A/N: Set between series 2 and 3, in the year when Morgana is missing.
Chapter One: Undeniable
Day Five
Arthur stood by his window. The courtyard outside was almost empty. A few servants were scurrying across to make the most of the early morning hour, getting ahead of their work before their masters and mistresses would be up and ordering them about. Six guards in Camelot red stood by the large doors leading down to the oldest parts of the castle, where the armory, dungeons, and the cave where the dragon used to reside were, talking to each other, leaning against their spears and the walls. A guard change, Arthur expected. Six guards were a bit of an excess even in the most special of circumstances. A waste of manpower. Better then that a few should rest, so that they would be able to fight whenever the alarm bell struck next.
He didn't look up when the door to his chambers opened and closed again. He knew who it was already.
"You feel no different?" Uther's voice was slow, as if he already knew the answer.
"No, Father", Arthur admitted. He had wondered whether he would - feel different, that is. It appeared not.
Three of the guards by the double doors started gathering their helmets and shields. One of them looked like he was laughing at something the man to his right had said. Briefly, Arthur felt hurt by not being let in on the joke, and then he immediately felt ridiculous by the very thought.
Uther sighed. "Very well." A pause. "You do understand why we cannot stop pursuing this? Why you must… well, stay here, for the time being." He sounded slightly uncomfortable, Arthur noticed, and it made Arthur sympathise less for him than before, which was perhaps unkind and unjust of him.
"Of course. I am completely at your service." And if his voice was more formal than usual, surely his father couldn't blame him. "And you will have my continued full cooperation."
Arthur turned away from the window when the three guards who had been relieved from their posts entered the guard house by the castle gate. The two knights in full armour by the door watched Arthur's movements closely, but stayed put. Arthur felt the sudden urge to do something unexpected - throw something at one of them, perhaps, or yell as loud as he could, or take hold of the small letter opener on the desk a few feet away and drive it into his own flesh, just so the knights would have to react, move, say something.
He did no such thing.
In an attempt to seem like his normal self, he cleared his throat and looked at his father, as the king sat down by the table in the middle of the room. He looked tired.
"What will you try next?"
Uther slowly shook his head. "We kept him sedated these past days, up until now, hoping forced lack of consciousness might break the curse. Apparently", he nodded at Arthur who stiffly nodded back, "it did not. There is a herb of some sort that induces delirium, or so they say; we might try that and see if he will talk. There is always pain, of course -" and if Arthur felt something twist in his gut it was only that he hadn't eaten since midday yesterday, "- but there have been suggestions that it might be dangerous for you to push him in that way, if his curse is as strong as we suspect, so we will try other means first."
"I see."
Uther frowned at Arthur's noncommittal reply.
"We will try everything, until you are free," Uther said, staring straight into Arthur's eyes and Arthur willed himself to look reassured.
"I know."
Neither spoke for a while, nor did the two knights by the door.
Finally, Uther rose. "I must go."
"I know." And when Uther looked dubious, frowning at Arthur's reply again, Arthur forced himself to add, "Of course you must. If there is any progress..?"
"You will be the first to know", the king promised. "Might I send Gaius in to make sure... there really has been no change?"
And Arthur saw the fear in his father's face. His fear that his son would not be released from the curse. That he might not trust his only son and heir ever again, for who knew what the sorcerer might have planned. Arthur saw his determination to make things right, and Arthur found he could not deny his father what little there was to give.
"Of course, Father", he said with as much reassurance as he could muster. Not enough, but better than nothing. "And if… we do find something, we'll send for you."
Uther nodded, and sent his son one last look over his shoulder when he exited the room and took the two knights with him, to be posted just outside the doors instead of just inside them, Arthur knew. The key turned in the lock with a sharp clang, and the heavy wooden beam that had been used to bolt the door from the outside for the last five days fell into place with a dull thud.
It was no prison, Arthur knew. It was merely temporary, and as soon as the sorcerer's curse was broken and they could be sure it was safe to let him out, as soon as he was free from the sorcerer's influence, he would be released.
