"Words are mere sound and smoke, dimming the heavenly light."
xXx
"A man sees in the world what he carries in his heart."
Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot, is dead.
Killed by an assassin hiding amongst the entertainers hired for Prince Arthur Pendragon's 21st birthday, the king was killed within the walls of his own castle, his own bedchamber.
That night, Camelot mourns, and the prince keeps vigil, alone in the throne room, beside his father's body.
The next morning, he emerges to find his two most trusted friends have been keeping a vigil of their own outside the throne room.
"We didn't want you to feel you were alone," Merlin, his manservant, explains when he stands. Initially a bumbling oaf of a pest, Merlin has somehow made himself indispensable to Arthur and has become one of the few people the prince would truly trust with his life.
Guinevere, a servant within the castle since they were both children and most recently the late king's nurse, merely smiles her agreement as Arthur extends his hand down to help her to her feet. Without another word, she opens her arms to him and he bends to her, enfolding himself in her embrace, letting her goodness soothe his ragged soul.
Arthur loves them both. He loves Merlin as a brother and trusted confidant, but would never admit it to anyone.
He loves Guinevere with his entire being, and knows he would be lost without her. She loves him in return, but they have had to keep their love secret, known only to those closest to the prince.
Arthur gently eases out of Guinevere's embrace, trailing his hand down her arm to catch her hand, which he holds as they silently walk to his quarters. He no longer cares who sees them.
Merlin walks ahead, not out of disrespect, but to give them a semblance of privacy. To intercept any who might wish to disturb his master as he makes his way up to prepare for the coronation.
Sure enough, Lord Agravaine attempts to intercept them.
"Arthur, if I could have a word…"
"You may not," Merlin answers.
"How dare you!" Agravaine blusters. "You do not speak to your betters this—"
"Agravaine," Arthur's voice is low and level. Merlin knows this tone and knows it can be deadly. He bites back his smile.
Agravaine strives to move around Merlin but the servant stands firm. "My lord, I—"
"Not now," Arthur snaps, then briskly brushes past his uncle, Guinevere still in tow.
Merlin gives Agravaine a brief, slightly smug, look, then follows, proud of himself for not saying, "I told you so," to the oily, power-hungry lord.
Agravaine is left gaping after them, disoriented and angry. His gape turns into a glower, and he turns on his heel and heads for the castle doors, hoping to find his Lady before the coronation.
In the privacy of Arthur's chambers, Merlin takes the lead, encouraging Arthur to sit. He kneels to remove the prince's boots, and notices Guinevere pouring some wine into a goblet for him. Food has been set out on the table, and she prepares a plate as well. She catches Merlin's eye, and he gives her a small smile and nod.
"Please try to eat something, Arthur," she says, her soft voice cutting into the silence.
"I'm not hungry," he answers.
"You don't want to collapse on the dais at your own coronation," Merlin comments, earning him a glare.
"I have survived longer on less," Arthur retorts.
"For me, then," Guinevere tries, indulgently running her fingers through his hair. She notices it is dull and feels a bit grubby. She looks over at Merlin.
"I'll call for a bath while he eats," Merlin says, able to read his friend's face. He notices Arthur is now absently eating his breakfast, but he can tell he isn't really tasting anything.
"Thank you, Merlin," she replies, still hovering over Arthur like a devoted wife. "You are very good to him, even if he doesn't acknowledge it."
Arthur makes a small sound of agreement, but he still seems miles away.
Merlin smiles, and goes to see about the bath, knowing his master is in capable hands.
xXx
The coronation takes place at noon, the bright sunlight streaming through the high windows, painting everyone in a golden glow.
Arthur appears serious and composed, his eyes clear and mouth set. The court will be talking for years to come about how poised their new young king was at his coronation.
Amid cheers of "Long live the king!", Guinevere catches Merlin's eye from their places in the back with the other servants, and she immediately knows that he is the only other person who sees what she sees.
Arthur is terrified.
Guinevere turns her attention back to her king, joining in on the cheering, and does not see the very small, knowing smile that crosses Merlin's face.
xXx
The feast that night is crowded. Despite Arthur's birthday feast having just been two days prior, the spread is lavish and the mood is festive. Everyone wants to take an opportunity to have a few words with their new young king.
Unfortunately, their new young king wants nothing more than to be left alone to figure out exactly how he's going to rule a whole kingdom. Because he currently has no idea.
Uther prepared him as best he knew how. His parting words were words of support, intended to reassure his son that he was indeed ready to rule.
However, Uther also instilled a large dose of insecurity in his son. Arthur rarely felt that his actions were good enough. He wasn't smart enough. He didn't fight hard enough.
He just wasn't enough.
"More wine, my lord?" Guinevere's voice is a welcome one, and he turns his head to look up at her.
He manages a true, if slightly sad, smile for her, and says, "No thank you."
"I can bring you some water, if you'd prefer," she suggests.
"Thank you, that would be very nice," he replies.
She bobs a small curtsey and scurries away to fetch a different pitcher from the kitchens.
"Merlin," Arthur says, not raising his voice. He knows he doesn't need to.
"My lord?" Merlin asks, appearing at his side in an instant.
"I need to write something down," he says.
Merlin's brows furrow, but he nods. "Um, very well," he says, then disappears.
As expected, he returns in a flash with a small piece of parchment, a quill, and a small pot of ink. "Is this enough?" he asks.
"Perfect," Arthur says, taking the quill. He pauses briefly to speak to another sycophantic lord, then bends his head over the parchment.
Guinevere returns a few minutes later, apologies on her lips. "I am sorry it took so long. There was no clean water available so I had to get some from the well," she explains, pouring the water into a fresh goblet she brought.
"You didn't go all that way yourself," he replies, picturing her lithe form hurrying through the courtyard, going above and beyond the call of duty (as usual), just to bring him water. While she is still close, he slips the note into her pocket.
A soft gasp escapes her lips as she realizes he's given her something, but she maintains her composure. "No, the cook sent a page," she answers, her voice remarkably even.
"Good," he says. "Thank you, Guinevere."
"You're welcome, my lord." She almost whispers the reply, then disappears before people begin gossiping.
Less than a minute later, another lord comes to extend his congratulations and make sure his face is seen. Arthur stifles his heavy sigh, wondering how much longer this feast will last.
Wondering if he can take Guinevere, escape out of a hidden door, and disappear into the night forever.
A/N: This story is very loosely based on Faust. I have never read it, but I know the basic gist. The quotes at the beginning of each chapter are from Faust.