AN: Whee my indenting got deleted, sorry if the formatting is confusing. Anyway, there are only two characters in this story that I own, and they are Hans and Charlie. Thank you for reading!
Tears were pounding from a deathly sky that afternoon, spitting dirt and muck onto the blur of ankles and hems, through the narrow gaps between the feet of the masses. It rained expeditiously and at Camelot's busiest hour and day, chasing the lower class into homely retreats and taverns. Namely, The Rising Sun was the spot of the evening—after all, it was Camelot's only pub, and was always warm with the heat of many sweltering bodies and held a host-like promise of inebriated escapism.
Sir Gwaine, a practical benefactor of The Rising Sun, dragged his friends through the door just moments after the unassuming, meek maid Guinevere gave into its call.
A trader just passing the guards at the front gate, which was always carelessly ajar out of politeness, made straight for the simple establishment. He hunched with the weight of a well-structured bag— but not with age, his fine gold beard placing him just over twenty-five. He had immediately noticed opportunity in seeing the the people run for the tavern, a glimmer in his eye, and then slinked after them like a lecherous tanooki.
With nothing to do until the storm passed, they would need a distraction; and did he ever have wares.
The next morning was crisp with steam, Camelot recovering its sunlight, yet the streets were bare. Those who had left their homes in the morning felt odd, assuming some outside threat was to blame, and went to hide. Thus, every crevice was sullen and silent, every road a haunt, save the palace stables.
The horses had whined consistently when no stable hands came to tend to them, smelling the abandon in the air. They were eased when, finally, the twitchy, foal-like servant of the Prince came to clean and feed, one of his eyes trained on the windows and streets. His heart was a step faster today, and his hand trembled as he brushed a Palomino stallion who on any other day he would have nothing to do with. Inside the castle, only the kitchen staff and launderers were present. Not even Guinevere, who had been absent the day before to help her father forge new armor for a still-growing knight, was there when Lady Morgana awoke.
But, this wasn't why Merlin was trembling in his boots.
Earlier he had leapt, in a spurt of dopamine, from his bed, not even talking to Gaius, down the halls and into Arthur's chambers, with the notion of conjuring a lizard into the prince's trousers before he woke. Unfortunately, Arthur was up. Terrifyingly, he was up, slumped in his chair, red eyes stark against his grey, tired pallor, glued to the pages of a leather-bound book.
Never had Merlin ever seen or heard of his master intentionally indulging in intellectual or philosophical ventures- Camelot, as a whole, was bereft of manuscripts, which were irrelevant to the concord of its sovereignty. Yet, it seemed the prince had sacrificed rest for a book- a commoner's leisurely reading- wearing yesterday's clothes and barely acknowledging the intruder in his room. Merlin called his name three times before Arthur looked up- an odd pink pallor covered his face.
"Sire?" Said Merlin, "You look even stranger than usual today. Did you sleep at all?"
Arthur just swallowed slowly, and rubbed his eyes. "I-I-I was just reading a... a book of etiquette. For princes." He spoke it like a question, and his servant folded his grinned roguishly in response.
"And you stayed up reading it?" He bounced to Arthur's side and craned his neck to read, but Arthur slammed the covers closed, nearly mangling his own fingers, and hid it face down at his opposite side. He gave Merlin's shoulder a short shove, and glared. "Rule number one- sack annoying, nosy servants who get in your personal space!" Arthur warned.
"You haven't complained until now!"
Arthur shoved him once again. "Well, now I'm complaining," he bit, snapping a 'z', "so better go about getting my breakfast, washing my clothes, I don't know, whatever it is you're supposed to do, and leave me to my studies."
Merlin yapped, "As you wish, ass. I mean, sire," without apology and turned to leave, letting the door swing against the doorframe as he did. Still, the servant couldn't help but check conspicuously over his shoulder as he left, just catching a glimpse of Arthur staring before he leapt back into the book.
He didn't know what to make of that.
On his way off to get breakfast, the feeling of being alone had set in. He had heard nothing but his own shoes in the dark corridors. He did one task after another, but the castle fell behind.
Merlin realized his brush has been circling the same patch of hair on the horse's neck for an indiscriminate amount of time.
"Merlin?" A lilt from behind had Merlin jumping, and the horse whining in surprise. He spun around to see Morgana, her features bright with dismay.
"Ah, hello, sire—I mean lady? Ma'am?" He stuttered. She smiled vaguely, and Merlin saw a disconcerting sadness beneath her composure.
"I'm sorry I startled you, but... I went to see Gwen." She began, trailing off, eyes wandering to the distant streets.
