Of the Danger of Monologues (Merlin/Arthur, preslash)
Title: Of the Danger of Monologues
Summary: Gwen wasn't the only one to monologue to a sleeping Arthur in episode 1x13. When the Prince wakes up, he's more than a little curious to know what his servant's ramblings about sorcerers and sacrifices could possibly mean.
Length: ~ 6000 words
As he stepped into the room, Merlin took a fortifying breath. No matter how many times he had seen it in the past hours, the sight of his master’s pale and almost lifeless face always felt like a blow to his stomach, making him want to scream at the unfairness of it all. Arthur was a hot-blooded prat who never thought before jumping into danger, was far too proud of his warrior skills and was always eager to show them up - case in point, the fact that he was lying there after deciding to take on an unknown beast twenty times his size by himself.
Yes, a careless prat, that’s who he was, not this pale copy of his body laying on his back, propelled by a few pillows, slightly greasy locks of hair stumbling on a pale brow and on cheeks whose only colour was brought by a harsh fever. Actually, even the fact that he was on his back was wrong. Arthur slept restlessly, never staying in one position, tossing from side to side - or at least he did when he was deeply asleep, since he had taught himself to doze in perfect stillness. Merlin didn’t know if it came from bad dreams, or just from the fact that the man’s body wanted to stay active even when his mind was complaining of tiredness, but he did know that this right now. Was. Wrong.
Had he needed to reinforce his resolve, just seeing Arthur this way would have been enough - but really, that’s not why he had come here. He was already fully determined to give his all (literally in this case) to see the Prince recovered. No, the reason he had come here was to say goodbye.
And yet, as he stood there, the words seemed stuck in his throat. What was there left to say to this simulacrum of his master? He almost turned on his heels then, and only the thought of Gaius’ raised eyebrow at his fast return when Merlin had been the one insisting on delaying his departure in the first place kept him rooted in place.
In the end, he began with simple words; ones he knew weren’t going to get twisted by whatever this strange weight on his stomach that was making it impossible for him to inhale normally, never mind express himself, meant.
“You’re a real prat, you know?”
That truth being clearly enunciated, both breathing and talking suddenly became easier, and words came rushing out of him, bringing with them the relief and liberation he had previously only ever associated with long-awaited tears.
“I mean, if you weren’t such a prat, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Which kind of idiot does one have to be to rush in such a fight with only his sword and the conviction that everything will be alright anyway? A royal one, obviously. Would it kill you to ask for an hour-long discussion with Gaius about what kind of beast it is and what can be done to beat it? You have to learn to listen as well as you act, Arthur. Perhaps when you wake up, you’ll have learnt to be cautious…and perhaps Uther will smile and proclaim magic is once again welcomed in the castle, that’s about as likely.
“But of course, I knew what the beast was and it didn’t do us much good, right? I wasn’t able to do anything.”
Here his voice quieted, as he got to the part that really bothered him. It had taken him so little to kill the beast, a few words, a spell that haven’t left him the slightest bit winded - if only he had reacted earlier! There he was, haughtily proclaiming that Arthur’s life meant more than his own to him; and yet his secret had then seemed more precious than making sure the Prince came to no harm.
“I know you’d laugh at my words i-if you could hear them - what could a clumsy manservant have done against such a beast, after all? This is the hardest part of my secret, actually. Not hiding my abilities and accepting that my choices are to be seen as a total cretin or die, although that still rankles at times, believe me. No, it’s knowing how much we can accomplish together if you knew and accepted what I am that’s getting more and more difficult to accept. Now I sound conceited, right? Well, I probably learnt it from you anyway.
“I mainly wanted to tell you not to worry, Arthur. You’re going to be just fine, trust me on that. I have a map, I know the way, and I’m bringing my life-force with me so I can strike a nice little bargain. I know you won’t be very happy with the last part, considering how adamant you were to be the one drinking the poison in the labyrinth, but I’ve left a letter to Gaius telling him to explain all about my sorcery, so I guess that you won’t stay mad too long…”
A sudden wracking cough interrupted him, but as he brutally turned his head to look at Arthur, he didn’t see what he had been half-fearing and half-hoping for, meaning a furious and incredulous Prince ready to tear into him for all his lies; rather, he saw exhausted lines around a mouth from which a drop of blood was slowly dripping.
