Author's Note: I spammed Twitter with the first part of this story yesterday and decided to turn it into a full fic. So, I'm posting up the first part here, and then I'll add to it as I finish more. Nothing is beta'd, so please ignore any errors.
Merlin whistled as he strolled through the town, his pockets laden with tonics to deliver for Gaius on his way to see the prince. Bottles clinked harmlessly against cheesecloth wrapped soapstones and herbs, making people turn to glance at him as he walked by. Not much came of this at first, people would spare him and look only to turn away again when they saw it was merely Arthur's manservant and not someone more dangerous.
It always amused Merlin in an annoyed sort of way that everyone thought he was just a bumbling idiot who could only cause damage if he were to trip into something. The tripping bit was true, of course. Magic didn't automatically make one graceful, after all, and Merlin had always been a bit awkward and gangly. His mother had always tried to sooth him with promises that he would grow into his height, and that he wouldn't always be lanky and inept – not using those words exactly of course, but how else way Merlin supposed to take it? Still, he was well enough into adulthood now that if it were ever going to wear off, it should have started by now, and it wasn't, so Merlin held no hope that it ever would.
If only people could see the power Merlin carried within him, they might overlook the fact that both of his feet seemed to be left ones.
He was so lost in disgruntled thought that he didn't notice when a cloaked figure stepped up to him and began attempting to match his stride. Not until he glanced to his left and glimpsed the man staring at him from beneath his cowl. "Hullo," Merlin greeted conversationally while keeping a cautious distance. He never trusted a man who wore robes with the hood pulled up on a perfectly mild and beautiful day. People who wore their robes that way were always up to something nefarious and should be stopped for questioning by the guard simply because of it. These inquiries would probably lessen the amount of criminal activity taking place in Camelot, Merlin thought with a silent huff. "Can I help you?"
"You're Arthur's servant, are you not?" the man asked in a grizzled voice.
"I am," he answered, "but I assure you I have no pull with the prince. Whatever you need from the royal family, it's best to take it through the proper channels."
"I only wanted to ask if you would deliver my yuletide gift to the prince directly. It's too far for my crippled legs to carry me," he said, gesturing at the cane he hobbled along with.
Now Merlin felt like shite, suspecting a broken old man of treachery. "I'm sure I can manage that easy enough." The man smiled and handed over the thick, square parcel he'd been toting and Merlin clutched it to his chest.
"It's not signed or anything," Merlin pointed out after scanning the package, but when he looked up again, the cloaked figure was gone. "Well, that's not creepy at all," Merlin muttered to himself before he finished his deliveries and made his way to the castle keep.
"You're late," Arthur chastised the moment Merlin arrived.
"If I'm supposed to be here once I finish Gaius' chores, then how could I ever be late?" Merlin proposed. Arthur didn't even spare a moment to think about it, he merely scowled and narrowed his eyes.
"You're late, when I say you're late," the prince bit back.
"Right. Well, that's perfectly logical," Merlin muttered. "Anyway, I have something for you," he added to escape Arthur's agitated glare. Merlin handed over the parcel and waited for Arthur to open it.
"Who is it from?"
"Don't know," Merlin replied with a shrug.
"Well, where did you get it," Arthur pressed impatiently.
"Oh, a little old man said it was a yuletide gift," Merlin told him.
"Splendid!" Arthur exclaimed, suddenly taking on the bright glow of a small child. "I love presents."
Arthur ripped the paper away with haste, revealing a thick book with a rich painting on the front. It had metal hinges on the binding and it looked ancient, though Merlin's untrained eye could hardly discern how old it truly was.
"It's rather lovely," Arthur whispered, running his hand across a cover that depicted a lady in a meadow with a unicorn by her side.
"Shouldn't we check it for…like poison or something?" Merlin asked hesitantly.
"I don't plan to lick it, Merlin," Arthur shot back, still staring reverently at his new gift. Usually it was Merlin who had a twisted fetish for books. In fact, Merlin wasn't even sure the prince knew how to read. He'd never once see him do so voluntarily.