"Oh... Was she there?"
Morgana shrugged. "Yes she was there, but something was off. She seemed... Afraid."
He almost took off for Gwen's house right then. "What was wrong? Why was she afraid?"
"I don't know... She seemed afraid of me," the girl said tremulously. "I thought we were beyond any distrust..." She shook her head, morphing to a business-like(nope) facade, turning resolutely to him. "At any rate, she trusts you, Merlin. Can you go talk to her?"
Merlin nodded cautiously. "I will." He nearly set off, but stopped himself to put down his brushes. He smiled at Morgana. "Don't worry. Gwen thinks of you as her greatest friend. I promise she'll come through."(foreshadow?)
The king's ward smiled back, a slump seeming to lighten from her stature.
"Thank you, Merlin," she quietly replied.
It took a medium-rare knuckle from a lot of knocking, but Gwen's door finally opened. The maiden was scraggly like a dog in the wind, her eyes and face rubbed into redness, and she was still in her nightclothes, with only a cotton blanket over her shoulders for modesty. Merlin hid any shock from his expression as he smiled with care.
"What is it, Merlin?" She mumbled, staring at her feet. He was immediately caught off guard.
"Well, you didn't come to work, you terrified Morgana when she tried to call on you, and you look..." He stopped himself.
"I look terrible!" She filled in noisily with spread hands, her shout echoing on the pavement outside. "I suppose that's why I terrified Morgana!" Merlin drew her inside and closed the door, then lead her to the table. It was barren, as were the counters in the house, implying that she had even skipped breakfast.
"No, I didn't mean it like that, you look lovely as you always do- at any rate, what happened?" He struggled to question when he was attentive on one side of the table, and she moping on the other side. She seemed so different, and he began to wonder if she'd been possessed.
Just then, she seemed to finally acknowledge his existence, and tried futilely to perk up. "I-I'm sorry," Guinevere said, massaging her forehead, "I just... Woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."
"Morgana said you seemed... Scared?" Merlin mumbled unconfidently. "Did you have a nightmare... a very bad nightmare?"
"No," she grunted, face now hidden in her palms.
"Was someone stalking you?"
"No."
"Did you receive a death threat—"
"For fuck's sake, stop being so morbid!" She shouted, and he flinched horribly. He was about ready to concede that she'd been turned into some kind of demon and consult Gaius. Still, with a shred of hope left, he asked, "Did you read something strange?"
Gwen's eyes grew, and she then behaved like a criminal playing dumb. "No! Not at all," she cried, "I don't read! Do you read? Not that reading is a bad thing, if you read, that's fine, but if you were to not know how to read that would also be alright-"
"Gwen, you're fine, it's fine, as you said—but yesterday, I think, someone was selling books to the townsfolk. Actually, even Arthur was reading this morning."
Gwen shrugged like a clown might. "I have no clue."
After that, Gwen was statuesque in her refusals, and Merlin dejectedly rose from the table. However, he caught a whiff of a burning smell- burning leather. He glanced at the fire, and saw slabs of parchment and seared paper flakes.
He raised a skeptical eyebrow, taking after the Court Physician, he told her to get better and left.
"Arthur?" Merlin said, shouldering the door- only to have it pushed back against him.
"Go away!" The prince's muffled voice replied.
"I just wanted to ask where you got that book-"
"I don't like your face!"
Merlin found nothing to say to the cold wood of the door, and instead launched himself down the hall, running from his disappointment to find answers.
"...Merlin?" Arthur's sad voice came hesitantly.
He tripped a couple of times on the stairs, but eventually he climbed his way to Gaius's door and burst inside. "Gaius!" He called, desperately, nearly tripping over the kitchen stool in his hurry, foot seeming to find every hitch in the cheap wood flooring. "Something strange is happening-"
Gaius was lying, supine on his bed, still as death. The scratchy covers were pulled up to his chin. He looked like he'd been hiding from a shadow on the wall.
The boy was at his side immediately, shaking him, checking his breathing. The old man was alive, but his eyes were wide open and unseeing. For minutes, Merlin tried to get his attention, but it seemed some kind of shock had settled in. His uncle was far more absent than he'd previously thought. The sorcerer made for his room, to dig up some spell books, but his toe hit a hard object on the floor, which went skidding and hit the opposite wall.
It was the same damn book. Merlin walked towards it, with caution, knowing it must be cursed.
Just as his fingers brushed the spine, a yell sounded behind him, vibrating off the walls, and he was dragged across the room. He yelped and fought against the steel grip circling his arms.