The dungeons could be reached through the large doors in the courtyard, if someone first took a left turn, then followed the stairs down, and went right in the little guards' room. Arthur suddenly wished he could go with his father down the stairs and face the sorcerer too. He had questions - so many questions - and even if the curse was broken somehow, he didn't think he'd get all his answers, because letting the sorcerer satisfy the prince's curiosity wasn't very high up on anyone's priority list. It shouldn't be very high up on his.
He took his place by the window again, watching the courtyard, his people, and he tried to think whether he really felt no different today than he had done yesterday, or the day before that.
The problem was, Merlin had been his manservant for several years now. He could have put the curse on him at any time, and Arthur might not know what normal felt like anymore. He had no true point of comparison anymore. That's what they all had said, when he first had scoffed at the thought of Merlin enchanting him, cursing him, influencing him. The evidence was plain to see, however, once Arthur had dared to face it - nothing, nothing, had been as it had seemed. He hadn't seen anything that suggested Merlin used him, though; he couldn't remember being cursed. But that did not mean the curse wasn't there.
Still, Arthur had to wonder, whether he should not feel something, anything at all, that would hint at him being controlled by Merlin.
Even as he tried, he still felt nothing.
Day Two
"This is ridiculous!" Arthur slammed his fist on the council table. "I would have known if I'd been enchanted - I feel fine! See?" He spread his arms wide and glared at his father, a challenge in his eyes, daring them to say he looked anything less than in full control.
"Don't be daft, Arthur", Uther snapped, "magic is treacherous, there's nothing to say you would notice you were cursed before you were forced by his hand to act."
"This is Merlin we're talking about", Arthur reminded his father. "He's been my manservant for years, surely if he was going to - to control me, he would have done so by now! He's had a chance to do so any number of times!"
"And how do you know he hasn't?"
This stopped Arthur short.
"Well", he flustered, "I haven't done anything I - haven't approved of, I dare say -"
"How do you know you haven't?"
Uther's gaze was direct, and Arthur found it hard to express what he knew, even less what he suspected, as he always did when his father looked at him in that way. The words wouldn't come, wouldn't string themselves together in coherent sentences, under that gaze. As if Uther had seen so much more than Arthur had seen, as if Uther knew so much more than Arthur knew, so that Arthur's knowledge and experiences were inconsequential.
"Magic, Arthur," Uther began, leaning forward on his throne in a parody of a confidential, private conversation, even as the guards stood tall by his side, even as his advisors mumbled amongst themselves at the back of the throne room, "is much more treacherous than I hope you will ever know. It corrupts, twists, darkens those who wield it, and it leaves little trace when it doesn't want to do so. It is very possible you wouldn't know if you were under an enchantment - no", he raised his hand for silence as Arthur opened his mouth to protest again, "I'd say it is even probable. The boy has magic. You've seen it yourself."
Arthur could not protest. Yes. Merlin had magic.
"The only reasonable explanation is that he wormed his way closer to you because of who you are."
It felt wrong to agree to that. But Arthur had thought about it, despite what he had yelled at his father earlier, and though he had tried, he had tried, he hadn't been able to come up with a better explanation himself.
"He obviously already sees you as king, as he has expressed this himself." Uther leaned back once again, looking murderous. An act of treason there alone, no sorcery needed. "You've heard him." And yet again, Arthur could not protest.
"You must see how dangerous a position you have been put in - becoming a puppet king to a sorcerer behind the screens! Acting according to his every will, once you've both gotten rid of me!"
"Never," burst out from Arthur without thought.
"I know you would never willingly act in such a way," Uther reassured him, with a quick, slight smile. "I know you are loyal to Camelot, its king, your father." The smile vanished. "But you must stop defending the sorcerer at once, Arthur. This is the enchantment talking, surely you see that. You're strong. Don't give in to it."