Biting his tongue until the copper taste of his own blood invaded his mouth as well, making him feel weirdly linked to the blonde man resting near him, he muttered a “right” as he hurriedly gathered his things, stood up and left without another glance, feeling he had said all he needed to.
As he returned with the precious water clenched inside his fist, Merlin couldn’t help but feel anxious. As Arthur hadn’t been woken yet, he was still technically “not alive”, and therefore Merlin knew that he himself wasn’t in any danger of dropping dead at any moment; and yet there was a cold feeling in his stomach. Many people tougher than him had gone crazy in the jails of Camelot as they were waiting for their executions; knowing, really knowing, that his death would happen in a few days at most gave him a sense of extreme vertigo every time he thought about it, even though it was for the best cause he could imagine.
Once in Arthur’s bedchamber, this sick feeling was temporarily replaced by the helpless one he knew well by now as he discovered anew just how bad a shape Arthur was in. And suddenly, even knowing he could die as soon as the last drop of water touched the Prince’s lips wasn’t enough to keep him from rushing forwards, Gaius at his heels.
He leaned against the wall to take Arthur’s torso in his arms, making him rest on his chest. The idea that Arthur could wake up leaning on his dead manservant made him shudder in horror, and yet when Uther came and ordered them to leave, he shot a desperate glance at Gaius. He normally wouldn’t have hesitated to go; but that one talk with an unconscious Arthur had awakened both his selfish desire to see the man understand what Merlin had been ready to do for him and the idea that perhaps this was the last form of protection he could offer his Prince; the sight of his corpse would hopefully stick in his mind and maybe keep him out of too dangerous fights.
Clearly perplex, Gaius still answered his cry for help, making up on the spot a reason why it would be better for them to be present, as he had an antidote should the mixture prove to be harmful. The King didn’t protest and sat down near the bed, waiting with baited breath as they resumed pouring the water into Arthur’s mouth.
In spite of his certainty that this would work, Merlin found himself holding the body in his arms tighter and tighter anyway - and this explained why Arthur’s triumphant return to the waking world was done by a choking sound instead of the sarcastic sentence he would surely have preferred.
Blushing, Merlin relinquished his hold a little, enough for the Prince to breathe, though not completely. And as the King declared that this was a miracle and quite unexpectedly patted the blond hair, as Gaius’ face took a half-relieved, half-tortured expression, Merlin couldn’t help but squeeze Arthur briefly again, hiding his smile by looking down.
“What’s happened? Are you alright, Father? And Merlin, just what do you think you’re doing? Don’t you think it would be quite ironic of me to succumb to suffocation by servant after surviving the attack of a huge magical beast?”
Yep, that was his pratly Master alright.
***
After a few days full of tension, of constant anxious glances from the physician, of strained discussions with Arthur and of hours spent just gazing in the distance, it took barely two minutes to make everything so very wrong again. Once more, he was staring at a sickbed where one of his most important persons laid dying; once more, it was happening because of him and once more, he would act: but this time, he wouldn’t make any mistake.
After spending a few hours fake-studying with Gaius, stroking his mother’s soft forehead, and taking advantage of a sleeping draught his mentor once more had to give Morgana to chat a little with both the King’s ward and her servant, Merlin was currently repacking the few items he would need for the following day’s journey for the fifth time and reluctantly admitting - to himself, not to Gaius’ increasingly high eyebrow - that he was avoiding his last obvious destination.
Did he really need to talk to the royal ass anyway? He mused as he walked in the direction of Arthur’s chambers. He had already told him everything once, wasn’t it enough? Heart-to-hearts were girly, really. On the other hand, so was coming all the way up here only to leave immediately, he mused wryly as he stared at a wooden door that had never before seemed so frightening, not even on his first day of service.
Oddly enough, it was actually remembering those first few days, when he and Arthur had still cordially disliked each other and the only links between them were only of obligation, that gave him the courage to knock - it was his duty as a manservant to take a proper leave of his master, after all, even though he couldn’t exactly tell him that he was leaving.
“I need to talk to you.” He said softly, and barely heard Arthur’s sarcastic answering jibe.