"Merlin, no! Don't read it!" A desperate voice sounded against the back of his head. His eyes widened in recognition.
"Percival, what are you doing?" He said, and forced himself away to face the knight. Percival's left hand still shackled to his wrist. "Whatever you do, do not read the book," Percival warned, face pale and sweaty. A streak of purple bruising marred his cheek.
"What happened to you?" Asked Merlin.
Percival grimly began his tale, reciting it carefully. "All of the Knights but I, for I'm doing a juice cleanse and the cook needed help juicing the apples, went to the tavern last night. Apparently, a merchant was there, selling those books. Each knight bought their own, and I found them in the armory..." He shook his head. "They were all entrenched in those books. Gwaine had gone for a dump, and left a copy on his stool, so I picked it up..." Again, the man shook his head, slow and sad. He pointed to his cheek. "Gwaine was so mad, he punched me! So, I went to bed, and they were still reading when I awoke. I tried to talk to some neighbors downtown today, and many of them were in the same state. A girl-I forget her name-was in her right mind, and when she told me that Gaius had bought a book, I got here as soon as I could."
"Wait... What was inside the book?" Merlin worried.
Percival almost looked ready to speak, but instead his face twisted agonizingly, as though Merlin was difficult to look at. Before Merlin could reach to wipe off whatever blemish may be perched on his nose, the knight gallantly replied, "No, I cannot say."
Merlin didn't move or blink, irritation steadily rising. "Why not?" He asked.
"It's a... Grown-up book," Percival said.
"What's that even mean?"
"It means you can't-cannot-read it."
"Hold on... You said only grown-ups can read this book. I am a grown-up!" The sorcerer countered, toes bouncing on a squeaky frame.
"No, no you are not."
"I am!"
"You won't understand-"
"I need to know what happened to Gaius, and Gwen, and Arthur!" He cried, pulling towards the book, "I need to know the author's name! The merchant's name at the very least?" Merlin begged when his wrist was still stuck fast.
Percival looked stricken. "Do you mean to say Arthur was reading it?"
A sigh, "Yes, but I don't care about him as much, because my pretty-much-dad is in a coma and Gwen won't talk to anyone!"
"Gwen?"
"I'm begging you, Percival!"
Finally, the knight shook from his shock and explained, "The author's name is in initials and is likely fake, but the Merchant supposedly wrote it himself. P.P. Powerpuff was the name."
Kicking up dust, hey left. The pair searched the town for P.P. Powerpuff, from door to door until their knees shook, and finally went to The Rising Sun. The bartender was no help; book-struck, the stout man couldn't seem to give them a straight answer on whether the writer had a room, and sat behind the counter, mumbling, "immersion and cleavage and with and whoa."
"What in the fuck was in the book?" Merlin wondered aloud in a huff as they left the tavern. Percival was quiet.
Ultimately, the duo went to the court. Certainly, Uther would respond briskly to a strange intruder in his city. Two guards stood at the grand towering doors, anonymous behind their helmets.
"We need to speak to the King," Percival said, approaching, Merlin at his heel.
"His majesty has barred all entrance," droned the left-hand guard, his voice tinny under his helmet.
"Please, it's urgent!" Merlin said, "You see, there was a merchant who entered Camelot yesterday-"
"P.P. Powerpuff, right? He is brilliant," sighed the other guard, taller and thinner than the opposite one.
"Aye, a true philosopher," replied his cohort. "Have you read the one about the sorceress and her maidservant?"
"Aye, who hasn't?"
Like a funeral bell, their hearts hit the floor. It was no doubt that the King had his very own page turner, and was occupied. Merlin was baffled, like he had walked in on the end of a joke.
"Why would the King read a book with sorcery in it?" He whispered.
"I have a feeling," Percival said aloud as they slunk back down the corridor, ignoring the question, "that whoever that merchant was..."
"He wanted to weaken Camelot's defenses," Merlin supplied, jaw tight with frustration. A light caught his eye and he peered skyward as they passed a window. "It's already afternoon, and the way things are going, the Kingdom is on the verge of collapse. But we don't know, if he were to strike, when, with whom, and we don't even have an army." He shook away his worried tone, and looked the tall knight in the eye, sternly and gravely. "We need to catch that writer, wherever he is, and make him talk."
Despite the circumstances, Percival smiled, and said, "Arthur should've knighted you."
The servant ducked his head to hide a flattered smile. "Not sure about that."
They walked every set of stairs and every corridor in the castle, giving (polite, for Merlin's sake) orders to the those few unaffected to stay inside. There were really only five or so, all servants except for Morgana, who had desperately wanted to go with them as muscle, or talk to the Knights (who were still weird and dangerous), or do something with a combative edge, so she stood on the battlements with a crossbow as lookout.
