Summary: Arthur lived how he wanted. Exactly how he wanted. Unfortunately, as a prince, what he wanted didn't exactly follow the guidelines of how the rest of the world thought he was supposed to live. No one had the guts to do anything about it, however.
No one until Nimueh.
Thrown into circumstances against his will and outside of his capacity to correct, Arthur is forced to seek the help of a one Emrys to scavenge what is left of the life he was so cruelly torn from. It would certainly be a whole lot easier if Emrys would just listen to him as he was supposed to. Arthur was a prince, right? Emrys was supposed to listen to him.
Apparently not everyone in the world puts much stock in the status of royalty. As if life wasn't difficult enough already.
Tags: Merlin/Arthur, Modern AU, Transformations, Modern Magic
Rating: Probably more of a T than an M, but I'm always hesitant to claim 'T' for down-rating it.
Disclaimer: The characters, original story line and the foundations of this concept don't belong to me (though I wish they did). All thanks and credit go to the creators of Merlin - BBC and Shine, thank you so much.
Chapter 1: Planting the Seeds
The magic was cold.
Icy.
Crushing.
He felt it constrict and squeeze, and had he the breath to do so he would have gasped. Yet he didn't. Couldn't. All he could do was lie prone, staring as the entire world seemed to focus upon her face as it loomed taller and larger and higher above him. Deep red lips curled in satisfaction.
"There. I'd say that should do the trick."
The trick? What trick? What was she -?
"It has been long in coming, Arthur. Far too long for lessons to be learned.
What had she done? What had she done to him? How dare she! How dare she even think she could –
"Your mother would have indeed been disappointed in you." She sighed almost regretfully, though her ruddy smile faded none for it. If anything it only widened further. She leaned further over him, dark eyes flashing with that ungodly satisfaction made them seem to glow almost luminescent gold and something that looked very much like amusement. "So we shall remedy that. You'll try, won't you, Arthur? For once in your life you'll make an effort?"
He struggled to curse, to rage and spit and demand, for how dare she! What was -? How had she even -? Magic? Magic that was freezing and crushing, constricting and smothering. Magic wasn't possible, and it should not have been possible to be cast upon him especially but –
"It is quite simple. You, with your frivolity and superficiality, are undeserving – "
Undeserving? What the fuck did she – !
" – perceiving only so simply and plainly upon the surface, with not a care for the depths beneath –"
He would tear her a new hide, he most certainly would, as soon as the crushing, the squeezing, the freezing stopped, and he would –
" – but that is what you will learn." Her scarlet smile stretched wider as she leaned further over him once more so that her face, her raised hand, seemed to consume his entire world. With wide, furious eyes he could still see the sparking crackle of her fingertips, of the magic like blue lightning that should not exist. It didn't matter. God, he would rip her limb from limb for even daring to touch him, regardless of what she'd been to his mother. "You'll learn from one who can show you, who sees more than that upon the surface."
Then she leaned forwards and touched her crackling finger to his forehead once more. They jolted, snapping his skin with a searing touch. She still spoke, still uttered taunting words that held a grain of instruction, but he barely heard them. They barely registered as his heart seized in his chest, as his limbs jerked and back arched, his skin pulling taut and stretching.
It hurt.
It hurt.
The tearing and the snapping, the crushing and the pulled and the twisting of things that shouldn't be twisted. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, all but drowning out her words to the sound of his choking gasps. He couldn't see properly, vision wavering, brightening then darkening. It hurt everywhere but he was almost too furious to be terrified.
God, he would make her pay for what she'd done.
Except that when it cleared, when it finally, finally passed and he could breath, when the pain dampened to a whole body ache rather than a searing burn that charred his skin and chewed his bones… When his eyes finally cleared from the pain-induced haziness and he could raise his gaze, could glance down upon himself, it was to stare in horror. To behold what she had done.
And to realise: He would make her pay. Dearly. But right now… right now that might be just a little hard.
Merlin nearly fell down the stairs.
He didn't, not entirely, but it was still a trip and a stumble, a slide of the last few feet and a clutch at the bannister. He winced as he caught himself, steadied his feet and straightened.
"Are you alright?"
Glancing towards the kitchen, Merlin adopted an overly bright grin as he beamed at his mother poking her head through the doorway. Turning, he leaned casually against the bottom post of the bannister, crossing his arms and lifting his chin. "Completely fine. I did that entirely on purpose."
Hunith stared at him for a moment, the touch of familiar concern still just visible, before it deteriorated into an anticipated roll of her eyes and a shake of her head. Her lips quirked in a smirk. "You're not fooling me."
"Fooling you? Why would I –"
"Merlin, how often a week do you nearly trip down the stairs?"
"Hey, I only –"
"If I hadn't noticed by now I would be starting to question my observation skills." Hunith propped her hands on her waist, tucking her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans and shook her head. "We really do need to get that bannister mounted a little higher, don't we? That you have to bend nearly double to use it is a detriment to my stairwell."
"I don't need it taller," Merlin said with a disregarding wave of his hand. "I can just –"
"Fall down the stairs every other morning?" Hunith finished for him, raising her eyebrows pointedly.
Merlin ducked his head with a widening of his grin, all pretence at casual composure discarded. Not that it was anything more than a bit of fun anyway, a template and exchange of teases between himself and his mother that was practically the equivalent of a typical 'good morning' pleasantry. It was a never-ending debacle, Merlin's clumsiness; where most people gained a semblance of coordination when they passed from their teen years, Merlin simply… hadn't. "Yeah. That," he said eloquently.
Hunith shook her head with a sigh. Half turning, she gestured back over her shoulder into the kitchen. "Did you split your toenail again? I don't have anymore Band-Aids on me but I'm sure I could whip something together with some duct tape and a tissue."
Pushing himself from the bannister, Merlin followed his mother as she disappeared back into the kitchen with a chuckle. "No, I'm fine. Not that I don't appreciate your makeshift first aid methods, though."
"They're hardly makeshift, Merlin," Hunith said, skirting the kitchen counter back towards the stove. The kitchen itself wasn't small – nothing in their house was exactly small – but her bustle and the way she quietly yet completely dominated the room seemed to flood the space with her presence. "Duct tape makes the world go 'round. What have I always taught you?"