Arthur nodded once, more to have something to do while he still could not find the words to convince his father that while all this was true, this was not, could not be, the full story. They were missing something - Arthur knew it, an ache in his guts, a gnawing feeling of wrongness, of incompleteness. He needed time to think, damnit, because he just couldn't figure out what didn't add up.
"Might," he started slowly, "there be a way to find out whether I am… afflicted by something of a… magical kind? Some way to see whether an enchantment has been put in place?"
So many questions. No time to find them. And if - if - he could not trust his own judgement, his own memories, if all this was true, or even if they only had reason to believe it might be, then he would need another kind of proof.
Uther looked at Arthur for several long seconds. Then he nodded, his face carefully blank.
"There might be."
The king had a purpose again. To fight magic. To protect his son.
In a way, it was a relief to see him this way, Arthur thought. He had not been himself since Morgana's disappearance. Had seemed so lost, each time they came back empty handed. Had been so helpless in his anger.
Here was something, now, he could actually do. Imprison a sorcerer. Get him to talk. Free his son from the curse.
And then, kill a sorcerer.
In another way, the relief Arthur might feel over seeing his father stronger than ever had a bitter aftertaste.
"Sire?"
Gaius stood in the door to the king's chambers. Arthur thought he looked worn, then winced at his own thoughts. Of course Gaius was worn. Whether with worry for his own life or his ward's was unsure, and Arthur would not ask. It would feel… disrespectful.
And anyway, he felt rather worn himself. The past days had been trying. He was not in a position to judge.
"Enter, Gaius." Uther waved him in. "What kept you? Have you brought what I asked of you?"
Gaius bowed slightly. "I have, Sire." Shuffling up to the table, he put down an item on it, no larger than a cherry, wrapped in a piece of linen. The sound it made as it hit the wooden surface seemed much louder than it should have, indicating a much heavier object than should be possible for something of that size. "Forgive me for taking so long, the stairs are steep and the vaults are not as… well, organised, as they might be."
The magical vaults? Arthur presumed so, looking at the small cloth-covered object with renewed interest.
"How does it work?" A sideways glance told Arthur his father stared at the object on the table, as if ready to strike if it were to attack him.
"As far as I understand," Gaius began softly, with something of a reassuring note in his voice, "it is not a very… powerful artefact."
"But it is still a magical piece?" Arthur's voice was sharp, disbelieving. "Surely the wielding of one is forbidden." He looked at his father, who merely made a shushing gesture with his hand, impatient, still not taking his eyes off of the piece of linen.
"No wielding is required, Sire", said Gaius. "It is something of a detector, nothing more. A willing subject," and a quick look his way told Arthur exactly who that was in this case, "holds the crystal, letting it touch skin - though I have reason to believe blood is even more reliable, skin should be sufficient - and if the holder is the subject of a spell or a curse, the crystal will give off a shine. That is all. It cannot affect you in any way."
Not entirely reassured, Arthur looked at his father. "A crystal. A magical one." He did not say So now you expect me to trust magic, or Is it not treason then, to order the use of a magical artefact, or This is insanity, Father.
To the King's defence, Arthur thought Uther looked uncomfortable with all the things he clearly heard Arthur think. Unfortunately, Arthur was very well aware that his father handled feeling like a hypocrite ill.
"Yes, a magical one", Uther said sharply. "You wanted proof; I am indulging you in this simply because his hold over you should be much easier to break if you fought it too. If you have come to your senses on your own and require no more proof than there already is - which should be plenty for anyone not under the influence of a sorcerer -" Arthur did not flinch "- I will send the crystal back to where it came from and we shall never speak of this again."
"No", Arthur said quickly, reaching forward to intercept Uther's hand on its way towards the covered crystal, "no, Father, I… wish to know. To see for myself." And even though he never had liked using the words when he didn't feel they were warranted, "I apologize."
He didn't know if he wished to know - he could not get over the fact that this all felt ridiculous, as if it was an elaborate prank, where apparently everyone in the castle would suddenly jump out from behind a corner and yell surprise and that they had all been in on it hadn't it been fun, had he truly started to believe it, that his manservant, the fool, the clumsy idiot, actually had been a sorcerer all along, wasn't it hilarious? Merlin had never showed anything but loyalty towards Arthur, towards Camelot; the mere thought of him conspiring against his king was laughable.