Percival and Merlin burst straight past the sated innkeeper, up rickety steps so steep they felt already aching thighs burn like a witch in Uther's grasp.
Each of the twelve doors was locked shut, and it was dead silent. Merlin cut across Percival's uptight stance and pressed his ear to the first door.
The knight whispered for the servant to get away from the door, but, too late, Merlin was furrowing his brows, hearing obscene gasps and moans flutter from within the room, his perception pure green.
"It sounds like people are fighting in there!" He said, reaching for the knob, but Percival pulled him carefully in the opposite direction by his brown jacket. "I'm sure they are doing fine," he declared, steering Merlin down to the next door. He knocked.
There was no reply. Merlin knocked this time. "I am a knight of Camelot," he barked gruffly, "open this door, please."
Percival pushed him aside irritably to present himself just as the door opened.
A short man with rough brown hair and a odd, piggish face grinned, although a leer seemed more suited to his cheeks. He was a man who had an I-know-something-you-don't-know disposition about him, but not in the way that Gaius, or the Grape Dragon Kilgharrah, did. Instead of genuine knowledge, this disposition only masked a self-interested superiority. "May I help you, good sir?" He crooned, arching his thick eyebrows. Even his voice sounded nasally, like a pig's would if a pig could speak English.
"We're looking for the merchant who visited this tavern yesterday's evening, selling books," Percival explained. "Have you seen him? Has he already gone?"
The man chewed his lip. "'Fraid not, sir."
"Are you certain?"
"That I am. You see, I only arrived myself last night on a trek from Ealdor, and made straight for bed."
"Ealdor!" Merlin piped. "I'm from Ealdor." For one hailing from such a small, unknown village, the interest of meeting a fellow settler on the outside was akin to the interest of a sorcerer meeting a fellow sorcerer. Disappointingly, the man just looked him over, staring blankly, and said, "I was only passing through. Hiking."
Percival squinted.
The man rethought his silence, and continued. "I may have seen—at least, I think I saw— a man leaving Camelot with bags this morning. Yes, yes I did," the man stroked his beard, and snorted. "Is there a particular reason for this search?"
Merlin and Percival flickered a communicative glance between each other. "We fear he may have been involved with sorcery," said the former.
The short stranger's face bent in pseudo fear. "Good luck, then. Should you need to call on me again, just ask for Hans," he said, drawing out his name as though it was a blessing. The other two introduced themselves, shook hands, and left.
Merlin felt a gaze prickling on his back the whole way down the stairs.
The moment they hit the dirt out on the city street, Percival turned and said, "I'm going to have to find the merchant."
"Isn't that dangerous? You can't go alone, but someone has to stay in case of an attack!"
"I'm more than capable to take on a traveling trader," the knight clapped the other's shoulder, "and you're more than capable to hold the fort."
"You don't know that."
"You're strategic and thoughtful. You can band together those who are still awake, maybe snap some others out of it, and I'll be quick."
"What if you run into bandits?"
"Then," a feminine voice came, "I'll shoot their eyes out."
They turned; Morgana stood, garbed in steel and thick breeches, her crossbow over her shoulder and hilt on her hip. She gave a fierce nod, as if to say, 'believe in me."
"Can't say no to that," Merlin shrugged.
Thus, the knight and the noblewoman rode out of the city, and Merlin was quietly relieved that his magic was without inhibition. "First," he thought, "I must persuade. And not many people can say no to Guinevere." He ran up the muddy hill to her home, and was more forceful as he knocked. "Gwen," he called against the wood, "I know that you've read the book."
For a full minute, he was lead to believe the home was absent. He could hear the walls creaking. All too suddenly, the door came undone, and Gwen stood there, jaw clenched and looking sick. "How did you know?" She whispered, not even looking at him.
"I saw it the book in the fire," Merlin returned. "You're the only one who isn't completely in a trance, save Percival, a few from the kitchen, and Lady Morgana. You need to come and help us."
Gwen flushed, covering her ears at the name. "I-I'm sorry, I just cannot face her!"
"Why in the world not? Besides, she's left with Percival!" Merlin soothed.
Gwen slumped in relief.
"But, that's why I need you at hand- the merchant may have an army ready to ambush, and our Knights are busy… reading!"
Gwen attentively raised herself. "That's... not good," she said. "I could only barely stop myself reading it before it got too..." she coughed, interrupting herself.
Merlin couldn't help himself. "What was it about?"
