keep his servant celibate if Merlin wished to find himself some skirts to ruffle. But his needs were demanding as the Prince, and Merlin hardly had time for such dalliances.
Arthur stopped in front of Gaius' door as a thought struck him far more painfully than it should have.
What if it was Gwen and that's why she was reportedly in Gaius' chambers?
He considered the possibility for a moment, then laughed it off.
Mostly.
Not bothering to knock, Arthur threw open the door and was surprised to see no one at Gaius' tables. Gaius was always concocting some potion and Arthur really owed him thanks for the miracle juice he'd brewed to save his life. Perhaps he would like a new set of tincture bottles. He would have to instruct Merlin to -
No, he couldn't. That's why he was here. The damned fool had run off without him, doing who knows what and risking his scrawny little neck because he wielded a sword like a girl.
Excluding Morgana, of course. But then Arthur really didn't count her as a girl.
"Gaius?" Light emanated from one of the lower rooms, and Arthur was drawn towards it as Gaius failed to respond. Maybe the physician was ailing - that was something he could excuse his delinquent manservant for and concern grew as he quickly crossed the room.
Arthur was surprised despite having been informed of her location by his guards as Gwen emerged from the room, a finger to her lips while she whispered, "My lord, if you please."
With a sharp nod that he understood the occupant was asleep, Arthur crossed the threshold to look in on Gaius for himself, then stopped in confusion.
It wasn't Gaius sleeping fitfully on the bed.
"She's much improved, actually." Gwen smiled at him while she tucked the loose blanket under Hunith's shoulders. Arthur didn't know which concerned him more, that the woman struggling for breath under the weight of giant pustules was better than before, or that Merlin had not told him she was ailing.
How could he have possibly failed to tell Arthur this in his pathetic excuse for a goodbye? Arthur liked Hunith. She'd kissed his forehead just as she had Merlin's before they'd left Ealdor, and he didn't permit just anyone to kiss his forehead like a favored child. He didn't permit anyone, but he allowed Hunith. Because she was Merlin's mother. And he rather liked her for her bravery. And Arthur didn't know of any other who could understand the depths of his despair over how terrible a cook Merlin was.
"What sort of ailment is this?" Crossing his arms, Arthur dealt with his primary concern, even if it was Merlin's mother.
"I don't know, sire." Gwen dabbed a cloth in a saucer of water and wet Hunith's lips. "But Gaius assured me I wouldn't take ill. Couldn't leave her here alone anyway "
"Yes, where are they?" Arthur's eyes darted about the room, searching for any sign of Gaius or maybe where Merlin had run off to. All he saw were drying herbs and a bundle of rough wool he assumed Hunith had traveled with. Maybe his servant had ridden off to Ealdor to check on the rest of the villagers? But that made little sense if Gaius had said Hunith was safe to tend. "I can't imagine Merlin would leave his mother's side."
"Didn't he tell you?" Arthur could see the moment Gwen understood what she had asked. Her eyes widened and she wrung the cloth in her hands rather than using it to refresh Hunith. "I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't know ... I mean, I do know, I'm sure he meant to tell you-"
"Gwen."
"-because he wouldn't have forgotten and he probably meant to just keep you from worrying after you nearly died-"
"Guinevere," Arthur patiently drew out her name into the four syllables he knew would get her attention and just get her to stop before he threw her in the stocks for frustrating him. Not that he would actually do that - he'd send Merlin instead. But he had no time for her babbled reasoning excusing her friend's actions. And true enough she stopped, lips sealing as though she had more to say but was honoring his request. "Where is Merlin?"
"Gwen! I have the-" Morgana's voice faded away as Arthur turned, refusing to be surprised yet again but growing quite irritated that everyone seemed to know but him. She gave him a once over before turning to Gwen with the shallow dish of porridge and goblet of something fruity - at least that's how it smelled as she whirled past him. "Arthur, you're looking slightly less dreadful. Uther let you out?"
Arthur's eyes narrowed at Morgana's back, for all the good it would do him since neither Gwen or Morgana were paying him much mind as they bustled about Hunith's bed. In fact, he rather thought they were deliberately ignoring him. Him. The Prince. He was short one manservant, he was being ignored, and his shoulder still ached something terrible.
His day could not possibly get any worse.
Right. The court physician was also missing and Hunith was sick.
"Where has Merlin gone?" Arthur tried again, his tone as close to his father's as he could manage without a crown upon his head. He was getting tired of the shared looks and the familiarity between the two women. They didn't even speak to tend to Hunith's cracking skin, just moved about in a perfectly timed fashion which made Arthur wonder in what ways Gwen served Morgana. "He," Arthur frowned, waving a hand in casual indifference because he certainly was not concerned about Merlin in the same manner that Morgana cared for Gwen, "said goodbye."
Morgana and Gwen both straightened with yet another look, but it was not of them who spoke. "My son considered you a friend, Prince Arthur." All of Arthur's attention focused on Hunith in a fairy's breath, heart thumping alarmingly against his chest like moments after a fight, only he hadn't even moved. He barely even breathed for fear he'd miss something Hunith might say, even if she made little sense. Merlin wasn't dead; he was an idiot but not such an idiot that he'd go off and get himself killed. Not without bringing Arthur. Though he had intended to leave for Ealdor on his own. But that had been different. That had been before Gedref.
"Where did he go?" Arthur snapped, looking from Hunith to Morgana and Gwen, who appeared guilty for whatever role they had played in not stopping the fool. The sentry had reported Merlin leaving nearly twelve hours past, but Arthur was a better rider. He could make up the difference, take better routes than what Merlin had most likely taken. The lands of Camelot were Arthur's homeland, he knew them better than even his father. "Why did Gaius not send for me before he left?"
"Gaius left long before Merlin did."
Arthur didn't wait for Gwen to say anything more; he simply rushed from the room with a curse on his lips. Merlin was even more a fool than he'd thought. The stubborn, ungrateful little wretch, had he that little faith in Arthur that he'd run off on a fateful mission without asking for assistance? Arthur would have offered a legion of knights if Gaius' safety was in question. Or gold, had there been a ransom.
