(no subject)
Crescent
by whereupon
Merlin. Gen, spoilers through 2.12, G, 1,910 words.
On duty and magic, or, Arthur does not believe in the Old Religion.
The rain that began as more a mist than anything else when they were a few hours out of Camelot turned quickly into something angry and harsh, cold grey blades that churned the dirt path into a muddy wash. It was as though the sky had taken upon itself the task of destroying the earth, or of cleansing it. That was the kind of superstition upon which the Old Religion preyed, however, and Arthur reminded himself that it was not something he believed in.
"Out of curiosity, can you see where we're going?" Merlin called from behind him, his words sheared by the rain and torn by the wind.
Arthur glanced from side to side, careful to keep his head still while he did so; it wouldn't do to give Merlin that satisfaction. He could make out the path ahead, that was easy, and even if he could not, he trusted his horse to tread carefully. The trees on either, however, side were obscured by the force of the water, visible only in glimpses, their trunks shrouded with fog that rose thickly from the earth.
"It's just a little rain, Merlin," he called back. "Surely you're not afraid of a little rain."
"Afraid?" Merlin said. "No, I love being drenched in icewater. I just thought that perhaps you'd be a bit concerned about an ambush, people shooting arrows at you while hiding behind trees and that kind of thing."
"Anyone daft enough to plan an ambush in weather like this would be too daft to meet with any success should they try," Arthur said. "Besides, we'd hear them coming."
"Oh," Merlin said. "All right, then. I suppose you'd know, being future king."
Arthur rolled his eyes briefly heavenward and did not bother to reply.
There was a cave ahead, large enough for the two of them and then some. Merlin tied the horses outside while Arthur ensured that the cave was not already inhabited. When he found that it was not, he glanced over his shoulder to call Merlin, only to see Merlin already standing at the mouth of the cave.
Merlin did not see him watching, and he whispered something that Arthur didn't understand, some quiet string of words like an ancient prayer, though it was not in any language Arthur had ever heard.
That was not entirely true. It was a language that Arthur had heard, but he had only ever heard it from Merlin.
Arthur looked away as Merlin looked up, as a warm wind sprang forth as though from the mouth of the cave itself; it rushed past Merlin and continued past Arthur before fading away. Arthur blinked; raindrops no longer slid from the tips of his hair down the back of his neck, and his clothes no longer weighed heavy and waterlogged beneath his chainmail.
"Did you feel that?" he demanded of Merlin.
"The wind?" Merlin said. "I think that happens during storms."
"Right," Arthur said dryly. It was a miracle, he thought, that Merlin had managed to survive this long.
They sat against opposite walls of the cave, near enough to the entrance to keep watch in case anyone approaches, but out of reach of the pounding rain. The cave was shadowed, of course, and cool, but a refuge all the same. Against the time-wracked earthen walls, Merlin's eyes were dark and strange, though when he saw that Arthur was watching, he blinked and was not fey in the least, was merely Merlin.
"I'm not an idiot, Merlin," Arthur said.
"Yes, you're smarter than you look," Merlin said brightly. Arthur stared at him. "I mean, you're obviously brilliant."
Arthur narrowed his eyes and Merlin shrugged, his expression at once innocent and possessing a wisdom that seemed much older than he was. Arthur hesitated, because what he was going to say would not quickly be forgotten, nor would its consequences, but his hesitation lasted only a moment and then he spoke, as he'd known that he would eventually. "I've been thinking about Morgause and the plague she brought upon Camelot."
"Me, too," Merlin said. "I mean, probably we all have. Everyone who was affected."
"I wonder what caused Morgana to fall ill once more," Arthur said.
"Perhaps Gaius' potion wasn't strong enough," Merlin said.
"Then why did everyone else recover without the potion?" Arthur said.
"Good luck?" Merlin asked.
Arthur looked away, towards the forest, towards the rain. "My father hasn't called the plague sorcery, but I'm not sure what else it could be."