"I can't say."
"Please?"
"No, I-"
"I heard there's... sorcery? And girls?" He whispered. "I don't know what that means, but I won't think any differently of you..." Remorsefully, he hoped that he would be finding a friend in magic through these trials.
Gwen's eyes widened at this-then, filled with tears. "You... can't tell anyone."
She sat at the table, and Merlin knelt before her, his heart thudding.
"I won't," said he.
"Especially not Morgana."
"I promise."
"...I was curious. When the merchant told me about the book. He gave an explanation of each one—there were three books. They were all quite similar, but I... I bought the Princess and the Witch," she said.
"What's wrong with that?"
"They... He was selling grown-up books, you know."
"So what? You're a grown up."
Gwen smiled with teary amusement. "The book I bought had to do with sorcery, like you said, and... a romance between two women."
Merlin felt an underwhelming amount of surprise, like an 'oh' one may voice while listening to a dull slice of gossip.
Gwen sighed, "and I liked it."
"Oh," he said, not really understanding.
"And I think I'm in love with Lady Morgana."
"Ohhhhh," he breathed, discovering the enormousness of her predicament, eyes widening. A dark melancholy passed over the room, as though the light had changed. "What... when was it that you... fell in love with her?" He choked.
"I've loved her... For a long time," Gwen sighed, "but only now have I recognized my feelings for what they are."
Merlin fell back on his heels, letting the information process, while Gwen twisted her hand through her hair nervously.
"Just so you know," he said finally, and reached up to grab her hand, squeezing it softly, "I, uh, don't think any differently of you."
Gwen looked very surprised. "I could be burned for this, you know," she whispered.
"I'll take this secret to my grave, if I have to," he promised. "But, I think- I hope, at least- that when Arthur is king... it won't have to be a secret."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
They sat in a comfortable silence for a minute or so. Merlin's eyes found a piece of tattered parchment still in the fireplace, on the edge of a black log. "You were able to burn the book. How?" He asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Everyone else who got a copy of the book couldn't really put it down too easily. They were hypnotized."
Gwen's eyes widened. "How can it be? ...Hold on," she said, "what if they aren't hypnotized, but they just like to read it?"
Merlin tilted his head.
"Well, it's a rather unconventional book. It is intriguing. Not only is it... entertaining," she elaborated with a blush, "but its characters are sorcerers, something that is scarcely understood. Since I've read it, even though I stopped before the ending, I think differently about magic than I would've before."
Merlin considered this. Perhaps there had been no plan to distract and pillage Camelot, but instead to help it grow. Uther, once out of his trance, may even have changed. "Maybe you're right," he sighed. "Poor Percival and Morgana have already gone in search of the merchant, though."
Gwen gasped, "Morgana?"
"She'll be alright, don't worry," he grinned.
So, Merlin left her house, feeling at ease for the first time that day, and happily skated down the streets aglow with sunset. For once, it seemed there was no known threat looming over him, and he felt no need to carry through his earlier plans.
Then, he recalled the shocked old man laying in his quarters, and dashed into the castle.
Meanwhile, Gwen was desperate for a walk after hiding all day- and, as much as she hated to admit it to herself, she wanted to talk to Morgana as soon as she was able. She went to wander the streets before going to attend to her chores within the palace.
A distant 'click' sounded, repetitive from the gates. She turned to see Percival and Morgana's distant horses galloping home, in a clear hurry.
"Gwen!" Yelled Morgana the moment they crossed the bridge. "Are you awake?"
"W-what do you mean?" Gwen stuttered as Morgana gracefully halted her horse. Percival raced towards the castle, passing the lady on her right, totally out of control.
"The one who sold you the book has friends. We saw the army on the way here," the pale woman said, "we're going to be ten against thirty, but we must defend the castle as well as we can." Then, she rode off, and Gwen made haste after them.
"Gaius?" Merlin called. He approached the bed- Gaius had not changed since earlier. Merlin sadly flipped through a spell book, without result, and even searched through vials of remedies. Nothing he tried worked, not even a cup of water over Gaius's head.
"Now I'll have to dry the pillowcase," he moaned remorsefully.
The boy fed the unresponsive physician magic-heated oats, and talked to him in hopes of being heard. "Girls and girls in love isn't a bad thing, Gaius, times have changed," he repeated over and over.
It was the least he could do, and it wasn't enough.
Merlin cried silently for a while, sitting on the bed by his uncle's feet, before he dried his eyes and crawled towards the book on the floor.
Perhaps, if he burned it, the old man would feel safe enough to arise.