Boots stomping as he ran down the steps into the courtyard, Arthur gave little thought to the fact he had no idea where he was headed. He needed a horse, a sword, he could send one of the stable boys to fetch a small parcel of food for the journey, then he'd -
"Gaius?" Arthur could not quite keep the surprise from his voice, though he had no need to question the figure he saw. There was no mistaking - no matter the distance - the slumped figure or the tangled mess of snow-white hair, almost distressingly unkempt for the generally tidy physician. A second horse was tethered to the one Gaius rode, and in a moment of panic unbefitting the crown, Arthur's belly sank to his toes when it was quite apparent that the second saddle was empty.
With complete disregard for how the Crown Prince should or should not act, Arthur shouted for assistance as he rushed out to meet the horses. Gaius hadn't even moved and that was most troublesome. As Arthur drew closer with two knights at his side, his haste was met by a sight he hadn't expected, one that gave him pause. There was an arm wrapped round Gaius' chest. And as the horses trotted forward, Arthur saw the figure seated behind him, a remarkably alive-looking figure who was helping keep Gaius upright.
Merlin.
Relief flared and then vanished just as quickly as Arthur stood with arms crossed, waiting for the horses to approach. He'd done it. Whatever it was that Gaius had gotten into, Merlin had done it. Without Arthur's help. The idea was absurd, and the more Arthur thought on it the more absurd it became, until even the stocks looked too tame for the idiot who rode in looking like a hero for saving Gaius when he had certainly received help from some quarter.
Someone not Arthur.
Lancelot?
Anger scorched the backs of his eyes and Arthur swore he heard one of the horses nicker in fear. Lancelot wasn't even a proper knight, skilled though he was with the blade and braver than most under Arthur's command. He'd fled the kingdom, however, run off on whatever silly quest he believed would make him noble.
Not Lancelot, then.
Merlin appeared to say something to Gaius, and that was enough to distract Arthur for the time as he saw the old man stir. "Gaius," Arthur stepped forward with a smile that wasn't forced and met the horse carrying the two riders. He noted that it was his horse - the fastest and wildest beast Arthur had ever the pleasure of saddling, now acting like a docile twenty-year-old mare. He had half a mind to check to see if Merlin had gelded the beast. Still might, once the idiot had dismounted and explained to Arthur - in great detail - why he had run off with not just any horse, but one that would happily throw Merlin to the ground and trample him just to make sure everything was broken. "You look terrible. Get some rest, I'll ensure no one troubles you until morning."
Gaius returned the smile and nodded with a stiffness Arthur was unaccustomed to seeing in the man who usually moved as spryly as someone half his age. He didn't even respond to Arthur - not out of disrespect he didn't think - but whatever had transpired had taken a high-priced toll, one that hopefully would be remedied by a long night's sleep in a warm bed. Arthur had known Gaius for as long as he could remember and he didn't like to consider what the physician's absence would feel like.
His servant, on the other hand ... "Merlin."
Something was different, something off in the snap of attention to Arthur's face. Frowning, Arthur tried to name it but came up with nothing - except the thought that heroism looked as disastrous on Merlin as Arthur had imagined it would. Perhaps he shouldn't have left behind those that assisted him. "My chambers."
It was almost comical how Merlin's mouth seemed undecided whether to openly insult the crown prince in the company of others or maintain silence. Arthur almost amusedly hoped Merlin would call him a prat in front of his knights, just so that he could be excused for throwing Merlin in the stocks; 'he returned to me looking like a knight after battle' wouldn't pass as worthy, no matter it being truth. The idiot wouldn't have looked like that, if he had asked Arthur to come with him. They might have even made it to Gaius sooner. Most likely would have; Merlin was the most inept tracker Arthur had ever met.
"I beg of you," Merlin finally said, surprising Arthur a bit with the tone which only served to annoy him for feeling any sort of sympathy towards the fool who felt it unnecessary to ask for protection on this rescue. "Allow me to tend to Gaius and my mother first."
"Gee, Merlin," Arthur sneered, annoyance finally giving way to anger as he remembered the delightful vision of health in Gaius' chambers. "Why would you need to do that? Oh, right, because she's ill. But don't worry! She looked much better when I visited earlier." Merlin visibly flinched, Arthur noted with satisfaction, which completely justified him not clarifying that he had been unaware Hunith was ailing until he'd come searching for everyone but her.
"Arthur, I couldn't tell-" Merlin's voice broke before he turned away and a twinge of guilt curled in Arthur's belly, stabbing at him with mini-swords for his cruelty when Merlin was obviously travel-weary. He brought it on himself though, Arthur mitigated, refusing to believe that a suitable reason to fail to inform him of Hunith's illness.
"After I see to mother and Gaius, I'll come." And with that, Merlin rode off with his back as unbending as the thickest of oaks. Arthur could not say a word, so stunned by the audacity of the words that it was all he could do not to roar for the guards to capture and execute Merlin on the spot. His knights shifted awkwardly beside him; he could hear the cloth rubbing against fibers. By the fruits of Albion did Merlin have to challenge his authority in front of his men? It was bad enough in the privacy of his chambers. Honestly, his idiocy knew no bounds.
But Arthur felt no vindication as Merlin pulled up the horse near the steps, dismounted, then struggled to safely remove Gaius. The man was doing nothing to help but tilting precariously to one side. "Go on," Arthur said with a sigh, flicking his fingers in Merlin's direction, indicating to his knights that they were to help. It would serve no purpose to have the court's physician tumble in a dead heap as people stood round the courtyard and watched.
Besides, that quiet part of him with the mini-swords stabbing at his belly reminded him that Merlin would be inconsolable if Gaius were to die now. Arthur didn't want to see that look added to the 'something different' he had seen earlier.
His Merlin wept over unicorns; and Arthur would rather keep it that way.