"Sorcery does seem like a possibility," Merlin said.
Arthur glanced back at him. "It had crossed my mind that perhaps sorcery of another kind was involved in saving the kingdom."
Merlin blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Perhaps Morgana was more important to Morgause than getting revenge upon my father," Arthur said. "Perhaps Morgana was exchanged for the kingdom."
"No," Merlin said. "You mustn't think that."
"It was my duty to protect her," Arthur said.
"You couldn't have stopped Morgause," Merlin said.
"I could have tried, at whatever cost," Arthur said. "It might have bought Morgana the time she needed to escape Morgause's grasp."
"Even if she had," Merlin said. "What if you're right, about the sorcery? Camelot would have fallen. The entire kingdom would have been under Morgause's rule and she'd probably have killed everyone."
"I know," Arthur said. "And Merlin, had I been able to stop the sorcerer, to save Morgana." He paused and drew in a breath. That what he was about to say was true did not make it any easier to speak; perhaps that was even what weighted the words with such bleak and terrible force, though that was not reflected in his tone when he spoke. "There are some sacrifices that a king, that a prince, cannot make, no matter how painful the cost of the alternative."
"It's your duty to protect the kingdom, as well," Merlin said. "Sometimes making the right decision isn't easy." The words, though they were not rough, were similarly weighted, as though with the grief of experience.
Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Are there any other matters regarding my position about which you'd care to inform me?"
"No, sire," Merlin said. "You'll make a good king, you know."
"That's what everyone keeps telling me," Arthur said.
"Things will be different," Merlin said. "Wait, everyone? Who's everyone?"
"Everyone," Arthur said. Merlin looked blank. "The people. You. Guinevere."
"Guinevere," Merlin repeated. His grin was quick and bright. "Do you and she talk much about what's going to happen between the two of you when you're king?"
"Merlin," Arthur said. "Shut up."
"I was just asking," Merlin said. "As a friend. A confidante."
"You are not my confidante," Arthur said. "Nor are you my friend. You're my servant."
"Right," Merlin said.
"You're not," Arthur said. "And if you breathe a word to anyone--"
"I won't," Merlin said. "I swear."
"Good," Arthur said.
They sat in silence for a few moments and then Merlin said, "You think the rain'll clear up soon?"
Arthur glanced towards the mouth of the cave and raised his eyebrows. "It's getting worse," he said. Perhaps he'd overestimated Merlin's intelligence, after all.
"You're not a very cheery person sometimes," Merlin said.
"Not everyone can be a babbling prat like you," Arthur said.
"It's a gift," Merlin said.
Arthur shook his head and went back to watching the storm. It was exceedingly unlikely that anyone who plotted against Camelot would be out in this weather; even enemies of Camelot usually demonstrated more sense than that. All the same, he would not let himself be caught off-guard.
"Some believe that not all magic is to be feared," Merlin said a few moments later. He didn't quite meet Arthur's eyes. He'd pulled his sleeves down to half-cover his hands; whether he was nervous or merely chilled, Arthur was not sure.
"Yes, the Druids," Arthur said. "I'm not sure they can be trusted on anything."
"Not just them," Merlin said. He looked, then, at Arthur, and his gaze was steady, unwavering.
"To know of those within the kingdom who support sorcery and to not inform the king is treason," Arthur said. The words were bitter, ironic and dry in his mouth.
"I know," Merlin said. "But perhaps it ought not to be."
"Even to say that is to endanger your life."
"You agree with it, then," Merlin said. Arthur stared at him and then looked deliberately away.
When Merlin spoke, his voice was quiet over the rain. "You will make a great king," he said.
"I heard you the first time," Arthur said. He shifted his weight. "I might not even survive that long; my servant appears to be intent on getting me killed."
"You might want to be less arrogant when you're king," Merlin said. "Nobody likes an arrogant king."
"It's not arrogance," Arthur said. "It's being aware of one's nobility and the duties one has sworn to uphold."