"That the only essentials I'll ever need are duct tape and a can of WD-40?"
"That's exactly correct."
The smell of poached Veggs, sharp with the tang of vinegar, swirled into Merlin's nostrils as he skirted the island counter himself and made his way to the toaster. Falling into the morning routine, he immediately set about assisting his mother with their breakfast, with setting the plates and the cutlery in the adjoining dining room, placing the coasters and boiling the kettle. That was always their way, had always been as such for as long as Merlin could remember. Every morning when he was home, every day following a night they both spent in the same house – which was practically every night – would begin with a shared breakfast. Hunith always made it so, regardless of how early she had to rise to ensure it was such.
Just the two of them. It was just the two of them and had been for… well, for almost as long as Merlin could remember, their solitude broken only sporadically by house guests. He felt guilty at times for the hours he spent at university, at work, the hours he left his mother at home alone to putter around the house and run the estate. Hunith never complained, claiming she even liked the quietness and the solitude, the manual labour of caring for their horses, but it didn't stem his guilt. Not even knowing that Tyr Seward and the kids from town came down to work out in the stables every other day and strove to keep her company.
So Merlin made up for it. In the respites of study breaks, when he didn't have to rise with the pre-dawn for a hasty breakfast with his mother before running out the door, he spent as much time with her as he could. Or at least as much time on the estate he could. Hunith claimed she didn't need him to spend the hours at home but it wasn't like he was going to change his habits now. Merlin got that stubbornness from his mother, too.
"Are you heading into town today?" Hunith asked around a mouthful of toast. They were seated at the dining table – the ridiculously oversized dining table for only two people but neither of them bothered considering minimising it – with just the two of them and the rising run as it peeked through the half-drawn curtains of the window floor-to-ceiling window. The dining room itself was as large as the kitchen, a common theme in the old estate farmhouse, but it didn't seem draughty for it. Just… big. Open. Quiet but not eerily so. Merlin had always been comfortable in open, quiet spaces for that familiarity.
He shrugged as he took a sip of tea. "Don't think so. Besides, I wrote myself up a list of what needs doing with the horses today."
Hunith paused with her fork half-raised to her mouth and shot Merlin a stare in brief silence that told him she wasn't fooled for a second. "You're allowed to leave the house, you know."
"I know."
"I'm more than capable of remaining by myself, even when Tyr doesn't spend the day."
"Yeah, I know."
"You should go and see your friends more while you have the chance."
"Are you trying to kick me out?" Merlin asked, attempting to adopt an expression of innocent hurt over the rim of his cup. He couldn't help but crack a small smile as Hunith affixed him with her gaze once more, dropped an elbow onto the table and jabbed her fork in his direction.
"Merlin Emerson, you're not fooling anyone with that act."
"I notice you didn't answer my question," he pointed out.
"That's because it's a foolish one," she replied, turning deliberately back to her breakfast with a particularly loud scrape of knife on plate. "I'm never kicking you out. You know that, so don't think as much even for a second."
Merlin felt his smile soften as he settled himself back in his seat, hands wrapped around the warmth of his cup. Yes, he did know that. He knew it well. He and his mother had always been close, had become especially so over the past years with his father gone. Many might consider it constraining, that Merlin was perhaps tied down by their co-dependency and that he would never get the chance to seek his independence in a bout of travel like Will had when he'd first gotten out of school, or live on-campus at the university like Gwaine.
But Merlin didn't think like that. He was… if not particularly enthusiastic about his circumstances, content with it. True, he wouldn't mind travelling, or trying something knew, but he wouldn't. He would never be the sort of person to chase his dream to London like Lance had, to disappear overseas for months at a time like Will. He couldn't do that, not to his mother, even if it did sometimes seem awfully tempting.
Because that was it. That was all of Merlin's plan: to stick with his mother and do what he loved. He had enough, more than enough, and was content with his lot. He was. Merlin was only relieved that Hunith didn't try to push him away for his 'own good'. He knew what he wanted – or more correctly what he needed – regardless of how fantastic Lance told him the city was, or have brilliant were the parties Gwaine said he partook in living on campus, basically rolling from one to the next in a drunken stupor. Gwaine said it would be boring to be permanently on an isolated estate, that there weren't enough people to talk to or enough to do.
Merlin always had to dispute that. Not so much the boring part, for it was a little lacking in variability at times, but the talking most definitely. He had enough people to talk to, even if Gwaine didn't acknowledge them as conversation partners.
"I think Will was maybe thinking of dropping by tonight if that's alright," Merlin said, picking at his breakfast once more. "Maybe staying over for a bit, too. And Gwaine sent me a message yesterday but I couldn't really work out whether he meant he was coming home today or coming to here today." Merlin shook his head at the memory of the garbled text. "He's unintelligible at best."
"Oh, is he moving back into town for the holidays?" Hunith asked, glancing up from where she was peering distractedly at the newspaper at her side as she finished her own breakfast. She would always insist on reading the paper rather than resorting to more technological methods of bathing in the newsfeed. "I can never keep track of that boy."
Merlin rolled his eyes in commiseration. "Yeah, well, you and me both. No one ever really knows anything about Gwaine."
"Is he still studying -?"
"Law?" Merlin nodded. "As far as I've heard he hasn't changed again, though it was last Thursday that we talked about it. He could have changed since then and I wouldn't be surprised."
"Personally, I though theatre suited him better but…"
Merlin nodded once more in fervent agreement. "I think everyone in the world thought theatre would suit Gwaine better."
"Did you ever work out why he changed?" Hunith asked, frowning slightly in a familiar bafflement that always arose when Gwaine became the topic of conversation.
Merlin shrugged. "Other than the fact that he could? Not really."
"He's always been smarter than he looks."
"That wouldn't be hard considering Gwaine looks like a dumbass."
Hunith chuckled, before muttering a heatless, "Don't swear at the dinner table."
"Yes, ma'am," Merlin replied. "It's alright if he does end up swinging by, though, isn't it?"
"Has he still got that screechy car?" Hunith asked with a slight, concerned frown. It was more rebuking of the absent Gwaine this time.
Yes, Merlin thought to himself. "I've got no idea. Maybe."