As he brushed the cover though, something caught his eye. The gilded name did not seem the same as Guinevere's novel. Rather, it read, "the Merryman and the Queen".
"That doesn't sound like two girls in love," Merlin said aloud, and let it clatter to the floor. "It's a different book."
He ran downstairs at a ludicrous velocity, stumbling and crashing his way into the armory. It was as though he'd been thrown straight into the nighttime as he entered, only a faint light from a pathetic stub of a candle flickering. He listened for movement as he walked to the center of the black room, and only heard his soles padding on the stone. The room smelled of sweat and alcohol.
He looked to his right, and saw a reflection of the flame on two white spheres. His eyes strained to make out a silhouette- a collapsed knight. Gwaine. He then could see them all around the room, limp against a stone enclosure or on a stool, all paralyzed, as Gaius had been.
Taking a blind step towards one of the figures, his foot once again brushed the top of a book. He crouched immediately and scrambled to find the top of it, then held it to the light...
The Merryman and the Queen
Merlin read the name on the cover over and over, with futile dreams of it changing its persona, but it remained tauntingly identical. The Merryman and the Queen. Suddenly, the air was cold, and the castle very lonely, and the revelation burned in his pupils.
As Gwen had said, there were three books and many copies of each. That didn't mean that every novel had been cursed. The other two were meant as distractions, to throw the path of those suspicious. He slapped his forehead in frustration-
Then, claws snapped around his elbows, pulling him from his safe smallness-an involuntary shout pounded in his chest- and he was on his feet, both arms captive by people he known were there. A bearded, hoggish face, only lit enough for him to recall the strange man from the tavern, grinned with mocking tusks of teeth. He knew there had been something strange about him. For a moment, Merlin had no fear, surprise fading, and let magic roll from the tip of his tongue, watched the face reflect the gold from his own eyes— but then what felt like a sharp stone was lodged in his throat.
The man's own eyes were yellow as an autumn moon, and his hand was raised. Merlin gasped without air or sound as the fingers of Hans's other hand stretched just beneath his beard, catching a flab of skin, and pulled it into loose fabric that stretched over his head. Instead of flesh and blood, his true face was revealed- a hideous mixture of boar and human, his evil radiated from the inside out.
"I've heard a lot about you, rat," Hans snorted. "I hail from far away, and even in my home you're an idol of mages and warlocks—an inspiration to us. They preach your legacy like a message from God. Here, sorcerers are hidden in plain sight, in a way protected, by the fools surrounding them. Take away a sorcerer's fools," he pointed his snout to the collapsed men, "the sorcerer's as helpless as anyone else. So, that makes two of us.
Even I needed to employ the help of a simple writer, dear Charlie, who isn't even a sorcerer, to overtake Camelot. So, I caused yesterday's storm while he snuck like a lecherous tanooki into the tavern and sold his various publications; mainly copies I'd enchanted of his immensely popular erotica." He shouted in laughter, "just look at all these sad knights who fell prey to the tale of the lowly merryman's royal affair!"
"What in the world is an erotica?" Merlin thought.
"As I speak, your people are being slaughtered, and Charlie makes his way to kill your king. All for my imminent infamy as the sorcerer who killed the amazing Emrys." Hans sniffed in victory.
Merlin struggled at the idea of massacre for his singular demise, but, between feeling like he'd swallowed an apricot down the wrong pipe and searching each wall above the beast's head for a lamp, or a weapon, without result, he could only think as clear as mud.
"Not so amazing now. I would've expected you to, perhaps, pay enough attention to the world around you to get suspicious of all the books floating around yesterday, or see if you could do some investigation in the library? Maybe there's one folk tale you don't know, though. Do you know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man?" Hans suddenly sang in a terrible voice, his breath smelling like old broccoli.
Merlin wrinkled his nose. "What the hell was that?" He croaked.
The villain bent his raised fingers into a dangerous claw, and jeered, "The last song you'll ever hear. Toodles."
The moment before Merlin would have opted for a silent combustion spell, in a burst of heavenly light, a guardian angel burst through the shadowy little door, swinging a gleaming blade down the villain's back. The unseen captors behind Merlin were jerking and talking fast, but none of it was heard over Hans's squeal.
The villain bent in agony when a foot shot out brutally into his stomach, useless as the swinging savior stabbed each of his lackeys. Merlin ducked from the dangerous steel, hands and knees pressing against the secure flooring. He craned his spinning head to see Prince Arthur, in a state of rare glory, towering over the pitiful swine. The prince's face was alight with passionate determination, his jaw a strong parallel to his glare.