"So you keep saying," Merlin said. "Funny, it looks a lot like arrogance, though."
"It's getting cold, wouldn't you say?" Arthur said. "Perhaps you ought to go gather wood for a fire."
"It's raining," Merlin said. "The wood's wet. It wouldn't burn."
"Then perhaps you ought to be quiet before I send you in search of dry wood," Arthur said. "It would take a long time to find, and I believe these woods are rife with magical creatures. Just last week a villager claimed to have been attacked by a vicious, fanged beast while passing through."
"Oh," Merlin said. "It's probably in your best interest that you not send me out, then, as you might have a difficult time finding a new servant if word got round that your last one was eaten."
Arthur rolled his eyes. Merlin grinned.
They fell silent after that, their eyes on the storm. It was not a portent of things to come, Arthur told himself; it was merely nature, the rain and the thunder, the lightning as inevitable as the shift from winter to spring. It would be foolish to draw any conclusion from that, to read signs into this as though he himself were a sorcerer.
He almost asked, once, but he caught himself, held his tongue. Merlin would not, could not, know any more than Arthur did, and Arthur could not ask him to do otherwise. Perhaps it was the duty of a good king to keep not only his own secrets, but those of his friends, his companions. Perhaps that was why his father refused to see the world in anything more than absolutes; to do anything else was to bear an even heavier burden. Perhaps one day Arthur himself would view the world that way, but not, he thought, if he could help it.
He would learn from his father's mistakes; the mistakes that he made would be all his own.
When the storm lessened, they rode once more. The sky was a grey-washed blue and Merlin was prattling on about something, God knew what, and though Arthur knew that the storm had not been a portent, he could not help but wonder at the ruin of the days ahead, the promise of a world that would not be his own, but that would, in part, be shaped by him.
It was frightening, a little, but it was what he had been born to do, and he did not have to do it yet. When the time came, he would not have to do it alone.
"Would you say I was right about it being a good idea to wait out the storm?" Merlin asked, and Arthur sighed.
--
end
by whereupon
Merlin. Gen, spoilers through 2.12, G, 1,910 words.
On duty and magic, or, Arthur does not believe in the Old Religion.
The rain that began as more a mist than anything else when they were a few hours out of Camelot turned quickly into something angry and harsh, cold grey blades that churned the dirt path into a muddy wash. It was as though the sky had taken upon itself the task of destroying the earth, or of cleansing it. That was the kind of superstition upon which the Old Religion preyed, however, and Arthur reminded himself that it was not something he believed in.
"Out of curiosity, can you see where we're going?" Merlin called from behind him, his words sheared by the rain and torn by the wind.
Arthur glanced from side to side, careful to keep his head still while he did so; it wouldn't do to give Merlin that satisfaction. He could make out the path ahead, that was easy, and even if he could not, he trusted his horse to tread carefully. The trees on either, however, side were obscured by the force of the water, visible only in glimpses, their trunks shrouded with fog that rose thickly from the earth.
"It's just a little rain, Merlin," he called back. "Surely you're not afraid of a little rain."
"Afraid?" Merlin said. "No, I love being drenched in icewater. I just thought that perhaps you'd be a bit concerned about an ambush, people shooting arrows at you while hiding behind trees and that kind of thing."
"Anyone daft enough to plan an ambush in weather like this would be too daft to meet with any success should they try," Arthur said. "Besides, we'd hear them coming."
"Oh," Merlin said. "All right, then. I suppose you'd know, being future king."
Arthur rolled his eyes briefly heavenward and did not bother to reply.
There was a cave ahead, large enough for the two of them and then some. Merlin tied the horses outside while Arthur ensured that the cave was not already inhabited. When he found that it was not, he glanced over his shoulder to call Merlin, only to see Merlin already standing at the mouth of the cave.
Merlin did not see him watching, and he whispered something that Arthur didn't understand, some quiet string of words like an ancient prayer, though it was not in any language Arthur had ever heard.