His heart hammering in his throat, Merlin repeated some of the advice of the previous night, hoping against hope that the Prince would pay heed to it. As he pronounced a painfully honest sentiment - “I would be glad to be your servant until the day I die”, the irony behind it made him lower his eyes, and he kept them on the floor when he realised it made talking easier. That’s why he didn’t see Arthur progressively freeze as the familiar words - you have to learn to listen, don’t be such a prat, called for answering ones in his still cloudy memory. He didn’t see the Prince’s eyes widen in realisation either. But he did perfectly hear his horrified whisper:
“Merlin. What have you done?”
The young warlock snapped his head upright, only for his eyes to confirm what he already knew. Arthur remembered.
Oh, shit. Merlin tried to remind himself that it could have been worse, really. The first words out of Arthur’s mouth could have been…
“You’re a sorcerer?”
Yep, those were the ones. It was official now - Merlin was totally screwed.
***
Arthur could still remember his father’s words, and as he did they made him shudder once more. Arthur…Imagine a man that can’t be stopped by any locks, that can play with the elements of this Earth, that can crush your sword with a word. Even then, it was this last example that had horrified him the most, because this lecture had come just after the lessons where he had been taught that with hard work and dedication, his sword would become his greatest ally and his means to become a successful King. Then give him a beautiful face and a honeyed voice. Let him seduce you and propose the most beautiful of deals, let him show you that he holds what you desire most in the cup of his hand. And when you accept his terms, he’ll teach you the taste of the bitterest deception known to men. Because magic…never holds her part of the bargain.
This image of a beautiful and traitorous man had stuck to his impressionable young mind, had grown with him, and if it had sometimes been battered by the sight of desperate mothers that cried for their sons or by a wounded Druid boy’s calm eyes, well it had still always survived, and made sure that he would be wary against any form of abnormality.
This image had stayed all those years…only to be replaced today by the sight of his manservant, eyes slightly widened, glancing from side to side, his mouth opening and closing as he went through possible answers in his mind. The contrast between the two figures was more than simply jarring, it represented the collapse of many convictions that had shaped his existence - his certainty that the chambers were a safe haven from the recent magical attacks, the idea that he would surely knew if he came across such Evil, the fact that Merlin was his damn best friend.
He needed someone to say in a reassuring tone that this was anything but the truth…And his manservant was more than ready to oblige.
“So you remember some of that, right?” Merlin began, as nonchalant as he could force himself to be. Arthur’s eyes shot towards his at the unexpected answer, and he continued, lifting his mouth’s corners in a small smile.
“I must admit I didn’t expect you to hear my ramblings as you were unconscious - that must have been torture for you, sire.” The light tone, the sparkling eyes, even the slight mockery Merlin couldn’t help but attach to the form of respect was there. Arthur could feel himself relax minutely - Merlin was a horrible actor, after all, so surely it meant that this here was the truth.
“What do you mean exactly?”
Merlin dropped his eyes so Arthur didn’t see the tiniest flash of gold there, didn’t suspect that the reason why his servant’s voice was now slightly smoother, his words flowing more easily was because he was delicately weaving his magic and his lies together. The Prince relaxed and the tension in his shoulders began to dissipate as his servant continued his tale.
“It was something Gwen told us…That some people in a coma could actually feel people’s presence and hear their words - I guess she was right, in the end. I didn’t feel like spilling out all my inner feelings, so I sort of created stories.”
“Where you were a sorcerer?” The Prince seemed openly amused now.
“Yeah…Well I also put you in the stocks once or twice, but I guess it’s just as well you don’t remember those.”
“Merlin!” But even as he sent a furious glare to the cheeky young man, he could feel the knot in his stomach dissolving, and it was with a hidden smile that he told his servant to leave him.
His feelings of relief and contentment created a warm glow in his stomach that held for a few minutes after Merlin’s departure before it started to dissipate. It just didn’t add up. He could remember more and more of the conversation now, and it sounded nothing like an invented tale. This is the hardest part of my secret, actually. A secret? Not hiding my abilities. Abilities?
Standing up quickly, groaning as the action sent a rush of blood to his still hurting head, he stumbled to the door, firmly decided to settle those matters once and for all, and began walking towards Gaius’ quarters.