"Well," Hunith continued with a harrumph, "so long as he doesn't tear up my flowerbed again I suppose it's fine."
"I'll tell him to keep it on the driveway this time."
"Yes, please do."
Merlin was finishing the last of his toast, stacking his plate and alleviating his mother of hers, when his attention was drawn by her little snort. Glancing her way, half risen from his seat, Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"
Shaking her head, Hunith glanced up at him briefly. "Oh, nothing."
Merlin smiled, lowering the plates in his hands to the table and skirting the table. "Okay, now you've got to tell me. What is it?"
"Foolishness," Hunith only said, the use of what Merlin had long ago realised was one of her favourite words resounding with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. She gestured at the open page of the newspaper before her.
As he drew his gaze down the columns, quickly scanning the words and skating over the picture of a clutch of young men and women in somewhat compromising positions, Merlin couldn't help but snort himself. He straightened, turning back to the plates and starting towards the kitchen. "Our blessed royal family. I'm so proud."
"Just the one, I'm afraid," Hunith said, sighing with that continued wearily amused exasperation. "He seems to have been acting up even more of late."
"You think so?" Merlin asked, glancing her way once more as he stacked the cups atop the plates. "I haven't really noticed that much of a difference, to be honest."
Hunith nodded with another sigh, eyes still grazing along the open newspaper. "Really, how he turned out so raucous while Morgana and the King are entirely the opposite is a mystery to me."
"Maybe he's just a prat?" Merlin offered
"Language, Merlin," Hunith scolded half-heartedly.
"I'm not at the dining table anymore," he called over his shoulder as he made his way into the kitchen, setting about running the sink and cleaning up after breakfast. He smiled as his mother muttered something unintelligible from the other room.
Prince Arthur was a prat. Plain and simple, that was the story of it. A blond-haired, beefed up muscle-head of a prat, who breathed arrogance and superiority like most normal people did air. Merlin had never had much time for him, or for any of the Welsh royal family for that matter, but it was hard to miss when depictions of his antics sprawled across the pages of his mother's newspaper so frequently.
Arthur's comments were spoken loudly and without a filter, announcing his thoughts before any scant intelligence he might possess sought to inhibit the offenses that might spew forth. He taunted the paparazzi and offered his blatant and often-crude opinion about just about everything. He was often rude and impudent, seeming not to care for the scores of offended he left behind him.
Pendragon & Co., his father the king's company, had been Arthur's as VP since he'd turned twenty-three nearly two years ago. It was an impossibility that Merlin attributed mostly to his royal status. Apparently he'd clocked out of the army – remaining for his requisite years only – as soon as he'd been able to, jumping into the business world and leaving the military behind him. The business was a law firm, or something in shares, or… international relations, or whatever. Merlin had no idea and hardly cared.
More importantly, though, and what the media latched onto most ardently because of course they would, he was with a new partner every other night. A new, pretty, long-legged ditz who hung off his arm and looked almost identical to every other one he sought the company of. Likely at least one of the figures in the picture Merlin had just seen in the newspaper was his current arm adornment. Were VPs even allowed to make such frequent and exceptional fools of themselves? Or did that only apply to royal prats?
Merlin didn't know. He didn't really care, either. Leave the royals to themselves, he always thought, even if, as his mother had said, Morgana and the King weren't all that bad. The King might be a little old fashioned in his ways, a little unyielding in his opinions and perspectives from what little Merlin could discern, and Morgana might be the ice queen of Wales, but compared to Arthur…
Merlin didn't know. He didn't know and he didn't care, because it didn't concern him. The royal family was little more than a figurehead in most ways these days, and even if it wasn't Morgana had a steady enough head on her shoulders to make up for Arthur's incompetency. As long as Merlin could be left in his quiet town with his old estate, his closest friends and his mother, and care for the horses while he studied at university, he was content.
He was just finishing with the last of the cleaning when Hunith passed into the kitchen behind him. He turned half a glance towards her as she passed, her hand rising unconsciously to brush the back of his head in a touch that was as familiar to him as Merlin's own name. "What are you getting up to today, then?" She asked, leaning back on the counter beside him.
Merlin shrugged, turning to mimic her lean as he dried his hands on a tea towel. "In all my freedom, you mean?"
"Well, you've only got another two months," Hunith said with a smile.
Merlin shook his head with a sigh. "Why the uni people think we need nearly three months off over summer I'll never know."
"Some people like the break."
"I know. And I do too. It's just very long."
"You could go somewhere," Hunith suggested.
Merlin frowned indignantly. "Quit trying to force me to leave," he said, deliberately adding a whine into his voice. "Maybe I want to sit around all day twiddling my thumbs."
Hunith only smiled at him, raising her hand to pat the side of his head again. She was quite a bit shorter than him, barely reaching his shoulder since Merlin had reached his peak, but he suspected he would always feel like a child before her. "I just don't want you to while away your days getting bored."
"I'm not bored," Merlin protested, ignoring the touch of falsehood in the back of his mind. "I'm just… ponderous."
"Ponderous?"
"As you said, there's nothing wrong with having some time on my hands for a break," he said, ignoring the louder objection to his words that niggled in the back of his mind. "Some people enjoy that."
Hunith saw straight through him that time. She patted the side of his head a little more firmly this time. "Now that I'll never believe. You have itchy feet and itchy fingers, my boy."
"Both of which I can alleviate quite fine from right here," Merlin said stubbornly.
Hunith smile was a little sad but loving nonetheless. Then it firmed into resolution. "Just so. Fletch needs to stretch his legs today. Could you fit a run into your oh-so-schedule, do you think?"
"You think he's healed up enough?" Merlin asked.
Hunith smirked. "Aren't you supposed to be the vet student out of the both of us?"
Merlin grinned in reply. "Yeah, but a whole year of study doesn't quite put me on par with someone who's got thirty years of experience working with horses under their belt."
"Don't sell me short, Merlin, it's closer to forty," Hunith chided teasingly.
"Oh, well, my mistake."
"Yes it is." Hunith patted him once more before urging him into motion with a push to the shoulder. "Off you go then. It'll be a good idea to get him out for a bit before it warms up too much."
"I quite like the heat," Merlin said over his shoulder as he followed his mother's instruction. "Better than the cold."
"Yes, but in this heat wave we've got going, the horses don't."
"Fair enough."
"I'll be out in the greenhouse if you need me," Hunith called after him as he left.
Merlin nodded, pausing as he dug his phone from his back pocket for wave indicatively over his shoulder in turn. "Got my phone if you need me too," he called in reply. Then he hastened from the house.
Horses were his life. They were his mother's life too, really, though while Merlin had approached such a life from the perspective of making a career out of it, in veterinarian work, Hunith had always been more on the practical, caring perspective. Ever since she'd married Merlin's father, she'd all but taken over the Emerson estate and the livestock upon it. She was the one who cared for the horses they held for agistment alongside their own, the one who cared for them with her whole heart as Balinor never had. She was a boon to the family name when she'd married him, had all but taken over for the role that Balinor, in his pursuit of studying reptiles through the local university, had never fully assumed.
With Balinor gone, Hunith had simply continued her work. And she loved it. She loved the horses, just as much as Merlin did. She never begrudged the isolation she was afflicted by with only Merlin and the hired stable hands for company, the heavy work that at her age was just beginning to take its toll, the early mornings and monotony of little change in routine.
That, at least, Merlin had to respect above all else. He never had been able to quite settle with such monotony.
The estate was a sprawling building of white walls and grey-tiled roof. Multi-storied and extensive, it was far too large for just the two of them, even if Merlin did appreciate the openness and the emptiness. Hunith was always more than happy to have any of the stable hands or Merlin's friends spend the night in one of the empty bedrooms, even if that someone was Gwaine, who seemed to prefer the Emerson house more than his own, or Will, who barely said a word that wasn't a grumble about something or other.
The house itself was old and extensive, though they'd outfitted it with a flare for the comfortable, discarding the old-fashioned for vague modernity that brightened the rooms and dampened Gwaine's chiding that they should "Do something to spruce things up". The property were just as large, stretcheingin undulating hills into the distance and broken only by a winding road that lead to their gravelled driveway and the specks of their neighbour's similarly dated estates. It was isolated but picture perfect, from the greenhouses around the back of the house that Hunith meticulously maintained for herbs and flowers alike, to the stables just down the hill that between the house and the paddock.
Perfect. A little dull, perhaps, but perfect in its own way nonetheless.
Merlin stepped into his boots outside the door and trudged down the hill towards the barn. The sun was barely up, but he could already hear the whinnying chatter of the inhabitants before he unlatched the heavy double doors and heaved them open.
The scent of dusty hay, the rich odour of horse and the heady warmth of the night's stagnation met Merlin in an overwhelming wave as he stepped inside. It was dark before the touch of morning light filtered within, chasing away the shadows that clung to the stalls and the stall doors. Merlin stood still for a moment, propping his hands on his hips for a moment as a the sound of neighs and whinny's of greeting assaulted him, as multitudes of horse heads appeared over stall doors with ears pricked and turned towards him.
He paused a long pause, and then held up his hands for silence. "Alright, everyone. Quiet for a second." As if abiding by his words – actually abiding by them, which they rarely did on a communal level – the horses fell into muted clicks and nickers. "So it's going to be warm today, which means I'd prefer if everyone stuck in the shade so we don't have anyone passing out. Regular drinking, please, and if I hear of anyone mucking up then you're stuck with hay only tonight, alright? Do I make myself clear?"
Abruptly muted faces turned towards him, ears flickering and twitching attentively. No one made an objection, so Merlin finally nodded. "Alright. So, it's the paddock today, except for Fletch who's going with me for a run."
"Yes!" A cry of sharp jubilation broke through the air in a bark. "Aw, yes! I haven't been for a run in ages!"
As one, Merlin and every one of the horse's heads turned towards that of the grey gelding tooting jubilantly into the air, lip curled in delight. He tossed his head to the grumbles of those around him. "I am so excited to get out. So excited, Merlin, you have no idea."
Merlin grinned, shaking his head as he started into the stables. "Glad you hear you're so enthusiastic."
"No idea, Merlin, you've got no idea how excited I am for this, I'm so excited…"
"Good riddance, I say," Jellybean muttered as Merlin stopped at her stall to unlatch the door. "He's been a pain in the neck since he hurt his leg."
"We'll finally get a break from his whinging," Duchess nodded from the stall at Jellybean's side.
"But that's not fair. I haven't had a proper run in ages," Yasper complained from the stall across from them.
"Hey, you're the one who always complains about carrying your little girl when she comes for a visit."
"I don't think that's the right sort of attitude towards –"
"Really, you'd think it would be best –"
"- can't complain, it smells like it'll be hot today –"
"- stay in the shade –"
"- so annoying –"
"- kick you in the face if you don't shut up –"
The exchange of horse voices passed through Merlin's ears as he worked along each of the stalls, unlatching doors, untying holsters where the few of them were looped, drawing off blankets that clients insisted their horses wear even in the summer when Merlin and Hunith had told them it was unnecessary. And they would know. Merlin especially would know.
After all, he was the one who could speak to the horses.
Yes, Gwaine might consider it quiet on the estate, might constitute the company of horses inadequate for their lack of verbal communication, but not Merlin. For him it was quite the opposite, really; horses were terrible when they were in a group, almost as bad as sheep, and rarely held their tongues. Not like Hunith's cat who generally kept quiet unless expressly spoken to, or the dogs that the hired hands tended to bring with them who, though excitable and enthusiastic to talk, always kept exchanges to a minimum when at work. More like the chickens that Merlin's mother kept out by her greenhouses, if he was to draw a comparison, though chickens tended to be a little more daft than horses. That was Merlin's opinion after twenty years of understanding the words of every animal he happened across.
It was a gift. His mother said it was a gift, had called it a blessing even when Balinor had possessed it even as his was restricted to reptiles for some reason. Merlin didn't think of it so much as a blessing, though he appreciated the fact that he had an ability that few if any others in the world possessed. It was simply something he'd always had. Something he'd grown up with, that had shaped him, that he embraced for its strangeness and the wonders it presented.