That was not entirely true. It was a language that Arthur had heard, but he had only ever heard it from Merlin.
Arthur looked away as Merlin looked up, as a warm wind sprang forth as though from the mouth of the cave itself; it rushed past Merlin and continued past Arthur before fading away. Arthur blinked; raindrops no longer slid from the tips of his hair down the back of his neck, and his clothes no longer weighed heavy and waterlogged beneath his chainmail.
"Did you feel that?" he demanded of Merlin.
"The wind?" Merlin said. "I think that happens during storms."
"Right," Arthur said dryly. It was a miracle, he thought, that Merlin had managed to survive this long.
They sat against opposite walls of the cave, near enough to the entrance to keep watch in case anyone approaches, but out of reach of the pounding rain. The cave was shadowed, of course, and cool, but a refuge all the same. Against the time-wracked earthen walls, Merlin's eyes were dark and strange, though when he saw that Arthur was watching, he blinked and was not fey in the least, was merely Merlin.
"I'm not an idiot, Merlin," Arthur said.
"Yes, you're smarter than you look," Merlin said brightly. Arthur stared at him. "I mean, you're obviously brilliant."
Arthur narrowed his eyes and Merlin shrugged, his expression at once innocent and possessing a wisdom that seemed much older than he was. Arthur hesitated, because what he was going to say would not quickly be forgotten, nor would its consequences, but his hesitation lasted only a moment and then he spoke, as he'd known that he would eventually. "I've been thinking about Morgause and the plague she brought upon Camelot."
"Me, too," Merlin said. "I mean, probably we all have. Everyone who was affected."
"I wonder what caused Morgana to fall ill once more," Arthur said.
"Perhaps Gaius' potion wasn't strong enough," Merlin said.
"Then why did everyone else recover without the potion?" Arthur said.
"Good luck?" Merlin asked.
Arthur looked away, towards the forest, towards the rain. "My father hasn't called the plague sorcery, but I'm not sure what else it could be."
"Sorcery does seem like a possibility," Merlin said.
Arthur glanced back at him. "It had crossed my mind that perhaps sorcery of another kind was involved in saving the kingdom."
Merlin blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Perhaps Morgana was more important to Morgause than getting revenge upon my father," Arthur said. "Perhaps Morgana was exchanged for the kingdom."
"No," Merlin said. "You mustn't think that."
"It was my duty to protect her," Arthur said.
"You couldn't have stopped Morgause," Merlin said.
"I could have tried, at whatever cost," Arthur said. "It might have bought Morgana the time she needed to escape Morgause's grasp."
"Even if she had," Merlin said. "What if you're right, about the sorcery? Camelot would have fallen. The entire kingdom would have been under Morgause's rule and she'd probably have killed everyone."
"I know," Arthur said. "And Merlin, had I been able to stop the sorcerer, to save Morgana." He paused and drew in a breath. That what he was about to say was true did not make it any easier to speak; perhaps that was even what weighted the words with such bleak and terrible force, though that was not reflected in his tone when he spoke. "There are some sacrifices that a king, that a prince, cannot make, no matter how painful the cost of the alternative."
"It's your duty to protect the kingdom, as well," Merlin said. "Sometimes making the right decision isn't easy." The words, though they were not rough, were similarly weighted, as though with the grief of experience.
Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Are there any other matters regarding my position about which you'd care to inform me?"
"No, sire," Merlin said. "You'll make a good king, you know."
"That's what everyone keeps telling me," Arthur said.
"Things will be different," Merlin said. "Wait, everyone? Who's everyone?"
"Everyone," Arthur said. Merlin looked blank. "The people. You. Guinevere."
"Guinevere," Merlin repeated. His grin was quick and bright. "Do you and she talk much about what's going to happen between the two of you when you're king?"
"Merlin," Arthur said. "Shut up."
"I was just asking," Merlin said. "As a friend. A confidante."
"You are not my confidante," Arthur said. "Nor are you my friend. You're my servant."