Except he had magic.
And he had heard him, damn it all to hell, he had heard him.
Arthur was a knight of Camelot. He had trained not to shy away from hardships, endure, stand tall and face whatever unpleasantnesses would come. And he would. Even if he didn't want to know.
So he nodded towards Gaius.
He carefully took the crystal in his left hand (if it was going to burn straight through the flesh in the way magical items surely sometimes worked, it would not be his swordhand he hurt).
And then he just stared at the soft, steady glow the inconspicuous little rock gave.
Uther gave a hiss, half triumphant, half furious. "There."
Gaius face filled with horror for a brief moment, before he schooled his features. Arthur distantly registered both that Gaius hadn't believed the crystal would alight and Gaius was lucky Uther hadn't seen his face.
His right arm felt heavier than usual when he drew his dagger; his movements felt sluggish and slow as he made a cut in his palm right next to the crystal. He cut deeper than he had planned; bled more, hurt more. It annoyed him, for some reason, even though he himself had inflected the wound. Gaius made a gesture as if to take the dagger from him, or knock the crystal out of his hand, but then stilled immediately.
The crystal twinkled merrily, brighter than before, when Arthur's blood pooled under it in his palm.
In disgust, he turned his palm, and the crystal fell to the stone floor with a soft clatter, splattering blood as it rolled. His tainted blood.
Arthur looked his father in the eyes. The triumph he saw there felt inappropriate to Arthur. It felt unseemly to rejoice in the death sentence of a man, that this crystal had now inevitably confirmed. Even though he knew that his father merely celebrated having been right all along, and not really the fate of his son's manservant, it still felt wrong.
Then, Arthur suddenly felt afraid. He also felt as if he probably should have felt that first, that it should have been his immediate reaction.
"I am under the influence of magic," he said, and the words echoed in the king's chambers, Even louder, Arthur heard his own heartbeat echo in his ears, his blood rush through his veins. "I cannot trust my own judgement." Couldn't he? "I will accept any course of action you see fit, Father."
The king laid one hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed it briefly, before he left the rooms.
Arthur let Gaius clean the wound and then wrap it neatly with clean bandages. Neither spoke.
All the while, he didn't take his eyes off of the still gleaming crystal, stained with blood, lying innocently next to the chair Uther had been sitting in.
It was almost dark when someone finally knocked on Arthur's door. He forced himself to stop playing with the fraying ends of the bandages on his hand and sat up taller in his chair, smoothing his hair. He hadn't looked in a mirror all day, wasn't sure what he looked like. Wasn't sure what was visible on his face.
He cleared his throat. "Enter."
A guard - a young boy with dark curly hair sticking out from beneath his mail coif - opened the door without meeting Arthur's eyes. "The King," he announced, and Uther entered. Arthur instinctively rose to his feet. To Arthur's surprise, the young soldier and his fellow guard who usually never entered Arthur's rooms, especially not uninvited, stepped through as well before sliding the door shut, taking up post on either side.
Uther removed a pair of black gloves and rubbed one hand over his eyes in an uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. Arthur wasn't sure he liked it.
"He denies it all, of course," Uther stated as if continuing a previous conversation, sitting down across Arthur, and the prince sank down into his chair again.
"He denies having magic?" Arthur asked, and felt angry. He'd seen it with his own eyes, it could not be denied. Surely even Merlin -
- well, he supposed he shouldn't assume what Merlin would do, think, say or anything else, really. The increasingly familiar weight in his abdomen was back. Heavy like lead.
"No." And apparently Arthur had held on to some sort of hope that this was all a terrible, terrible mistake, because the lead weighing in his stomach turned cold with disappointment. "He denies cursing you and he refuses to take the curse off, however."
Arthur nodded stiffly. "I see."
