A/N: So how many of you are doing NaNoWriMo? I am! Good luck to all my fellow WriMos!
Chapter 4 – The Truth
They stopped when the sun began to set. There was a shade to the trees that grew much quicker than anything out in the open fields. Merlin gathered the wood while Arthur set about arranging the sticks in 'the best possible position for a hearty fire', or so he'd explained. Since Merlin usually made the fires during their trips, he wasn't sure how good at this task a younger Arthur would be. Still, he could at least let the tiny prince have a go at it. If it didn't work, Merlin would take over.
When Merlin returned to the camp, he saw Arthur snapping two flint stones together, trying to get a spark to land on the tiny pile of sticks Merlin had dropped down earlier before heading to find bigger stuff. Arthur was having some trouble with getting it to work. The only spark he managed to get landed deftly on a rock. Merlin pressed his lips together, going so far unnoticed.
Arthur Pendragon was a great hunter, swordsman, and warrior. Yet here he was, unable to trek through the woods on his own and unable to light a simple fire. What happened in the next eight years that would change this mishap into the ruffian Merlin knew?
And then Merlin saw it. Arthur wasn't having trouble making the fire. Well, he was, but not because he didn't know how. He really had laid out the sticks nicely. He'd created a wall of stones around it to stop the fire from spreading. He was striking the stones the right way. What was keeping him from succeeding was the shaking. Every twig snapping in the far off darkness made his head flinch to check for danger. Ever echo of a waking owl had him on edge. The shadows were growing, and little prince Arthur was scared.
"Archie," Merlin spoke up to announce his presence. Arthur snapped his gaze around and then gripped the flint tightly to pretend he hadn't been failing just a moment ago. "Can't get the wood to light?"
"No," Arthur replied, frowning deeply in that all too familiar way. "I think the sticks are too wet."
"Oh?" