When he did finally come across a spell, his fingers were coated with the dust and grime of Gaius' old shelves, and when Arthur opened the book, he did so with sweaty palms. He rubbed his dusty hands against the back of his tunic, then spread the yellowed pages down until he could make out a poor assortment of runes-ones he did not recognize-huddled together against the corner of a page. Arthur clapped the book closed, squashed down a hiccup of nausea, and stumbled from Gaius' quarters. He did not want to be caught by the physician, or Merlin. How could he possibly explain himself?
There was, of course, an explanation on the page, as to what the spell entailed. Arthur read the directions through again and again, once back in his own, personal rooms. The spell seemed simple enough, at least to read. He wasn't sure, though. Arthur ran a hand over the half-formed stubble on his cheeks, concentration apparent on his face as he brought the book closer to his nose.
Arthur called for a servant to bring up a pot of water.
He'd demanded this particular favor of a woman, one with a poorly-knit apron ribbon-ed round her waist. She'd been the first maid Arthur had seen. This woman had nodded at him when he'd called her aside, and did not ask any questions. He was sure she'd be of valued use. Thus, Arthur was surprised when Merlin, not she, was the one to shlep up the water pot.
Arthur shoved the book under his blankets and managed to spread himself out over his bed before the door to his chambers popped open. He'd been fortunate enough to have recognized the uneven clip clap of Merlin's-unusual-footfall, as his manservant had come down the hall, and was ready to receive him by the time the man himself hobbled over the threshold.
"Water in a pot?" Merlin scolded him. He pushed the door closed behind him with a small kick of the foot. "What, trying to cook again, are we?"
"Nothing of the sort, I assure you," Arthur said. He scooted the book another five centimeters further, against the musty heart of his blanket cocoon.
When Merlin did not move, Arthur coughed at him pointedly.
"Set that down on the center of the rug, then," he ordered. The maid must have assumed that his personal servant had been meant when Arthur demanded his favor, although for what reason, he was still unsure.
Merlin dragged himself forward. The water sloshed against the walls of the pot, and the wiry muscles of his arms stood out as he moved. "You're not going to tell me what you're planning, then? With this…" he lurched forward, then caught himself, "water?"
"Not a chance."
Merlin's smile was a strained one. "You sadistic prat," he accused him. "I've already lugged this pot up the stairs…"
Merlin heaved the pot another handful of lurches forward, then curled himself down against the floor to arrange the enormous thing on the center of the rug. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the edge of his tunic as he straightened.
"Thanks for the help," he grumbled.
"You're a servant, Merlin," Arthur reminded him casually, and crossed his legs over the blankets. By this point he'd busied himself with a small apple he'd had sat on his bedside, and tossed the thing to and fro between his hands as he continued; "princes do not help servants."
"What about friends, then?"
"On special occasions," Arthur assured him dryly.
Merlin's smile was more of a smirk, now. He raised his arms. "Not special enough for you, am I?"
"You're dismissed," Arthur announced, although there was a grin on his face. When Merlin remained where he was, he thrust the apple at him. "Go on, then," he chided. The apple tumbled to the floor.
Merlin mumbled something as he left that was probably unkind. The door closed behind him, and Arthur let the tension pop from his shoulders as he rolled them backward, then forward. He sagged against the bed with a groan.
Three minutes later, he was situated on the floor, cross-legged before the pot. Arthur rubbed a hand over his face again, then mustered up his courage and turned open Gaius' tea book to the designated page.
Arthur decided to get things over with. He read through the phrase one more, crucial time, then pressed his hand to one side of the pot.
"Onhaete pa water," he demanded, fingers outstretched now so that the pads brushed the metal beneath them.
There was a noise unlike any other, like the sound of a foot with pins and needles. The smell of copper scalded through the atmosphere like acid, and sizzled away a small assembly of Arthur's royal chin hairs. The carpet seemed to become brighter of hue as Arthur narrowed his eyes at the pot. And suddenly, as though from nowhere at all-
-Absolutely nothing happened.
There was such a look of such 'thank-the-gods' on Arthur's face that his very pores reeked of relief. The man reached over, snatched up Gaius' book with a practiced motion, and made to stand. "Well," he said, and was pleased, "looks like there's nothing to worry about after all." Arthur tossed the book at his bed, and the thing plopped against the wall of his linen comforters. He sat himself, and reclined once more over the mattress.
And that's when the water started to boil.
Slowly, Arthur came to recognize the pop of heated water, and the gurgled half-hiss of steam. He did not move, however. For a long, heavy moment, he could not bring his muscles to unclench. Sluggish, he rolled himself off the bed and onto the flats of his feet.
Arthur stumbled towards the pot, and was afraid.
Sure enough, water foamed up from the bowels of the pot, and spewed an angry froth across the liquid's surface. The noise was pleasant. Water popped up, here and there, to spot the carpet. Arthur could not contain himself, suddenly, and when he thrust his foot out at the pot, he did so with much vigor. There was a gasp of heat and vapor, and the pot toppled to one side. Water surged forward, drunkenly, to darken the rug. The stain seeped forward, and Arthur's foot hurt.
Arthur bundled himself to the floor.
He retched to himself, over the next several minutes, as the water began to dry.
Aha, look! Chapter one's done, finally. Goodness gracious. I wanted to see what Arthur would do, should he be forced to 'walk around in Merlin's shoes' for a while, so ah, here you are, then. Arthur's a sorcerer. You'll notice that I talk a lot about shoes, usually Merlin's; worn shoes supposedly symbolize hardships and struggles. Shoooes glorious shooooes.
Tips? Thoughts? A good pun? I'd love a review, should you have the time! Happy Wednesday.