***
Arthur didn't move when the door whisked quietly shut, just continued to stare out the tower window as he had for hours, entranced by the flickering torches twisting light into the wind. If he moved now, he feared he might strangle the servant standing in the middle of the room for making him wait that long.
For making him wait that long and for deceiving him.
Him. Arthur. The Crown Prince. And Merlin had willfully lied to him while he told him not to be a prat and goodbye - even if he never so much as said the words. Maybe not lied, but certainly had omitted a few key points in his little speech.
I couldn't tell.
No. If Merlin had told him that Hunith had taken ill, that would have raised questions about Gaius. Gaius, who Merlin had run off to save, in an attempt he thought likely to bring his own death but needing to protect Gaius all the same. Gaius, who had cured the incurable in Arthur, and yet Merlin went without Arthur, no matter the danger Gaius was in.
I couldn't tell.
He couldn't tell Arthur, specifically. Gwen had known and Morgana had known, and if those two were nothing else, they were loyal friends to Merlin.
And Arthur wasn't?
Merlin was lucky he had taken so long. Arthur had growled at the servant who had brought him wine and snarled at the one who brought him food and actually yelled some fairly derogatory things at the one who had lit the candles and stoked the fire.
But Merlin had been gone a very long time, and Arthur had plenty of time to let the hurt subside and to actually think about what had been said.
Morgana had helped the Druid. Gwen's father had been killed by Uther's orders for it.
I couldn't tell.
Him. Him. Arthur specifically. Merlin couldn't tell him.
And once Arthur had begun to really think about that, he couldn't help but wonder at the remarkable coincidence: his miraculous recovery, Hunith's ailment, Gaius' disappearance. And then he couldn't help but wonder at all the inexplicable things he'd previously ignored: his father's defeat of Tristan, the snakes suddenly coming to life on Valiant's shield, the Afanc, that mysterious light in the cave...
And then he couldn't help but wonder.
I couldn't tell you. I couldn't tell you. I couldn't tell you. I couldn't tell you.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Arthur scraped a fingernail over the stone window ledge. The gravely sound was the only noise in the room save for the obnoxiously loud breathing of his servant. "Gaius is a sorcerer."
Statement, no question necessary. Arthur knew. And Merlin couldn't ask him for help because of his father's decrees and bullishness when it came to magic, no matter the lives Gaius had saved.
Even Uther's.
And Arthur's.
So Merlin had what, gone off on his own? Partnered up with someone sympathetic? Instead of asking the best, he put his own life at risk. And for some reason that thought made Arthur furious - not at Merlin but at his father, because things could have gone so very, very differently. He was supposed to protect his people, starting with his servants and if Merlin believed he couldn't come to Arthur with this then of what purpose was Arthur?
Arthur turned and took a good look at his manservant. He appeared more exhausted than defensive in the candlelight, shadows bending and curving around the sharp angles until even his hair looked stretched thin and weary. For a moment, just a moment, Arthur was curious what had transpired in the previous hours. What had brought that look to Merlin's face, the one he couldn't identify but was familiar enough that Arthur could recognize its existence? "Why didn't you tell me? Did you think I would throw Gaius to my father?"
"No, Arthur, you-" stammered Merlin, but Arthur had never allowed someone else talking prevent him from interrupting before. Rank had its privileges after all, courtesy or no.
"Did you think I'd give you over to my father for protecting Gaius' secret?"
"No, you-" Merlin's face twisted into something far harder than anything Arthur had before seen, something that would have scared him if he wasn't a prince with no time for such novelties. Hard, hard and bitter, the likes of which should never have been worn on the face of one who cried over unicorns. It wasn't right and he should have been there to stop whatever it was that caused it. That was his duty.
"Why didn't you let me help you?" Arthur couldn't quite halt the escalating volume in his voice as he interrupted yet again, frustrated and angry as he was that Merlin could be so frustratingly stupid some times.
Merlin laughed and threw his hands up in the air, a sure sign that he was just as frustrated, but all Arthur could think about was that Merlin had laughed and that had been most unpleasant. "Because you couldn't help me get Gaius back!"
Because Merlin was trying to protect him of all things. The idea was admirable, but unnecessary. Like he'd said, Merlin looked terrible as a hero. It did funny things to his expression, making him look older, experienced, something that Arthur couldn't quite put a finger on. But it wasn't right on him. And he most certainly didn't need to shield Arthur from Uther's wrath when magic was involved. Satisfied that he was finally getting somewhere, Arthur smirked and leaned against the castle wall. "So you admit he's a sorcerer?"
Merlin's eyes widened in alarm. "What? No, I never said-"
"I trust Gaius with my life!" Arthur pushed away from the wall with his foot, approaching Merlin but staying just far away enough that he could use his hands to prove a point if needed. "I would have joined you!"
"You trust-" Merlin cut himself off, but Arthur didn't miss the scorn in the laughter. Scorn and laughter directed at him, and it was again unpleasant and off-putting. "Do you even...no, of course you don't." Arthur couldn't help but stare speechlessly, feeling as off-balanced as he sometimes did in verbal spats with Morgana. But this time it was Merlin who was making him feel like one sleeve was longer than the other and red wasn't really red but blue. Typically he would have drawn his sword on one who dared to confound him like this, but this was Merlin not acting like his Merlin but some ... other Merlin. "Do you realize what you're saying? Who stood by your father during the Great Purge?"
Crossing his arms, Arthur frowned but played along. "Gaius."
"Then you place your trust in a man who would stand by and watch his friends burn."
Merlin's words hit him with the weight of a dragon and for one horrible moment Arthur couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't even think of an argument that wasn't childish or befit the sixth son of a millworker. His servant appeared remarkably at peace with his words - but then he had not been the target of such cruelty. And they had been terribly cruel - taking Arthur's words and conflating them until if he truly believed Gaius was a sorcerer, then his placement of trust was at fault. And if he didn't, then Arthur's own beliefs regarding Merlin's motivations were false. In either case he was wrong and Arthur loathed being wrong. He was the prince - if things were incorrect he ordered them right.