Merlin was amused by the image that came to mind, a vivid one of Arthur running his large, wet tongue along the spine of the book, suckling at the edges. His grin only made Arthur scowl deeper, however. "You're the prince. I'm sure you know best after all," Merlin offered sarcastically.
"Exactly," Arthur replied rather haughtily. "You're finally catching on."
Masking a quick roll of his eyes behind a cough, Merlin then shrugged, feeling that no real harm could possibly come from a book. Unless it did, of course and, knowing Arthur Pendragon, it probably would.
He watched carefully as the prince opened the tome, sliding his fingers down the yellowed parchment as he flipped the pages over one at a time. "It's a book of fairytales," he said at last. "It's a children's book!"
The blond seemed more than mildly offended by this, as if sending a youngsters book to a grown man was somehow punishable by death under article sixteen.
"Fairytales aren't limited to children, Arthur," Merlin pointed out before he was sent off to find the old man and bring him back here for execution. "They're filled with adventure and treachery and…damsels in distress," he added, thinking that might appeal to the prince's knighthood.
All it did was make his face scrunch up for a moment before he observed the volume of fairytales once more. "I don't know…" he began, his voice trailing away as he studied the intricate leatherwork. "It would make a lovely addition to the royal collection," he agreed at last.
Merlin sighed in relief and nodded enthusiastically. "So, which stories are in there?"
Arthur flipped to the glossary, scanning the list and humming to himself. "It's written in a language I don't recognize," the prince said at last.
Merlin moved to look over the Prince's shoulder, intending to see if it was something he could translate, but he was thoroughly distracted by the prince's heady scent. Fresh cut grass, lemon soap and the sharp metallic tang of armor polish. He just stood there for a long moment, drinking in the scent of Arthur's skin, his eyes closed and slightly fluttery.
"Merlin?"
The curiously breathy tone made Merlin's eyes flare wide, all sapphire blue and enchanting. "Hm?" he inquired distractedly.
"What are you doing, Merlin?" the prince asked, his bow-like mouth curved into a subtle smirk.
Smelling you. Merlin shook his head. "Nothing, nothing," he stammered and took a wide step back. "I can't decipher it either," he added, waving at the text hanging loosely in Arthur's hand.
"Are you sure?" he asked, stalking up to Merlin with a roguish smile on his face. "Would you like to look again?"
Merlin blinked and took another step back, nearly stumbling on Arthur's chair until the back of his knees hit the edge of Arthur's bed. Merlin swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, willing this all to be a dream. The look in Arthur's eyes burned straight through his lids, however, feral and hungry.
"A-Arthur, think about what you're doing," he squeaked. "I'm merely your servant."
"You're a lousy servant, Merlin, perhaps I should demote you to concubine?" Arthur purred, and even without opening his eyes, Merlin could feel him growing nearer.
"Cock-er…um, concubine?" Merlin gasped, wincing at his slip. "What would that entail exactly?"
"Servicing my every whim," Arthur said at she stalked ever closer.
Merlin opened his eyes only to narrow them in disdain. "I already do that."
"Not every whim," Arthur corrected with a lascivious smile.
Merlin reached out to lay the back of his hand against the prince's forehead. "Do you have a fever? Do you feel faint?"
"I'm perfectly fine, Merlin," he replied, grabbing the outstretched hand and popping one of the fingers into his mouth and sucking.
Merlin's brain stuttered to a stop, his eyes glazing over with desire as the future king grinned at him from around the wet digit. A low groan escaped Merlin's lips and his eyes shut once more, his tongue darting out to run along his bottom lip. But then suddenly the delicious sensation disappeared as surely as it began and Merlin's eyes opened to find the room empty.
His gaze traveled every corner and expanse of the room but kept turning up the same answer. Arthur was gone. Had he been taking the piss, trying to see how Merlin would react to his advances? If so, what in the world possessed him to do so? And how did he disappear so quickly.
Only when his eyes fell to the ground and the book of fairytales that lingered there did he find his lost prince. There, on the cover of the mighty tome, was Arthur Pendragon, crowned prince of Camelot. He was an illustration, a waving, jumping illustration.
And he was screaming for help.
Author's Note: So? Good enough to keep going?