It was no surprise, at least Hunith had claimed, that Merlin had decided to become a vet. Talking to animals was a work in progress, with most initially hesitant to speak and ill-equipped at conversation when he first met them only to grow more capable the longer he spent in their company. The horses, though – Merlin had spent a lot of time with the horses. He knew them, loved them, and in turn they knew and respected him, spoke to him as though he was one of their own. It was that reason primarily that Merlin attributed to his apparent 'success' with handling them, a success that Hunith had always been proud of and the stable hands a little awed by.
They, at least, didn't know. The ability to talk to animals wasn't one that Merlin felt most would think him sane for claiming to possess. The hands probably already thought him crazy for how much he 'appeared' to talk to them.
But regardless, they always spoke of how the horses were so much easier to handle when Merlin was around. How it was always unfortunate on the days he was at the university because they were more temperamental, or didn't do as told, or couldn't be trusted with such liberties that Merlin afforded them. There was a reason for that, of course; Merlin had in the past had many a word with the horses, both as a group and individually. When he gave an order or direction, it was followed, because the horses understood the consequences of disobeying such instructions. It was as simple as that.
Still, it wasn't as though Merlin could tell the hands that, exactly.
In some ways it felt like cheating. Merlin passed down the stalls, unlocking and untying, and the horses passed him with a head butted to his shoulder or a snuffle of breath in his ear, and each agreed that yes, they would stay in the large paddock, yes, they would remain in the shade in the middle of the day and yes, they would ensure that they and everyone else took themselves to the dam at least once for a drink. Merlin didn't even need to walk them down to the paddock; he'd left the gate open the night before so they could take themselves, and would lock it back up for perfunctory reasons when he and Fletch went for their run. It wasn't needed, and Merlin trusted the horses enough – or their bellies and the hopes of grain that night – that he didn't feel it necessary, but the hands were always a little edgy if he left it open.
Little Tilly, the last to be loosed from her stall, chortled and nibbled at Merlin's shirt as he passed before trotting after her fellows from the stables. Merlin turned towards Fletch where he stood in respectful wait, head still over his stall door and ears alongside his snout towards Merlin. He'd quieted down in his excitement a little, though still shifted from foot to foot in anticipation. Merlin could almost hear the eagerness vibrating through him.
Raising a hand to Fletch's snout, Merlin approaching him and met his eyes pointedly. "Now, I know you're excited –"
"So excited, Merlin, I'm so excited," Fletch blurted out, unable to contain himself.
Merlin bit back a grin at the apologetic ducking of the horse's head a moment later. "I know. So tell me honestly, Fletch: do we need to use reins today?"
Fletch snorted, shaking his head in denial. The gesture was one that had been picked up by many of the horses from Merlin; shaking one's head was not naturally indicative of dissent amongst horses but they seemed to assimilate behaviours like that readily enough. "No, Merlin, I swear I don't need it."
"Fletch."
"I don't! I'll be good, I don't need a bit." He paused, and if a horse could pout objectionably Merlin suspected he would be doing so. "I can follow directions."
Merlin raised his eyebrows. "The very reason you hurt your leg in the first place was because you didn't listen to me when I told you not to jump the fence."
Fletch snorted, spraying Merlin's shoulder. "I wasn't told not to jump it."
"You were."
"No I wasn't."
"I'm sure Polly would have told you not to try that jump," Merlin reasoned. "It's way too high for you."
"She didn't."
Merlin sighed, giving up the argument for lost. Young animals, whether horse, human or otherwise, were notoriously selectively forgetful. Fletch was barely past his colt years; at his age it was practically uncontrollable.
"Well, regardless," Merlin said, flicking Fletch's snout and eliciting another snort. "We have an agreement, yeah? No acting up."
Fletch tossed his head in a human-like nod. "Yes. No acting up."
"Or the reins go on."
"Or the reins go on."
"And you're stuck with hay and no running for the rest of the week."
Fletch did his pout-equivalent once more before bowing his head. "Yes, Merlin."
Merlin grinned, rubbing at the paler patch of fur in the centre of the grey's forehead. "Great. Then lets get a wriggle on."
Fletch's enthusiasm returned double time at that and he was dancing almost too excitedly for Merlin to flip a saddle blanket over his back and coax him out of the stall. Following in Merlin's wake, he kept up a constant chatter as he pranced in his shadow from the stables, leaving the semi-darkness and musty aroma behind them.
"… can show you how much better it is and it's much, much better now, Merlin, much better. We can go for a very long run today, I'm sure, we can run very far, all the way past the dam and the gloomy trees. I bet I could even jump that fence today if I –"
"No jumping," Merlin interrupted him as they started away from the stable into the gradually brightening morning. It had been far from cold the previous night, almost too warm, and that day was shaping up to be dry and stinking hot just as yesterday had been. He glanced over at Fletch at his shoulder as he snorted in disgruntlement. "Seriously, Fletch. No jumping. Not the fence that beat you or anything else for a while, okay?"
"It didn't beat me," Fletch muttered, dropping his head a little and ears folding backwards. "I could've made it if I'd –"
He cut off as Merlin gave the side of his neck a gentle smack. "Fletch. No jumping."
The gelding exhaled in what could have been a sigh. "Alright. No jumping."
Merlin stroked at Fletch's forehead once more before urging him to pause at the top of the descent towards the paddock. Grasping the dark tuft of mane in one hand, his skipped in a jump, grasped Fletch's withers and slung his leg over his back. Fletch, for once, actually paused respectfully in his excited dancing to allow him to gain his seat. The moment Merlin gripped his planks with his thighs, however, he was off.
The Emerson acreage was wide and vast, undulating in waves of untouched greenery and only distantly outlined by the horse-named 'gloomy trees' towards the south. Otherwise, it was open, it was inviting, and it simply tempted any onlookers to throw themselves down the nearest hill in a flight of delight and tumble head over heels in a self-imposed slide. Merlin loved it. He'd always loved it.
The primary paddock, the large paddock, was positioned at a diagonal down the slope, and though Fletch was already dancing at a trot bordering on a canter, Merlin urged him in the wake of Tilly as she took up the rear of the trickling stream of horses passing through the gate. Fletch clattered with a whinny that was less tauntingly of his fellows and more delighted when Merlin swung by the gate shut, latching it before redirecting the gelding along the perimeter. The grumbles of the horses within, objecting to the 'unfairness' of his liberty, followed them as they passed, the squeals of the colt Bubbles following them as they broke into a trot once more. Not for long, however; Fletch was young, could still appreciate the camaraderie of younger horses, but he wasn't holding back that day. They were barely out of sight of the gate when he flung himself into a rapid, lurching canter once more.
