What's up with Merlin?
A question that no one ever seems to feel the need to ask.
Because there's never anything up with Merlin.
He's always there. Always smiling. Always clumsy. Always cheery.
Always Merlin.
Until someone catches him off guard.
Because Arthur has a shield. Made from wood and metal. Arthur has armour. Made from chain. Arthur has weapons. Forged in the finest forge in Camelot.
To the eye Merlin has none of these.
Riding out with the knights. Unprotected.
But he does.
Merlin has a shield. Made from a smile. Merlin has armour. Made from his clumsiness. Merlin has weapons. Made from magic and wit.
No one ever sees these though.
Because if Arthur were to wied his weapons and defeat a beast he would be celebrated as a hero.
But Arthur doesn't.
If Merlin were to wield his weapons in front of someone to defeat the same beast he would be executed.
And Merlin does.
He just always seems to have the happy coincidendce of everyone being unconscious.
Sometimes Merlin lets his guard drop.
He takes away the shield and sheds the armour. He uses his weapon as Arthur would use a sword when bored.
For entertainment.
Just as Arthur would twirl a sword Merlin twirls his magic.
Just as he's doing now.
Look! There he is, sitting on the window sill in Arthur's room. He's done his chores and his master's at training so now is his 'Merlin' time.
His eyes - swirling gold - are filled with countless emotions.
Happiness. Because using his magic always makes him happy.
Sadness. Because his happiness could be his death.
Grief. Because he has lost so many.
Amusement. Because a guard below is currently hoping around on one foot to do his duties after osing a bet with his friend.
He's not really watching the guard though.
He's playing with the small flame in his hand. Twisting it to form different shapes in the still air.
With this distraction he doesn't notice what he ought to.
Because Arthur's doing mace work today. But he always likes to finish with some sword sparing.
On the chest at the end of the bed sits Arthur's sword. Freshly sharpened with the finest - and at this moment only - magic in the land.
The knights have almost finished training when he realises it's missing and heads to his room to fetch it.
Merlin doesn't move as he hears the door open. The flames flicker and die in his hand but not before they've been spotted.
Arthur stands and stares at his servants hunched over figure and is ready to call for the guards until he sees his face.
He sees Merlin's eyes.
And he sees the grief and the sadness and even the faint twinkle of happiness.
"Arthur-"
"What are you doing just sitting there Merlin? Don't you have some chores to be doing? I'm sure I can think of some if not." Arthur picks up his weapon. "I want my dinner to be up here by the time I'm finished training."
Arthur knows what he's seen. He's seen magic in Merlin's hand. He's seen the grief that should not belong to someone so long. He's seen the automatic resignation of defeat.
He's seen the instantaneous reaction to assume that he will execute his friend.
He's seen how the people must fear him.
He knows the dfference between fear and respect but can he recognise it or has fear all he's been seeing over the years from his citizens?
Merlin knows what Arthur's seen. He knows he's seen the magic. He's knows he's been caught at his weakest as he promised himself he wouldn't be. He knows that Arthur choose to ignore it.
He's thankful.
A small smile flickers across his face as he heads to the door.
His first true smile in years.