He looked very different from how he was that morning, Merlin thought with elation, but shook off his brief admiration- there was no point in accelerating the gloating that the prince himself would indulge in later.
"On the contrary, now or later, present or future, you will not touch my servant again," the Prince declared boastfully, sounding straight out of a book, and raised his sword. Hans swung up his hand at Arthur, shouting words unfamiliar to even Merlin—
Who executed the combustion incantation he'd been preparing before.
The boar-man lit up like a star, and vanished into a swirl of fine dirt and dust with a scream. The specs got into Arthur and Merlin's eyes and noses, so for a moment, the two of them could only sneeze and rub at their eyes.
"Did he just teleport?" Arthur groaned, rubbing painfully at his running nose.
"I suppose so!" Merlin mumbled, eyes burning, and then laughed. "You're fashionably late—with a prepared speech and all!"
He watched Arthur dropped his tough stance, melting into a bumbling parody of his usual confidence. Strange. "Shut up," his master mumbled. "Why is it that I found you, just now, being killed by a magical dog-man?"
The servant leapt to his feet, and got so close that Arthur wanted to bend away, uncomfortably. "The rest of the Knights became paralyzed from reading the book," Merlin announced, gesturing to the room. Then, he froze, and looked into the prince's shifty eyes. They were normal enough. "I don't know how you escaped the curse!" He said.
"Wait... The knights were reading it?" Arthur gaped.
"Dammit, there's no time— Your father was reading it, too, they're going to kill him!"
The prince went green. "My father?"
Merlin grabbed Arthur's hand, and ran without regard for the other's comfort.
When in a hurry, when two people in one space need to in tandem reach a new place in limited time, it's fair that if one person who was slightly slower be helped-without slowing their total pace as two- to go faster. In this case, the faster person, or the person to act first, may help by grabbing a distant but connected part of the weak link- sometimes a dangling sleeve or hood, but most popularly their hands will join if all variables apply.
Arthur understood this. Still, being touched wasn't his favorite thing. Sharing personal space was nobody's favorite thing, he supposed. Merlin touching his hand, however, or touching him in any case or situation, was bizarre; it made his skin crawl with fluttery wings, like he was being swarmed and eaten alive by light-colored faeries who were invisible to all but Merlin. Try he may to deny it, it was entertaining to Arthur to imagine his servant with a secret, forbidden power to communicate with and befriend faeries, and Arthur's mind travelled to an image of him frolicking in fields of yellow in summer, fancying himself one of them.
The prince reset his mind to worries for his father.
There was barely enough townsfolk to hold them off.
A handful of tense townsfolk stood on the palace steps, lining the start of the town center, which was white and serene like a round of bread save the dark, murky stain where the execution block usually was. Camelot was famous for it's shirked duties, namely the routine execution of innocent people in this center, but today the city was particularly lazy.
They were armed with swords found in old closets and in the blacksmithing storages, awaiting orders, books shaking on the hard stone steps. Percival and Morgana stood at the forefront of the crowd, waiting for Guinevere's signal with bated breath.
A sharp whistle came from the battlements. Arrows flew from above; to enemies they could hardly see yet. Percival and Morgana lead the group into a battle cry and charged forth. Charlie had brought a thirty-person battalion—they knew they were dwarfed, but had to fight.
Their hearts ran faster than they could, thanks to the unlit torches, but they sped up as they ran down the hall towards the court and windows lined the walls. Arthur was far brisker, ran more desperately and thoughtlessly, while the violent scene outside caught Merlin's eye, causing him to freeze. He watched the armed grocer in the distant white town center barely maintain a block against a strong hooded figure—Merlin leaned out the window, glaring at the rival's shoes, making them slip on a small stain of blood so his footing was lost. Merlin saw a badly aimed arrow soar towards the back of Percival's head, and sent it on a track over his shoulder into the eye of his opponent. He noticed Morgana struggling to hold her own against two men—
"Merlin, what are you doing?" Arthur called angrily.
Merlin was glued there, at the window.
"Stop fooling around—the king, idiot, the king!"
"Fuck you, I need to help Morgana!" Merlin thought.
"MERLIN!"
With dread, Merlin followed him.
The guards had already been slaughtered, laying in a mess halfway down the hall, but without stopping Arthur swung open the door.
Charlie, the novelist, was before the limp body of the king, who was slumped on his throne. The criminal had a crooked, dangerous dagger raised— Merlin bursted with magic, and wordlessly sent the man flying against the pillar behind him without thinking.
For a second the servant thought his secret had been thrown out with Charlie, but Arthur was too deep in the zone to notice; too busy yelling, pouncing towards Charlie for the kill.