Merlin let him. In the relative coolness of the morning – relative only, and foreboding in its dryness of the day's heat to come – it was a relief to be in the open. The sky was a clear, white-blue, absented of even the barest touch of fuzzy clouds, and in the silence of the outdoors, with only the distant echo of horse voices to compete with the twitters of morning birdsong, it was calming. Beautiful. Freeing. Gwaine could complain about isolation all he liked, but for Merlin, it was these moments as much as anything that he lived for.
He was a good rider. A great rider, even, Merlin knew. He'd practically learned to ride before he could walk, and maintaining a seat with or without a saddle was second nature to him. Merlin curled his fingers in Fletch's dark mane, seating himself forwards and rolling with the movement of the horse beneath him as he picked up speed in his easy, loping canter. The feeling was calming, almost relaxing, the whip of air across his cheeks more of a caress.
Merlin let Fletch go. He wouldn't allow him to push himself unduly, not with his injury so freshly healed, but he gave him his head. As Fletch took the freedom afforded, Merlin relaxed into the easy gait, keeping an eye out, a feel out, for any quirks and twitches, any indications of discomfort as much as he did on their path to avoid potential pitfalls.
Descending the hill, Fletch hitched his pace up in speed as they took a turn for the rise, falling into a near gallop. Merlin leaned forwards, legs tightening to keep his seat and grasping fingers into his mane as he raised his voice to be heard in Fletch's ear. "No galloping, Fletch."
Fletch's ears twitched backwards. "But –"
"No. You'll hurt yourself again if you try too soon."
Fletch snorted, telling Merlin exactly what he thought of that suspicion, but he checked his stride and withheld. Merlin nodded his approval, even though he knew the horse would barely have noticed as much. "We'll head out over to the dam, yeah? Get a swim in first thing?"
Immediately, Fletch's disgruntlement was shed and he tossed his head in eagerness. And yes, while he did pick up his speed again just a little, Merlin let him. Just a little. They tore up the hill, crested, and descended the next, racing like a plunging falcon.
It wasn't a far ride to the dam. About halfway across the acreage, the little water body was barely more than a pond, and at fifty meters across at the tail end of summer was barely larger than that in the large paddock, if slightly deeper. Fletch was breathing heavily when they drew alongside it, however, skirting the sparse cover of trees at a reduced trot towards the little jetty projecting half of the radius. When he stopped, Merlin had just enough time to slip from his back, to drag the saddle cloth after him, before Fletch was shaking himself as though ridding his flanks of the streaks of sweat and charging into the water.
Merlin stood and watched him for a moment, a smile settling on his lips. He could watch horses all day, from their muted quietness to their prancing and leaping enthusiasm. In respect to the horses agisted at their estate, it was more often the latter. It was in moments like these, however, with utter bliss radiating from the half submerged horse as he sloughed through the water and created a whirlpool of the previously tranquil surface, that Merlin liked the most. Fletch was truly satisfied with his lot in life and if a horse could grin like a human, Merlin was sure he would be. He saw it anyway, however. His gift afforded him that understanding at least.
It was warm and getting warmer as the sun gradually climbed into the sky. Merlin was glad in that moment that he'd dressed lightly, in t-shirt and thin jeans stuffed into boots that he slipped off to pad barefoot along the jetty. The old, unpolished wood at least was cool upon his skin, and Merlin took himself to the very end, dropped to sitting and, dangling his toes into the water over the end, lay back.
This. This was what Gwaine couldn't comprehend. And yes, sometimes the quietness, the slowness, that persistent constancy, could get a little tiresome, but for now it was enough.
Merlin had closed his eyes, bathing in the gradually rising warmth of the sun as tentative rays grazed his skin, when his phone buzzed. Merlin ignored it for a moment, ignoring the intrusion into his quietness and peace, until it buzzed again. Then again. And again. With a sigh, he awkwardly tugged it from his pocket, raising it overhead with a frowning squint. Really, he should change the spangled, reflective gold of the case that was so abusive to the eye even when not viciously reflecting as such. He only used it because he'd gotten it his last birthday as a joke from…
Gwaine. Of course it was Gwaine, in four texts of raid succession. Merlin was surprised only that he was up so early.
I'm just packing up from last night now.
It was fantastic. You should have been there.
No wait, you'd just have been a wet blanket.
Party pooper.
Merlin snorted. Shaking his head, he tapped a reply.
I'm not a wet blanket. I just have a healthy respect for sleep and would prefer not to wake up with a splitting headache and covered in my own vomit.
Gwaine's reply followed a moment later.
Exactly. Wet blanket. Besides, exposure to multiple strains of vomit is good for the immune system.
Shaking his head, cringing at the mental image Gwaine painted – he'd always been brutally accurate with such – Merlin replied with: I take it you're intending to crash at mine tonight?
You took it correctly, Gwaine replied.
What time will you get in? Merlin asked.
Dunno. I'll keep you posted. Is Will coming?
Merlin took a moment to check the previous messages to Will before shooting a reply back. I'll have to double check.
Yeah, you do that. Let me know. I love that guy.
Snorting, Merlin flicked a brief message to Will. You coming tonight?
The reply wasn't long in coming, which wasn't unexpected. Will was an early riser as Merlin was, a product of growing up on his own parents' farm, but even had he been distracted by work or leisure he would have buzzed a reply instantly. Will practically lived with his phone in hand. Depends.
On?
On whether Gwaine's coming.
He said he is.
A pause. And then a buzz of, Fuck no, I can't stand that guy.
Merlin snickered to himself. Gwaine and Will had something of a love-hate relationship: Gwaine loved to tease the shit out of Will and Will claimed he hated him doing so. They'd descended into fisticuffs on more than one occasion in the past and actually seemed to enjoy the antagonism between the two of them. Merlin was convinced that Gwaine baited Will intentionally for just that reason. And yet, despite how Will complained, how he never said a good word about Gwaine, Merlin knew he didn't dislike him. Will rarely had a good word to say about anyone, really.