Surprising a conversation between Merlin and his mentor would have been perfect - something like “Yeah, he remembered that I had told him I was a sorcerer, but I distracted him” (because that jibe about the stocks was nothing more than a distraction, and he would have realised that if he just hadn’t been so damn tired, and his manservant so convincing), but when he arrived at the physician’s rooms and softly opened the door he only saw Merlin, leaning towards the obviously ill person on the bed with a look both sad and very tender. Arthur’s mind raced - who could be lying there, to evoke such an emotional answer from Merlin? His question was quickly answered by a slightly raspy voice that he recognised immediately, but it only raised more interrogations.
Why was Hunith here, and hurt? Had the bandits come back to Ealdor?
Why had a sick feeling gotten a hold of him once he had heard her voice? I know you won’t be very happy, considering how adamant you were to be the one drinking the poison in the labyrinth…More reminiscence from Merlin’s “story”. What did this all mean?
He suddenly had enough of this whole farce. He was the Prince, he didn’t eavesdrop to learn whether or not he had been right to trust his servant. Actually, he didn’t hesitate, period - he acted.
Stalking in the room, he refrained from shouting only out of respect for the ill woman, managing instead to make his voice into a furious hiss:
“Merlin, I want you to explain everything to me, now! And no more of those ridiculous evasions!”
Merlin startled visibly and Arthur almost faltered at the pain expressed by those oh so blue eyes as he turned to face him, but still pressed on, aware that something was happening right under his nose.
“I. Said. Now.”
“Arthur, I…this is…I mean…” A deep sigh. “Not here, alright?”
The Prince gave a short nod and stepped in the corridor as Merlin whispered a few more words of hope and love to his mother before following him.
***
This is not happening. This is not happening. This can’t be happening! This had been the main leitmotiv of Merlin’s thoughts for the past hour, since Arthur had revealed he remembered at least some of what Merlin had told him as he was in a coma. He had been almost eaten alive by guilt as he used magic to make his master believe he was no sorcerer - the irony of it alone almost killed him - but he had been comforted in his decision by the fact the blonde man visibly relaxed as he listened to him; he was right, now was not the time to burden the Prince with his secret, especially as he was going to…well, to die the next day. Had his painful lies been for nothing? He now wondered, trying to imitate the prince’s brisk pace as the both of them walked together in the direction of Arthur’s room.
Once there, the Prince slowly turned to stare at him, a bit warily, a bit worriedly, but mostly like he really didn’t know what to make of him right now. Merlin had to hide a smirk as he reminded himself that it was really not the time to think that befuddled was a good look on the man.
“What’s happening, Merlin? And why is Hunith here?”
Well, that sure served as a perfect mood-killer. The young sorcerer winced, having been until now unsure that the Prince knew who the ailing woman was. This just got better and better.
“She’s very ill.”
His voice couldn’t help but break on those words and Arthur’s mouth, which had already opened to let a doubtless sarcastic remark out, shut softly. Instead, he took a step towards him, putting a hand on his right shoulder and peering into his eyes, concern breaking through the unusual distrust that had been slowly building since he had remembered Merlin’s ramblings to his unconscious body. And then the warlock realised two things.
First, that he couldn’t let Arthur know of his magic - his betrayal - not ever, not even if he was to die five minutes later. Because the thought that the ice that had cooled the blue eyes in the past hour would form every time the Prince remembered him in spite of all they had shared, the fact that their whole time together would only become another hurting memory for the man was…well, unthinkable.
And secondly, that if Arthur kept on looking at him like that, with such warmth and honest worry for him in his gaze, he was going to lose it. Spectacularly. And. Very. Soon. Too late!
Merlin’s pride made him swiftly turn to look at the dying fire on his left, but even as he did so Arthur’s sharp intake of breath indicated that an unnatural flicker of light had betrayed the presence of the water pooling in his eyes.
The Prince shifted awkwardly, obviously way out of his depth; and as often when faced with uncomfortable emotions, he hid his discomfiture behind an aggressive tone:
“Come on Merlin, what’s with you? You’ve been even stranger than usual since I woke up! What’s happening?”