"Arthur! We need him to tell us how to break the spell!" He warned. Arthur froze, hands twitching on his blade, and frowned.
"I still don't know what you're talking about!" He said, but heeded Merlin's instruction.
Charlie groaned, rubbing his head with both hands, and then forced a nefarious laugh. "Regretful as I am, the truth is that those who read my brilliant erotica will not awake until the one who placed the curse on it is killed—and there's no way you could've taken out Hans," he gloated, drawing out the name as though it were a blessing, and smiled at Merlin. "Not even you—"
"Regretful as I am," a collected, elderly voice interjected smoothly, "it seems that your cohort has passed on. I haven't been this energized in twenty years."
Merlin and Arthur turned. Gaius stood there, hands clasped in front of him, smiling with malice that could rival Charlie's.
With perfect timing, the King then rose with an excited whoop, from a faked slumber, and threw a hidden dagger, gilded handle and all, into Charlie's head. He died quickly with his face frozen in terror.
"Bwa—ha—ha! That was brilliant, father! And you just woke up!" Arthur barked madly, and doubled over in laughter, nearly falling to his knees.
"I've been awake for the past few minutes, actually." The king humbly said, but clearly wasn't feeling humble about it, as his face twitched into a broad smile.
Merlin threw his arms around Gaius wordlessly, beaming into his shoulder. The physician returned the hug, and said, almost inaudibly, "well done."
For a moment, all of the day's tensions had seemed to perish- then they heard clunky footsteps entering the room. The king rose, both him and Arthur drawing their weaponry.
Turning around the doorframe, Gwaine entered, and stood in a daze. With one hand, he produced a copy of his book, and gestured to it; "This is the best book I've ever read."
"The sorceress and the maid, am I correct?" Uther regarded, and nodded. "It really is brilliant."
Gaius gave a strained cough, which defied the limits of rank and made the royalty go silent.
As the event was recounted late that night with the townsfolk and army present, it was told that many of the knights had stumbled outside after awakening and joined the battle, defeating the rest of Hans and Charlie's soldiers. Merlin was relieved to see that Morgana was saved, just in time, by a carefully aimed shot of two arrows from Gwen's crossbow that nailed both of the opponents in their necks. The two women, equally shaken and seeking reconciliation, slipped off together while he and Percival finally explained the situation to those previously blinded.
After all that, he'd caught up with Gaius.
"Gaius," he'd called and located the physician through the bustle of the filled courtroom, and lowered his tone; "I was wondering why it is that you bought a book?"
Gaius tilted his brow and chin, staring with graveyard humorlessness. He didn't seem keen on answering.
"I was just wondering because you only read medical texts," Merlin said, "at least that I've seen."
"Well," the old man said, surgically, "It is a medical text, depending on your initial interpretation."
"How so?"
"You see; I must keep up with the reading habits of the current generation to understand the health of the general populous."
"Don't you know that already by asking them when they visit?"
"Sometimes, people don't always explain themselves fully."
"Explain what?"
"What they've read, and how they've interpreted the text, you see."
"What does that have to do with reading?"
"It depends on what they're reading."
"Ah, so it's to do with their eyes?"
"Mainly to do with the body."
"How?"
"Don't you have to tend to the Prince?"
Yes, he did, and he did so. "What a cryptic old coot," Merlin scoffed in his head as he left with the prince.
Coming back to the present, Merlin dutifully folded the soft covers on Arthur's bed, actually feeling happy to return to a simple, everyday task despite his exhaustion.
"Would you like me to fix you a bath after I'm done?" He asked.
Arthur rudely yawned, stretching his arms far over his head. "...That would be fantastic, actually."
Merlin nodded, and continued to fluff the pillows. A comfortable silence fell.
"I should thank you," interrupted Arthur.
The servant quirked his eyebrow at the prince, who stood, meek, in the middle of the room with nothing to do. For a long time he did not say a word, and Merlin bit his cheek to keep from laughing.
"...But, I don't think I will," the prince finished, turning up his nose and strutting from the room. The door slammed behind him.
He didn't even think to put on a shirt. Merlin burst into free laughter, nearly collapsing face down onto the bed. Upon hearing a faint "shut up!" from the hallway, he only laughed louder and harder. It took him minutes to get composed; he picked up the pillow on the other side of the bed to fluff it...
...and he saw a book on the white sheets.
It looked different from the others. He picked it up, and flipped from the spine to read the cover:
The King and his Manservant
A romance by P.P. Powerpuff
His cheeks went red.
The End