"That is an appalling colour for a phone," a voice interrupted his thoughts.
Starting, Merlin sat up so quickly that he fumbled his phone. Fumbled, juggled and dropped it. It clattered onto the jetty beside him, bounced through the cracks between the planks, and splashed into the water with a hollow plop! It disappeared into the gloomy depths in an instant.
Staring down at the ripples spreading from point of submersion, Merlin felt a groan building in his chest. It slipped from his lips n something of a sob as he smacked his forehead with a hand. "Shit. You've got to be kidding me." Of course he would drop it; Merlin was a chronic abuser of phones so it wasn't surprising that he do so in the least. But why the hell did it have to happen right when said phone would disappear into the unattainable depths?
With another groan, Merlin slumped backwards onto the jetty, smacking his back onto the wood and kicking a foot so it swiped in a spray across the top of the pond. Goddammit. He'd have to get another one. Merlin had broken his phone enough times that he knew regularly backed it up but… goddammit, it was just so annoying. He closed his eyes briefly and raised a hand to his head once more.
Only to recall the voice that had spoken. He cracked an eye open and glanced sideways towards the direction it had come from. A moment later and he was propping himself up on his elbows and turning towards the little frog that perched half a jetty away. A common brown frog, he registered for its speckled colouration, the streaks of darker brown around its eyes. It was staring with something like disdain colouring its blank, amphibious expression. Merlin wouldn't have been able to explain to anyone had they asked how he perceived such disdain but he registered it anyway. He'd always been able to pick up cues like that.
"Hello," Merlin said, by way of greeting. It was always best to appear friendly to strangers, even when they were animals.
If possible, the frog grew only more disdainful. Its throat expanded slightly in a faint croak, shifting so that the sun scattered in a reflection off its moist skin. "Great," it said in a grumble. "I've found a lunatic who talks to himself."
"Well, I was under the impression I was talking to you," Merlin said, a little reprovingly, "but if you weren't inclined to converse you shouldn't initiate conversation in the first place."
The frog flinched, starting backwards in an awkward, staggering hop. It blinked wide eyes as it replied. "Wait. You can understand me?"
Merlin frowned. "You didn't know that? Where are you from that you come onto the estate and don't know that?" Every animal upon the acreage knew about Merlin, from the smallest mouse to the largest horse. It was just common knowledge that seemed to be acquired as soon as any animal came within range.
In an instant the frog had steadied itself and was leaping forward in a disjointed lope towards Merlin. It paused at his side, staring up at him unblinkingly. "You. You're Emrys?"
Merlin's frown deepened. "No… I'm Merlin. Merlin Emerson."
"I meant –"
"I guess some ancestor could have had the name Emrys and that's where my surname came from," he said, tilting his head with a thoughtful frown.
"You're the one who –"
"But as far as I know it's been that way for generations. I have a book of great-great-grandparents and such upstairs at home."
"Could you shut up for a second and let me speak?" The frog interrupted him. If it was possible for a creature to snap in a grumbling croak, it was certainly managing.
Merlin turned his frown back towards him. "You," he said slowly, "would have to be one of the rudest amphibians I've ever met."
The frog grumbled another croak, shifting in its squat. "Oh, and I'm sure you've met your fair share of toads?"
"Frogs," Merlin corrected.
"What?"
"You're a frog. A lot of people don't know the difference but mostly it comes down to your dependence on a water source and your body shape. You," he pointed at the frog, "are a frog. Sorry to burst your bubble if you'd built yourself one but…"
"What the hell are you going on about?" The frog grunted, peering up at Merlin warily.
"I mean, you would know that, I'd expect," Merlin continued. "On an innate level at least. Sure, most animals aren't verified academics or anything so don't understand the finer points of comparative biology but –"
"Could you just shut up for a second," the frog snapped, interrupting him once more.
Merlin paused, raising an eyebrow. "You really are quite rude, you know."
"So I've been told."
"Have you? And you don't think you should do something to remedy that fact?"
The frog gave another grunt. "It's not my problem who gets offended by it."
"Well, it would be if you come across a bigger frog-eating frog," Merlin reasoned. He'd learned enough about animals from his gift to understand that, at least between closely-related species, communication was possible. Hunith's cat couldn't speak to the horses, but something like two species of frog with one as a potential predator… And the common brown from was quite small. It should learn from Merlin's cautioning. It seemed intelligent enough, or at least able to communicate with him readily, which was something exceptional in and of itself. Usually it took some time before such coherency could be attained.
Huh. Maybe he was exceptional? Or maybe he'd been talking to other frogs that Merlin had –
"Fuck. Yeah, fuck, this is…"
The frog's grumbling croak was spoken more to itself than in conversation, drew Merlin's attention to it once more. It was shifting uneasily between its feet, as though unnerved by Merlin's words. Which, he reasoned, it very well could be. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Some animals could get awfully – and understandably – touchy when predators were mentioned. "Sorry. Um…" Merlin paused. "You know, you swear a lot for a frog."
"There's a reason for that," the frog retorted, shifting slightly to stare up at him once more. "Blame my sister. Everyone thinks she's an angel but she taught me everything I know."
Merlin smirked. "I'll bear that in mind if I ever see her."
"Oh, you will," the frog said. "I'll make sure of it because you're going to help me."
Merlin blinked down at the little creature watching at him so intently. Really, some animals could just be so presumptuous. Usually such presumption dampened slightly when Merlin spoke to them for a time, but in this instance the frog appeared to have had its nose pushed effectively out of joint.
Well, Merlin didn't really mind. He didn't have a problem with objectionable conversationalists all that much, especially when they could fit in the palm of his hand. "Alright. Sure. Whatever. What do you need?"
"For you to help me turn back into a human."
There was a brief pause in which Merlin stared at the frog. Brief, until he rolled his eyes with a grin. "Yeah. Sure thing. That's very original."
"I – what?"
Merlin propped his hands behind him and leaned backwards, tipping his face upwards towards the sun. Hm, it was getting warm already and the sun hadn't even fully risen. "Do you honestly think you're the first frog who's come at me with that? Really?"
"I don't… what?"
"Seriously, Froggy, the Frog Prince is a story that's been around forever. You're going to have to come up with something more original than that."