Merlin could see no way out, or at least none that didn’t include some more outrageous lies that Arthur could only believe if they were accompanied by some strong magical encouragement to. He couldn’t bear to tell any more lies, but he couldn’t say the truth; so he carefully chose his words, and Arthur, perhaps sensing that this wasn’t the moment to teach his servant to get to the point, listened with uncharacteristic patience.
“The creature that bit you was magical…A deep, powerful magic filled it.” He didn’t dare speak the name of the Old Religion, as he knew Arthur would protest its continued existence, but he figured it didn’t really change anything. “So the cure had to be magical.” Now to the difficult part. “Obviously, I wasn’t able to do anything, although Gaius and I tried.” No lies there. “But I couldn’t stand letting you die because the cure had to be magical!” Still perfectly true, and even the contrary to your father that had been poised on his tongue had stayed inside - so far so good. “So I went on the Isle of the Blessed, and that’s where I got the potion that saved you from the poison.”
He had expected the first words to come out of Arthur’s mouth to be about the fact his cure had been magical, but the Prince surprised him:
“And what about your mother? Is she going to be alright?”
Merlin’s eyes widened. He frantically conjured and rejected explanations - a common illness whose timing was a mere coincidence? But she wouldn’t have come all the way to Camelot to get it cured. She had met another of those strange beasts that always seemed attracted to their forests? But Arthur would insist on getting its full description and riding to fight it immediately.
To be honest, Merlin would have probably been able to find a convincing explanation. But all the secrets and lies of this last week, the pressure of knowing he could die at any moment, the hand that had been continuously crushing his heart since he had learnt of his loved mother’s fate had all been slowly choking him, leaving him feeling as if he was constantly gasping for another breath. And speaking openly and honestly with Arthur, even if he wasn’t able to tell him the whole truth, was like finding his breath again, like feeling once more rooted in this world, and he wasn’t eager to go back to the numbness that had been slowly invading his very being in the last days. So he told the truth.
“On the Isle…I met Nimueh.” Arthur emitted a short gasp, clearly involuntary, but didn’t interrupt further. “She explained to me that there was a price to pay for the water that would bring you back.” And now the Prince was frowning - clearly, he didn’t care much for where the tale was heading. “I already knew this, from Gaius’ book. I had intended to…to propose myself as a sacrifice. But the witch” and the venom in this name was certainly no role-playing to convince Arthur he hated magic as much as the next subject of Camelot, this was complete honesty “deliberately misunderstood me…and she took my mother.” Once more, the disbelief and the rage he still felt each time he thought of this ultimate betrayal made his voice falter on those words.
***
As Merlin’s tale enfolded, Arthur’s thoughts couldn’t really get past a simple ‘Oh no, please no’, and he actually felt quite detached from reality as he tried to consider what all of this meant, exactly. He didn’t know what was worse; the thought of his rash, stupid, horribly brave manservant trying to stay on his horse long enough to bring back the remedy that would kill him as surely as it would save his Prince, or the picture Hunith must have made for Merlin on her deathbed, as the boy knew he was the one who had brought her illness.
He was aware that Merlin was waiting for him to react, probably angrily, but the only words that could make it past his clenched teeth as he contemplated those two situations were:
“Merlin, you complete idiot.”
As the brown-haired young man opened his mouth to protest, Arthur found his voice again, perhaps because the insult had brought him to a more familiar role - he had an idiotic servant to scold, after all.
“How could you even believe that this was a good idea? Haven’t you learnt by now that you should leave all the thinking to the others? What exactly do you think I would have felt, waking up to find you dead, and not even knowing why?”
Merlin winced, and Arthur sighed.
“Don’t tell me. There’s more, is that it?”
“Well, Arthur, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let you die! And I…I can’t let…”
“You can’t let your mother die either. You’re going back, right? You’re leaving tomorrow, or even tonight, and that’s why you came to have this weird conversation earlier. You were meaning to…” to say goodbye, he meant to say, but he couldn’t. The thought felt like a well-aimed punch to his stomach, and his entrails did an altogether unpleasant gig as he considered the idea further. Merlin had come to say goodbye…because he had known that he was going to die. What had this certainty done to his servant? Looking once more in the boy’s blue eyes, the strange closed look he had earlier angrily identified as a refusal to tell him the truth now appeared for what it was; Merlin was at the end of his rope, with only his will not to let anyone close to him die being stronger than anyone’s natural determination to live.