"You trust him," Arthur pointed out, ignoring every belligerent tone in his accusation.
"Yes."
Arthur blinked, expecting an answer but not one so quick or so emphatic. But how could ... Gaius was a sorcerer. It fit every ... well, almost every situation and unexplained event. There was still Ealdor, and Hunith taking ill didn't entirely fit as why would she be threatened. But Arthur was right. He knew he was. But then how ... Merlin knew something he didn't, Arthur decided quickly before his mind could spin more in disbelief. Something that made it acceptable to trust Gaius despite his faults from twenty years ago. Twenty years could change a man. His father had unquestionably changed since Ygraine had died - not that any said that to Arthur explicitly, but he'd heard stories and knew that his father today would be unrecognizable just twenty-one years ago.
And if Merlin trusted Gaius that completely, despite him being a sorcerer who'd stood by Uther as his companions burned, then ridiculous as it was, Arthur knew where to stand, even if Merlin was just a servant. A servant who'd nearly died for him. And hadn't advised him terribly astray. He was an idiot, but the idiot considered him a friend - so said Hunith, and quite honestly, Merlin was the closest thing to a friend as Arthur had ever had. Before Merlin, he had called his knights friends, but they would die in his place because they had to, not because they chose to.
"Well, you may be the worst servant I have ever had," Arthur prefaced his admission with a couch - he wouldn't want Merlin to think himself above his position and he was already taking great liberties with that, "but I trust you. If you thought Gaius was worth saving, then he was."
"You-" Merlin threw his hand up but aborted the crude gesture Arthur knew he had been so close to giving. Or maybe it was simply exasperation that caused Merlin to turn and pace, quick steps to and fro in groups of three.
For a time, Arthur was entranced by the long, pale fingers curling and uncurling, agitation so clearly written that even an infant could not have missed it. But as the silence grew, Arthur drew back behind his armor and the crown, comfortable and worn like his most loved britches. He was not one to suffer insult; if Merlin cast aside the trust of a Prince, then it was just as well Arthur discover now before he went so far as to call him friend. One treated it as the honor it was, not to disregard as one would passing news of the weather. So while Merlin paced, Arthur straightened, disdain for Merlin's station on every thought as he planned the trips to the stocks and balanced that with his people's needs - he'd hate for them to starve, after all.
Finally Merlin stopped and spun towards Arthur, an amused but taunting laugh on his lips. "You understand nothing."
"You do realize who you're speaking to," Arthur said flatly, already plans for week two growing in his mind. The stocks were too easy and Merlin seemed to suffer no ill effect. He could always reassign him to scrubbing used chamber pots. Arthur couldn't quite stop the smirk at that idea.
"I killed someone."
Rolling his eyes, Arthur ignored the pathetically small voice which had stated the fact. "Don't be such a girl. I've seen you kill many someones." An exaggeration, but he had seen Merlin kill at Ealdor, despite his utter lack of skill with the blade, and this new prattle was most ridiculous.
"No." Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin's defiance - this was definitely worthy of worse punishments. "I killed someone. Not in self-defence or...or to stop them from harming someone."
"You?" Arthur's snort of disbelief was making quick work of his attempts to remain angry at Merlin for so easily dismissing his trust. The idea was ludicrous - this was Merlin, the softest thing this side of any girl save Morgana. Merlin who'd run off without him to save Gaius - if it involved rescue it certainly wasn't murder. His servant had gone mad. "What?"
Merlin was pacing again, furiously walking back and forth in a manner so dizzying Arthur made to stop him but was halted when Merlin whirled and focused all that pent up agitation on him. "I killed someone." Merlin stalked forward but Arthur didn't give any ground; it would take more than Merlin looking frightfully ... different ... to make him move. "I wanted revenge and so I killed her." Arthur crossed his arms, feeling most uncomfortable but uncertain really why as Merlin grew more distressed. "You place your trust in me, and I'm no better than your father!"
His hold completely broke, the sharp bark of laughter that definitely wasn't nerves escaping before Arthur could stop himself, though whether it was his servant putting himself on any sort of level with the King of Camelot or the rather treasonous insinuations he wasn't sure. "Do you want to tie your head to the chopping block or shall I? Because that is where you're headed if you continue this talk." Silently, Arthur begged Merlin to stop, and those damned mini-swords were back, stabbing his belly. Treason, yes. But then he was guilty of treason as well as he pled to all the deities for Merlin to stop the comparisons. His Merlin was nothing like his father.
"Oh, believe me, I had a long, quiet ride to think about this and I am really just like him. And you trust me ... I chose who lived and who died!" For a terrifying moment - and Arthur admitted to himself that it was indeed terrifying - he thought he saw just what this mysterious someone may have seen right before she died. But that was ridiculous. It was just Merlin whose shouting was giving him a headache and he wished Merlin would just stop. "She took Gaius and she tried to take my mother!" Something odd about the phrasing made Arthur pay attention as he hadn't before, Merlin's words making little sense for all they vehemently demanded to be taken as such. "So I decided she had to die."
He stared, he couldn't help himself. Arthur knew that look, that different haunting Merlin's eyes.
It was the same one that stared back at him if he peered into a looking glass following yet another execution of one of his father's pathetically desperate 'sorcerers'.
He'd only started to see it recently, and then quit looking in reflective surfaces altogether when it proved too intolerable to entertain. And now it was on Merlin's face, turning his eyes into the same granite he'd first noticed in the battle-worn elder knights who limped past him in the streets. Once he knew it, once he'd seen it, Arthur saw it everywhere: in the parent-less children of the recently executed he encountered in the villages, in Gwen when she thought no one was watching, even Morgana wore a vestige of the expression.