"Right," Merlin said.
"You're not," Arthur said. "And if you breathe a word to anyone--"
"I won't," Merlin said. "I swear."
"Good," Arthur said.
They sat in silence for a few moments and then Merlin said, "You think the rain'll clear up soon?"
Arthur glanced towards the mouth of the cave and raised his eyebrows. "It's getting worse," he said. Perhaps he'd overestimated Merlin's intelligence, after all.
"You're not a very cheery person sometimes," Merlin said.
"Not everyone can be a babbling prat like you," Arthur said.
"It's a gift," Merlin said.
Arthur shook his head and went back to watching the storm. It was exceedingly unlikely that anyone who plotted against Camelot would be out in this weather; even enemies of Camelot usually demonstrated more sense than that. All the same, he would not let himself be caught off-guard.
"Some believe that not all magic is to be feared," Merlin said a few moments later. He didn't quite meet Arthur's eyes. He'd pulled his sleeves down to half-cover his hands; whether he was nervous or merely chilled, Arthur was not sure.
"Yes, the Druids," Arthur said. "I'm not sure they can be trusted on anything."
"Not just them," Merlin said. He looked, then, at Arthur, and his gaze was steady, unwavering.
"To know of those within the kingdom who support sorcery and to not inform the king is treason," Arthur said. The words were bitter, ironic and dry in his mouth.
"I know," Merlin said. "But perhaps it ought not to be."
"Even to say that is to endanger your life."
"You agree with it, then," Merlin said. Arthur stared at him and then looked deliberately away.
When Merlin spoke, his voice was quiet over the rain. "You will make a great king," he said.
"I heard you the first time," Arthur said. He shifted his weight. "I might not even survive that long; my servant appears to be intent on getting me killed."
"You might want to be less arrogant when you're king," Merlin said. "Nobody likes an arrogant king."
"It's not arrogance," Arthur said. "It's being aware of one's nobility and the duties one has sworn to uphold."
"So you keep saying," Merlin said. "Funny, it looks a lot like arrogance, though."
"It's getting cold, wouldn't you say?" Arthur said. "Perhaps you ought to go gather wood for a fire."
"It's raining," Merlin said. "The wood's wet. It wouldn't burn."
"Then perhaps you ought to be quiet before I send you in search of dry wood," Arthur said. "It would take a long time to find, and I believe these woods are rife with magical creatures. Just last week a villager claimed to have been attacked by a vicious, fanged beast while passing through."
"Oh," Merlin said. "It's probably in your best interest that you not send me out, then, as you might have a difficult time finding a new servant if word got round that your last one was eaten."
Arthur rolled his eyes. Merlin grinned.
They fell silent after that, their eyes on the storm. It was not a portent of things to come, Arthur told himself; it was merely nature, the rain and the thunder, the lightning as inevitable as the shift from winter to spring. It would be foolish to draw any conclusion from that, to read signs into this as though he himself were a sorcerer.
He almost asked, once, but he caught himself, held his tongue. Merlin would not, could not, know any more than Arthur did, and Arthur could not ask him to do otherwise. Perhaps it was the duty of a good king to keep not only his own secrets, but those of his friends, his companions. Perhaps that was why his father refused to see the world in anything more than absolutes; to do anything else was to bear an even heavier burden. Perhaps one day Arthur himself would view the world that way, but not, he thought, if he could help it.
He would learn from his father's mistakes; the mistakes that he made would be all his own.
When the storm lessened, they rode once more. The sky was a grey-washed blue and Merlin was prattling on about something, God knew what, and though Arthur knew that the storm had not been a portent, he could not help but wonder at the ruin of the days ahead, the promise of a world that would not be his own, but that would, in part, be shaped by him.
It was frightening, a little, but it was what he had been born to do, and he did not have to do it yet. When the time came, he would not have to do it alone.
"Would you say I was right about it being a good idea to wait out the storm?" Merlin asked, and Arthur sighed.
--
end