He felt something break inside of him then, perhaps the last remnants of the misplaced reserve a life without a mother had taught him, and he engulfed the other man in a rough hug, feeling Merlin first stiffen in his arms and then bunching and twisting his shirt’s fabric as he desperately embraced him back. When the Prince spoke again his words were choked out, far from his usual confident tones.
“You said several times that you couldn’t let me die. Stop being so arrogant - you’re not the one defining the boundaries of this relationship, I am. And if I decide that I won’t let you die, then that’s my choice. You’re not leaving alone tomorrow, understood?”
Arthur didn’t know exactly what he meant by this; or more precisely, of what help he could be in front of powerful and malevolent magic. This feeling of uncertainty and of lack of confidence in his capacity to resolve everything by a good swordfight was new, but perhaps it was actually long overdue, he acknowledged ruefully, remembering several instances where it would have been a good idea to think and consult with someone before rushing to the fight. You have to learn to listen as well as you act, Arthur. Well, he didn’t need the familiarly fogged quality of this memory to know who had told him that, and when.
Coming back from his thoughts, he abruptly realised he still held his manservant in his arms, and released him with a slightly embarrassed look.
“Go, eat something warm and rest a little - you need it, you look like death warmed over. I’ll have someone else pack our things for tomorrow.”
Merlin mutely nodded, still obviously both shocked and relieved, and left without another word - but not before throwing him the biggest smile he had yet to see on the man.
The smile was quite goofy and undignified, quite like Merlin actually, Arthur reflected - and if the Prince’s face felt a bit warm to the touch afterwards, well, it was only because he had been on his way to stoke the fire back to life when the servant had turned to leave.
Merlin practically skipped the last steps to Gaius’ quarters, drawing a few incredulous looks from bedraggled and exhausted servants but not caring much. It was strange, really - as soon as the force of the persuasion spell waned off he would have to face Arthur’s questions and be ready to either use magic again or tell the truth about his secret, both repugnant options; he was still facing a probable death for the next day. But just sharing part of his burden with Arthur had made it incommensurably lighter - and it was with a small smile on his face that he kissed his ailing mother on the cheek, bid an astounded Gaius a good night and fell into Morpheus’ arms.
As always, his relief wasn’t going to last.
“Arthur! Arthur! Gaius…Gaius is gone! We have to leave, now!”
It was perhaps lucky, considering the situation, that Arthur had been unable to find a position painless enough to allow him to fall asleep, as he was currently dressed and checking they had everything they would need for their short journey.
He quickly turned in the direction of his friend’s hurried tone, and met wide eyes in which the panic that had been barely held at bay yesterday was now fully raging. Sighing softly, he reached the corridor in a few brisk paces, ordering the first servant he found there to make sure two of his fastest horses were immediately readied, than reached for the two bags on his table, handing the lighter one to Merlin and heaving the other on his back.
“Come on then. To go to the island, you have to cross the Western part of the forest right? I know of a shortcut we can use, which I’m sure Gaius has no idea about. We’ll be there with plenty of time to spare, so calm down, Merlin, would you? Your agitation is giving me a headache, as my incompetent servant wasn’t able to provide me with an elixir to make sure I’d be able to sleep correctly.”
Several emotions flashed through Merlin’s expressive eyes, making them unreadable, but the two main ones were unmistakable - such deep thankfulness and respect couldn’t have been hidden even if the young man had wanted to, after all.
And as he took the bag Arthur was handing to him, as he felt his wrist being firmly but painlessly grasped in a fist that could have easily crushed him, he couldn’t help but feel like he intimately knew that no matter what happened during their talk to Nimueh, no matter the risks that existed that Arthur would learn of his magic during their trip, no matter the dangers that they would face, they would still be both here the next day, and the day after that, in this exact position - the Prince leading his servant, taking the lead as they readied for a fight, or perhaps rather a friend helping another, but anyway the two of them together, inextricably linked.
Because this was their destiny.
Deep below them, in a cavern dug under miles and miles of stone, a dragon’s amused rumble resonated.