Morgana would have a name for it, bordering on romantic ideas of simpler times when everything had been one way or the other, and there was none of this mushy mess in between. Like Gaius, the sorcerer who'd stood by the King while his brethren died. Or Merlin, who claimed he was a killer, unmercifully laying down death upon those who defied his law.
His people were suffering, and Arthur had surprised himself by discovering he could blame only one.
But he'd never so much think it, much less speak it aloud.
Seeing it in Merlin's eyes, however, knowing what that look was, did terrible, horrible things to his insides. "Don't be a fool, Merlin. It's ridiculous that you're speaking of yourself and my father in the same breath."
Arthur wasn't sure if it had been what he'd said, or which words had stung so painfully that there was even a need to retaliate, but he'd seen the look before on knights in battle who lost all reason whether it be anger or desperation. And he knew before Merlin attempted his first swing which fist would lead and how high it would cut; it was etched as clearly in Merlin's eyes as if he had vocally informed Arthur of his intentions.
What Arthur simply hadn't been expecting - and only because he hadn't believed Merlin capable of it - was to be dropped to the floor once he'd avoided Merlin's fist and captured his wrist. The shock of striking the floor momentarily stunned him, if only for a moment. Arthur grew genuinely concerned for both his nose and his manservant, two conditions he couldn't say had ever truly concerned him before, not in regards to his personal safety.
"Merlin, will you-" Arthur easily captured both of Merlin's hands, although that had little effect on Merlin's attempts to hit him. His arms still strained and pulled against Arthur's grip, Arthur giving enough with the movements that Merlin wouldn't hurt himself. He tried to use his leverage sitting atop Arthur in a way that might have induced indecent thoughts about his manservant before, but were anything but lecherous now. Arthur had seen this all before too, but that it was Merlin acting like a knight gone raving mad may have scared him, just a little.
"Merlin!" Arthur spoke sharply, trying his best to snap whatever blind circles had trapped Merlin's attention as they struggled; well, more Merlin struggled and Arthur contained. But his typical remedy was simply to strike the knight unconscious, and the one time he had lost himself while fighting his father - a moment as a young boy he'd sooner forget and his father and he never spoke of again - his father had simply shoved him in an empty wardrobe and locked the door, letting Arthur howl in rage until he could no longer speak. Neither choice was suitable now, not when it was Merlin.
Why that made it any different, Arthur wasn't quite sure.
The fight was leaving Merlin; Arthur could feel it draining from him as quickly as it had presented itself, the growl that had been alarmingly fierce before fading to more a whimper, though Arthur held his tongue as now was not the time to taunt his manservant, no matter how tempting. What he did do was use his bodyweight and training to flip their positions in a well-executed roll, straddling Merlin's hips and better controlling the resurgence of strength in the arms he held, knowing full-well it wouldn't last.
"Merlin, stop it." When that failed and Merlin still attempted to both buck him off and hit him, coordination that would have impressed him on any other day, Arthur released Merlin long enough to take hold of his shoulders and thump them into the floor hard enough to make himself wince when Merlin's head struck the floor as well. At least the rug muffled it a bit, but it was really Merlin's fault for going half mad and attacking the Prince. Except Arthur knew Merlin's target wasn't him, not really. "Merlin."
To Arthur's relief Merlin finally stilled, the weak blows at his shoulders and side ceasing as the dawning recognition of what he'd done and where they were at swept over Merlin's face in such surprise Arthur would have laughed if he hadn't felt so dreadfully awful about it all. And he didn't even know why, and that was the most frustrating thing. Nothing about Merlin ever seemed to make sense - Arthur found himself risking his life to save a servant, or going off to defend a village in another kingdom, or feeling remorse for the hunted, or dammit, for entertaining the idea that he might actually be a prat on occasion.
And now Merlin said he'd killed someone - not in defense but in revenge. And while Arthur wouldn't say he'd never do such a thing, the idea that Merlin could broke every last notion of sense Arthur had thought he'd held.
"You idiot." Arthur pushed on Merlin's just to make sure he had his attention - and dutifully Merlin's eyes focused squarely on him, even if guilt and shame lined every angle. It wasn't right - none of it was right - from Merlin's gasping breaths from his struggle to what he had said to his guilt for whomever he had killed. "You've more kindness than my father has ever possessed." Not that Arthur would ever voice that aloud in his father's presence, and he trusted Merlin not to repeat such treasonous words.
"Besides, you're a terrible hunter." Arthur added grimly, not with any real warmth but more of the certain facts that they both understood. "The one you killed - whomever it was - they were no innocent." The words left his mouth before he could question them, but once they were spoken, Arthur knew with certainty that he was right and if he had to make it a Camelot decree to impress upon Merlin how right he was, then he'd go to his father now and have it issued. As it was, lying on the rugged floor with a fire crackling in the hearth, Arthur had no decrees in his hands. Just Merlin, looking bewildered and desperate enough to believe Arthur, and damned if Arthur didn't want whomever it was that Merlin had killed to come back to life just so that he could kill them properly. He'd have no qualms or guilt for his actions.
Merlin was his servant. Arthur was supposed to protect all of his people, but his servants were under his explicit care. That he'd never really been concerned or bothered before Merlin meant nothing. Or maybe it did. Impetuous, disrespectful little fool who'd plagued Arthur's life by making him think. And once he'd started Arthur found himself unable to stop. It was all Merlin's fault for him caring whether or not his manservant let guilt tear him apart.
Then again, if it weren't for the duties performed every day, Arthur would wonder if Merlin was truly a servant at all, for all he failed to act like one.
The gesture was so small Arthur at first thought he'd imagined it, but something just changed and he knew Merlin's nod had been very real. Arthur loosened his grip on Merlin's shoulders but didn't let go, only moderately worried that Merlin would begin striking him again but mostly because he didn't know how to proceed now that he knew Merlin had at least heard what he'd said. Merlin would no longer meet his eyes however, going so far as to turn his head away no matter how Arthur tried to hold his attention through sheer command of will. Didn't work, and it wasn't until Merlin finally started adding 'let go' to his increasing struggles against Arthur's hold that he finally did, releasing his servant as quickly as one would a hot kettle. Lifted himself off Merlin's hips, too, and Merlin rolled away quickly, though he never left the floor. Just curiously curled up on the rug with his back to Arthur, which would have made him most indignant for the slight were it not for the tremors he saw shaking the thin shoulders of his servant.