The frog was silent for a moment, for a long moment that stretched for so long that Merlin actually turned his glance back down towards it. If a frog could appear speechless… "Got nothing?" He asked.
That seemed to shake the frog out of its stupor. Its grumble had a touch of anger to it when it spoke. "As it just so happens, I am a prince."
"Uh-huh."
"I am. And I was told that if I found Emrys then he would help me turn back into a human again."
"Right."
"Don't do that," the frog croaked sharply. "It's condescending and infuriating. I just want you to –"
"'Love me and accept me as your companion and playmate'," Merlin finished, tipping his head as he stared down at the frog.
The frog blinked. "What?"
"That's the line from the tale that most of the frogs who come at me with that story have. Seriously, for a frog that seems pretty intelligent, you certainly haven't done your research very well."
The frog stared up at Merlin for a long moment before suddenly, in an utterly comical display, it stamped its front foot. "This isn't a joke! I am a prince, and I am a human, and I was told that you could help me."
Merlin stared down at it, amused. Anger wasn't the usual tactic the frogs who'd approached him as such had taken. Usually it was flattery or self-pity, wistfulness and shame. All a fallacy, of course, but such an attempt seemed to be an instinctive, the story innately known in so many frogs that Merlin had almost come to expect it. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the common brown beside him; was it angry that its supposed 'novel idea' had already been used? Overused, even?
"Sorry," Merlin said, "but I don't think I could help you. I'm no gullible princess or whatever that can kiss you 'back into a human'."
The frog burped a croak in frustration. "That's not what I meant," it said, and it sounded almost desperate now. "She said – she said that you –"
Merlin smacked him. In a single swipe, as fast as he could blink, he smacked the frog from its seat beside him and flung it from the end of the jetty. A startled croak followed its passage as it landed with a plop! reminiscent of that Merlin's phone had made and disappeared beneath the surface.
Just in time, too. An instant later, Kilgharrah struck at the place the frog had been.
Merlin turned a frown of disappointment upon the snake as it righted itself, serpentine length curling into coils. He hissed as he folded himself backwards into a nest before lifting his gaze up to Merlin. "Was that necessary?" Kilgharrah murmured, hum soft and sibilant.
Merlin reached a hand towards the grass snake, flicking his snout and eliciting an objectionable flick of his tongue. "What have I told you about eating people I'm talking to?"
Kilgharrah hummed. "Yes, but that frog was clearly irritating. I may not be capable of understanding its slimy tongue but as much was evident. I would not have made for it otherwise."
"Yeah. I'm sure," Merlin muttered, shaking his head.
"I understand common courtesy. Consuming an amiable conversation partner falls outside of the bounds of such."
Merlin pursed his lips, frown deepening briefly before easing. His turned his gaze briefly towards the point he'd flung the frog to see the last of the ripples dying. Maybe he had hit it a little hard, but it was that or risk becoming a meal for a self-satisfied snake. Kilgharrah usually didn't eat things Merlin was talking to, it was true – at least he hadn't in years – but he was a stickler for courtesy. Or at least for his own particular brand of courtesy.
Merlin thought he saw it. He thought he saw the frog appear briefly, but if it did it was smart enough to duck beneath the surface and out of Kilgharrah's sight. The snake wasn't averse to descending into the water to chase his prey, particularly if he'd developed a vendetta against them.
Shifting his gaze back down to Kilgharrah, Merlin rested a hand upon the back of his neck. Kilgharrah immediately clung to the warmth of his body, twining around his hand and fingers in a way that wasn't so much affectionate as utilitarian. "What are you doing out so early?" Merlin asked.
"Chasing unwanted conversationalists from the ears of my personal heat-provider," Kilgharrah replied, coiling up Merlin's arm.
Merling laughed, good-humour already returning. "Oh, well then, it's much appreciated them."
"You should appreciate my efforts," Kilgharrah murmured, rising up to his shoulder. He was going for his neck, Merlin knew, as the greatest source of heat, and though many might be uneasy for it Merlin didn't object to the ascent. "I make particular consideration for you, understand."
"I understand entirely," Merlin replied, smiling down at the snake as he wove his head into Merlin's field of vision with a flick of his tongue. "Just like I know your real reason. You want a lift back up to the stables to chase rats, don't you?"
"You understand me just well enough," Kilgharrah replied, not even attempting to refute the claim. "And should you happen upon a journey back to the water's edge in the following days, I will require return passage as well." His tongue flicked out once more, brown-rimmed black eyes meeting Merlin's. "It is but an unfortunate coincidence that the best basking and foraging sites upon your acreage are such a distance from one another."
Merlin frowned at him pointedly. "Surely you understand I might have mixed feelings about bringing to up to the house to hunt rats. They're really smart, you know, and quite friendly when they're not scared shitless."
"The stable hands would set out traps for them anyway," Kilgharrah countered.
"Hm," Merlin hummed. That at least was true. With a sigh, he nodded. "I guess. Could you just do me a solid and try and go for, I don't know, the dying ones or something?" He clambered to his feet, taking Kilgharrah with him.
"Your demands are so unnecessary," Kilgharrah replied. "But of course I will. They are the slowest and easiest to catch."
Merlin had to concede that point. He wasn't one to stand in the way of the natural order of things, even if it did leave him a little nauseous in the stomach. He supposed Kilgharrah could be thanked for that much.
Turning from the jetty, Merlin raised a hand towards Fletch splashing across the other side of the dam in a call to attention. "Fletch! We're leaving now!" The horse whinnied his acknowledgement in reply.
Trudging up the jetty – the wood had warmed a little now – Merlin spared only a brief backwards glance for the water beneath that had been the point he'd last seen his phone. Frustrating. So annoying, and he only had himself to blame. With a sigh, he resigned himself to the reality that he would need to get a new one. Even if he did wade into the water to retrieve it rather than waiting for the water levels to drop a little further, it would be damaged beyond use anyway.
He set about skirting the dam towards Fletch, the horse trotting back to meet him and accepting the proffered saddle cloth without complaint. Merlin didn't consider the angrily proactive frog after that. It wasn't anything particularly noteworthy, anyway. Such was actually relatively normal in his day, even if those he conversed with weren't usually so temperamental.
Merlin had to wonder at what kind of a person he was that he considered that normal.