"In the meantime, until we've… ascertained there is no danger in breaking the curse forcibly, I would have you stay in your chambers, Arthur. We cannot be sure you won't try to aid the sorcerer."
At saying this, Uther looked slightly uncomfortable. The heavy weight in Arthur's stomach that felt like betrayal twisted at breaking the curse forcibly because Arthur had seen prisoners in Camelot after they had been broken forcibly and evil sorcerer or not, somehow he still wasn't very keen on seeing his manservant that way - it just felt wrong that's all - but Uther went on explaining the details of Arthur's prolonged stay in his chamber and Arthur understood that it wasn't the breaking forcibly Uther was uncomfortable with, it was locking his own son up because he couldn't trust him. And of course it was. Merlin was a evil sorcerer, and breaking him forcibly should not be a problem.
It was probably the curse talking, the twisting in his guts. The overwhelming sense of needing to protect Merlin from being forcibly broken. It would make sense, for the curse to have instilled a sense of loyalty towards his manservant.
His manservant the sorcerer.
He agreed to every precaution his father would want to take, and stared at his half-filled wine glass to the noise of his doors being reinforced and then heavily bolted.
Day One
Faded voices against the stone walls.
"You should bow before your betters, boy, before I make you."
"I will not."
"Come on, boy." A tone of amusement. "You're a servant. You must be used to bowing and scraping before everyone in the castle. Bow, and I'll even let you live."
"I do not scrape before people!"
"Abuge."
An indignant sound.
"See, that wasn't so hard. Now get out of my way."
"Not happening, I'm afraid."
A tone of warning. "I am only considering sparing you because I can sense the magic in your blood, boy, but I will not have you stand in my way. Last chance."
"No, I - wait, you - you can sense it? How?"
"Forþ fleoge."
"Scildan!"
A heavy thud.
Sudden silence.
"I will make you bend your knee for that, boy." Fury.
"I'll bend my knee to Arthur. No one else." Calm.
"Your little pet king, is he?" Mocking. "The son of Uther Pendragon, having claimed a magic user to defend him? A royal advisor?"
"Yes. Now leave. Arthur is under my protection - and God, you wouldn't believe the time it took to make him even half decent - and I don't want to have to hurt you -"
An incredulous laugh. "Your little pet will have to find someone else to whisper in his ear when I'm done with you, I promise you that, boy. Ic bebeode þu feallan!"
Yells in a language long forgotten.
A crash.
Footsteps.
"STOP WHERE YOU ARE, SORCERER!"
A final thud of a body having fallen.
"I - I - wait, no, I can expl-"
"Somehow I rather doubt it." Coldness.
A rustle of heavy fabric.
Damn it all.
"...Sire!"
"Are you hurt, Sire?"
"...Arthur?" Uncertainty.
Arthur closed his eyes. He did not wish to see his manservant's blue eyes look upon him as if innocent, when they had just now been golden; his arms in the firm grip of the guards, when they had just now been extended towards the slumped pile of black cloth that had once been another sorcerer.
Footsteps.
"Sire!
Footsteps.
"Any orders concerning your - your manservant, Sire?"
The voices faded.
"Arthur! Arthur!"
A noise of flesh hitting flesh. A surprised yelp. "That's your Prince, sorcerer."
"ARTHUR!"
Footsteps.
Echoed against the stone walls.
Abuge = bow (verb)
Scildan = shield
Ic bebeode þu feallan = I command you to fall
A/N: My first chaptered story in years, would you look at that! I expect either six or so chapters, with the storyline I've planned so far, or that it gets a life of its own and decides to be a monstrosity of at least 15. I expect updates to be infrequent, because I know myself by now.
I've fallen in love with the Merlin fandom over the last couple of months and I've probably read about half of what is published here since then (and you all seem amazing, just so you know). This story idea just wouldn't stay silent though, and I couldn't find anyone who had already written it - so I thought that even though I haven't written fanfic for over seven years, maybe I had to do it now. If you'd like to leave a review, it makes me happy to read them! :)