Arthur bit his tongue, stopping himself from reproaching Merlin like one of his knights. This ... it bothered him more than he wished to mock it and for all he had ever learned, he couldn't call it weak. Merlin was silent, there were none of the great wails of grieving widows or pitiful, snotty tears of opponents who begged for mercy. He'd sympathy for the one and no tolerance for the other. But this ... he wouldn't have understood had he not traveled to Ealdor.
He couldn't help but wonder how many times Merlin had wept in silence in that one-roomed hut, hiding any pain from his mother who slept just a curtain away.
Settling into a crouch, resting easily on the balls of his feet with his arms on his knees, Arthur watched. He took no pleasure in it, no joy in finding something to exploit or a weakness to taunt. If anything, he found himself inexplicably angry, fists clenched without conscious decision. He wished again that this person were alive so he could beat them, throw them in the dungeons, then beat them again and again until they pled for death.
Which made little sense. He'd never have been that concerned had it been the red-haired servant boy who bought him food when Merlin was detained by Gaius.
And also led to another problem. These were Arthur's chambers and he knew he couldn't possibly sleep knowing Merlin lay in the room near the table, silently shaking and alone as he mourned whatever it was he mourned. He could leave his servant there, but he couldn't.
He just didn't know what to do about it.
A flash of inspiration had Arthur thinking of Gwen who would be more than capable (and willing) to help Merlin. Then he remembered she was tending to Hunith and Gaius, as was Morgana. Not that he'd ask Morgana - not that she wouldn't be concerned for Merlin, but Arthur feared her biting tongue in regards to his inability to cope with a crying servant. He'd never hear the end of it, and he could do without that torment as she never failed to find targets to taunt and twist. Which really eliminated all of Camelot's servants as well; loose lips would bring it to Morgana's ears before the next day's nightfall.
Still, Arthur watched, and despite his misgivings, wished Morgana was with him. She had a natural way with people that he utterly lacked and envied, if only within his private thoughts. It wouldn't be suitable for him to admit otherwise. She'd rush into the room in a flowing trail of dress and gather Merlin into her arms, rocking him like Arthur had seen their governess do to Morgana when they had been children. He remembered nights she'd wake up crying, crying for her father, crying for her mother, and Arthur would watch from his doorway as Mary rushed into her room in all her voluminous bedrobes to coddle and coo while pressing Morgana's head against her ample bosom.
Smirking, Arthur also remembered a time, much later in his years, when he'd pressed his lips against Mary's ample bosom for far different reasons.
Tilting his head to study the trembling back, Arthur wondered if that's what Merlin needed. Or even wanted. He glanced down and noted his lack of Mary's ample bosom, questioning whether he would work as a substitute. It seemed like it might be a proper response, but whether or not it'd be well-received ... well, he could always banish Merlin from Camelot before he wagged his tongue. Or have his tongue actually removed and then banish him.
But it was Merlin. And for whatever reason, when it came to Merlin, Arthur found himself doing things he'd never before dreamt.
After a deep breath of what Arthur refused to call courage, he shuffled forward, making quick work of the short distance between himself and the curled figure shaking on the rug. Settling himself behind Merlin was far easier than he'd expected - Merlin hadn't so much as moved - and even though his injured shoulder twinged at the stress, pulling Merlin up and into his arms was remarkably smooth as well.
It was figuring out what to do with Merlin now that Arthur had moved him that was awkward. Merlin wasn't helping, protesting with a flail of hands and nearly cracking his head against Arthur's jaw. "Stop, before I have you thrown in the stocks," Arthur murmured, trying to keep Merlin still by wrapping his arms around his squirming manservant.
Merlin surprised him by doing just as he'd asked, quieting and after a few snuffed attempts to control himself, gave up on that pretense as well. It was almost ... nice. Not Merlin crying or whatever had precipitated the event, but Arthur could see the appeal as Merlin relaxed against him, tears beginning to seep into his tunic so he tightened his arms in what he hoped was reassurance. He would never mock Merlin for this, nor would he ever use it against him. And so Merlin's shoulders continued to quake and Arthur continued to sit, soaking up whatever stress had simply become too much for Merlin's slight frame to contain - in part because he was Prince and it seemed a princely duty, but also because it was Merlin. He might be the worst manservant in all of Albion, but he was Arthur's idiot.
***
Some time between his left leg falling asleep and his arse going numb, Arthur finally made sense of everything that had been troubling him about recent events. Angling his chin, Arthur looked down at his servant's tousled hair, slightly curled and tangled after having gotten wet in the same fashion as Gaius' had, he assumed. Merlin had fallen asleep some time before, his breath evening out until the rhythm nearly made Arthur doze. He would have moved then but he feared waking Merlin who was so obviously overwhelmed; the idea of waking him just so Arthur could climb into bed was almost insulting to consider. Besides, he'd grown fond of sitting near the dying fire, holding Merlin in his arms.
Not that he'd admit it to anyone, but it was definitely nice.
Pieces hadn't added up, especially when Arthur reflected on the past months as a whole, rather than in just fragments of experience. But when one shifted the pieces slightly, like looking through one of those mirrored glass toys he'd had as a child, everything aligned in perfect color.
Merlin. Merlin was the sorcerer.
Not Gaius, as Arthur had initially suspected. Maybe he was as well, but Merlin was the center of events and the only constant amidst all things strange and miraculous, including what had been claimed as Will's doings in Ealdor. It was Hunith, though, the ailing Hunith which had ultimately failed the Gaius theory. The ailing Hunith whose illness wouldn't spread, following so close to Arthur's near-death and unprecedented recovery, and Gaius' impaired return.
Of Merlin killing, not in defense but in revenge.
He should have been stunned and horrified by the very notion. He should have immediately called for guards to drag the sleeping figure away, sleep unimportant to those facing the executioner's axe the next day. He should have been and done a great many things.
Instead, Arthur was aware that he rather thought he'd always been aware, as terribly unsurprising as the revelation had been.
And the fact that he knew now had no remarkable effect on the conviction of his earlier words - Merlin would not harm an innocent. Arthur believed this as deeply as his father believed all magic was evil and needed to be eradicated. A unicorn was a magical beast and yet he would not call the pure creature evil, even if the magic which protected the animals was more cruel than just. Arthur had learned and not forgotten, however, all the lessons taught during that time of great strife, not the least of which being that he would rather his life than Merlin's, for his people or for them both.
He should call for his father and throw Merlin in the dungeons. So many things he should do, would have done had this been just months before, when Merlin had yet to set foot in Camelot and Arthur wasn't aware that there were any questions to ask.
Instead, Arthur just sat with Merlin in his arms, propped against his chest, his hair tickling Arthur's nose if he looked down upon the sleeping figure.
It helped, he figured, that Merlin was unable to respond to the accusation. There were hours before dawn for Arthur to consider his options and think back to all the times in which Merlin had most likely saved his life. Back even to the days of their first meeting, when Merlin had saved him from that vengeful witch. He wasn't a normal villager, and Arthur should have considered it then. And the fool had even admitted to Uther that he was a sorcerer! Arthur snorted at the thought, then quickly quieted himself before he woke Merlin.
Merlin. The most hapless servant in Camelot was a wizard.
If Arthur had been told that days ago he would have laughed in the face of the messenger and sent them off to muck the stables with a spoon for punishment. Merlin, who could not lie to save himself, was apparently lying brilliantly to save himself. And the entire time Arthur had seen but ignored, pretended it wasn't true, or accepted Merlin's story of a strong wind dropping a tree branch on the head of a bandit simply because the alternative was both frightening and absurd.
But it was undeniably true. Arthur would swear upon his mother's name that it was true.
Merlin was a sorcerer.
"I couldn't tell."
***
By the time Morgana burst into his chambers the next morning, Arthur had seven reasons why he should tell his father that Merlin was a sorcerer, and one hundred and twenty-three reasons why he should not. Although, it may have been one hundred and twenty-four, he lost count somewhere around "Merlin's death would bring great grief to Hunith" and he wasn't quite sure if "I want to take Merlin on the table in the middle of a feast" counted as a legitimate reason not to turn him over.
"Arthur, you mustn't-"
Reason seven for turning Merlin over was that the wretched servant had forced him to sit on the floor all night long. His arse was numb and the fire had dwindled to embers far before dawn. He was cold, stiff, and quite honestly his shoulder gave him great pain, though he'd never admit the extent to anyone. And yet another cause for number seven - the shift on Morgana's face from one of fear to one Arthur had seen her use with babies and hatchlings when she saw him sitting on the floor, holding Merlin.
There truly was no justice in the world.
"As you can see, I haven't." Arthur had no idea how Morgana knew what he had been thinking; maybe Hunith had sent her to stop him from turning over her son. In any case, her timing was impeccable if for nothing else than she could help move Merlin, who had yet to wake and was sleeping with the weight of the dead. "Help me shift him to my bed."
Nodding with a flurry of green fabric, she spun and closed the door in a graceful movement Arthur would be jealous of, had he been a girl. Carefully, he turned Merlin about so Morgana could lift his feet and he could slip out from under Merlin, but he hadn't quite worked out how he was going to manage his end without dropping the ungrateful, unaware servant on his arse when he heard Morgana's gasp. "He's injured?"
"What?" Arthur swore and touched the tattered remains of Merlin's tunic over his chest. He hadn't noticed in the shadows the night before, though he supposed he should have asked when Merlin had said he'd killed someone. That implied a fight of sorts, and Arthur hadn't even considered it amidst the yelling and the tumbling. He moved swiftly now, forgetting his shoulder as he timed his lift with Morgana, only moderately concerned that he'd been sitting on the floor all night with a dead man. Merlin had still breathed, Arthur had felt the breaths warming his skin all night - he knew Merlin wasn't dead.
Merlin didn't even stir when they deposited him on the bed, and Arthur heard Morgana's relieved sigh just as loud as his own when they peeked beneath the layers of burnt cloth. Pale skin appeared whole and untouched, just mottled with bruising. "There's a jar of Gaius' healing balm on the shelf." Arthur jerked his head towards the wall he meant, and Morgana moved without question or, thankfully, insult. Tearing the remains of the clothing - wasn't much left but Arthur resigned himself to the fact that he would have to purchase new as he couldn't have a servant dressed in the same tunic every day - he winced at the circular pattern etched in purpled-red standing out in sharp relief on Merlin's chest. It looked like he'd been hit by a damned battering ram.
Whoever Merlin had killed, they had indeed not been innocent.
"Here."
Arthur took the jar from Morgana and unsealed it, ignoring the pungent smell - not quite mint but settling on the tongue just as sharp. No matter how it smelled, he knew it worked, bringing relief to abused muscles and painful bruises. He'd simply never applied it on anyone before, never had cause as his knights were tended by their squires or a lucky servant girl and he'd always ... well, had Merlin. Or Gaius before Merlin arrived, as not just anyone tended the Prince. But if the worst servant could manage, then he could, and while the first touch was an unsure glob of smelly cream, Arthur realized Morgana was not going to laugh at him and Merlin wasn't complaining.
He was touching Merlin.
Albeit in a particularly non-pleasuring manner and Merlin wasn't even awake to feel it. Setting his jaw, Arthur ignored the soft skin beneath his fingertips and concentrated on rubbing the balm into the bruises, taking care not to press too hard for fear of causing further injury. While he worked, Morgana bustled about him, finding a bowl of water and rags to wash away some of the dirt from on Merlin's scraped hands. "You knew he was a sorcerer," Arthur accused, though he didn't mean it as a threat so much as an allegation against himself for failing to see it from the beginning something that Morgana had worked out before he had.
Reason number six stung his pride in particular: betrayal.
And while Arthur could understand the need, given his father's decrees against magic, that Merlin believed he could not trust Arthur with this secret spoke ill of what was to be when he was king.
"He offered his life for yours," Morgana said instead of responding to his accusation, which confused him horribly until he realized that it was confirmation that Merlin had been involved in healing him after the Questing Beast's bite.
His smile dwindled however when he realized that whatever Merlin had initially done hadn't worked and his mother had been stricken in consequence. And then Gaius'? No matter whose life was offered in sacrifice, Arthur grew furious that any life at all had been risked to save his. That was not how he faced his trials, standing aside to permit one of his people - much less his servant - die in his name. He thought he had made that explicitly clear to Merlin on the beaches of Gedref.
Arthur took a deep breath to steady himself, easing the force of his fingers on Merlin's skin when they'd again pressed too hard. What was that, but evidence that his father was correct - magic was evil, fulfilling reasons three, four and five. Merlin had offered his life in exchange for Arthur's, but it had attempted to take Hunith. Such flagrant disregard for order had no purpose in this life; it was but chaos, and where there was chaos there was anarchy. That was an evil upon the people of Camelot and he would not tolerate it in his rule or his father's.
But there had been the unicorn. And defeating the Afanc. Those instances of magic had not been evil (though the existence of the Afanc certainly had), had not led to chaos. And Merlin was central to all those positive outcomes.
"He's convinced himself that he's evil." Arthur wiped his hands off on one of the rags, believing as he had stated the night prior that Merlin himself was not a terrible creature to be killed by the executioner's blade. But his magic ... Arthur was certain he had his answer, but he couldn't deny he was seeking confirmation. And somehow Morgana knew, knew and hadn't spoken a word.
"Not evil." She glanced up from tending the scraped hands and looked pointedly at Merlin's booted feet leaving clodded dirt on the bedding. Arthur opened his mouth to protest - he'd just sat all night on floor! - but she clarified her statement before he could respond. "Powerful."
Arthur's eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms, refusing to move even an inch as he took in the pale, slight body lying on the bed, head turned in sleep and looking about as powerful as a hare. No, not even a full-grown hare. A fluffy baby hare. He'd seen knights run through and dying who still possessed more strength. "Morgana," he chided, "how powerful can Merlin be?"
When Morgana didn't answer, Arthur turned from Merlin to look at the woman who'd ceased cleaning the injuries and simply stared, wide-eyed and solemn as though there were no words to express how ignorant he was. Arthur snorted in laughter, pointing at the figure lying so still upon the bed. "Merlin? You're joking. He's-" Arthur's voice twisted in his throat, turning unwieldy and awkward until it was of no use at all. And Morgana's gaze never faltered, though it turned wary and made Arthur's belly churn like he'd consumed soured wine.
Of course, Merlin would be a very powerful wizard, finding shelter in the one place in all of Albion upon whose grounds he should never have tread. He was an idiot. An infuriating, incompetent idiot who had no more sense in his head than gold in his pouch. His father would take great pleasure in removing his head, or would tie him to an extra large pyre to make him sweat longer before his death. Uther might even turn creative in his manner of execution, reaching new lengths in torture and pain until death was a mercy, just for Merlin.
All that lovely pale skin, lifelessly sprawled in pieces on the courtyard's cobblestones, rivers of red spilling over dark curls into the cracks.
Reasons one and two were cast aside, tumbling like dice until they clattered discarded at his feet as new resolve settled in his limbs. He wasn't conscious of ever making a decision on the matter, but once he was aware that he had, there was no viable alternate path.
Father or not, prince or not, Arthur knew what he must and what he mustn't, as emphatically as Merlin placed his trust in Gaius.
Ignoring Morgana's knowing smile, he moved towards the foot of the bed and began unlacing Merlin's boots, placing them silently on the floor. He gathered the covers from the foot of the bed and tucked them around Merlin as he'd seen Gwen do for Hunith, only he knew it was with far less grace and familiarity.
Maybe ... some day they'd reach that familiarity. He did, after all, still have the vision of taking Merlin on the table amidst a feast. And when Arthur Pendragon set his mind on something, rarely did he fail to accomplish his goals.
But for now, he stood as watchful as Anhora over the pale figure just visible beneath the layers of blankets Arthur had buried him in. Merlin would wake, eventually, and hopefully emerge his Merlin. If not ... "We would be prudent, then," Arthur spoke to Morgana as much as himself, "to guard him from both Camelot and himself."
"Be careful, Arthur, that nearly sounded like wisdom."
Arthur smiled at Morgana's teasing tone, and didn't argue.
If he was going to be protecting Merlin, it was only proper that one of them not be an idiot.
Fin
***
End Notes:
1. I apparently have a need to insert rabbits or hares into my Merlin fics. I blame Monty Python.
2. I apparently also have a need to have Merlin lying asleep on Arthur's chest in my Merlin fics. I blame Bradley for having that chest to lay on.
3. I have a cat named Merlin. No joke. He's nearing nine years old. He's as skinny as BBC Merlin, and just as big of a pain in the ass. The other day, his meow sounded startingly like 'don't be a prat, fetch my cat toy and play with me.'
4. The point of the cat named Merlin reference - I am an Arthurian legend fiend. So my apologies, dear English Professor who helped foster my Arthurian legend love, for absolutely loving and adoring this complete break with everything you ever taught me.
5. Because I like rounded numbers in the end notes (5, 10, 15...) and also to mention that a Merlin POV has been requested by the demanding wench known as my beta, who I will pretty much do anything for save watching german pretty gay boy soaps. So...there may be a companion piece to this yet.
And btw? My beta rules. *loves*
Fin^2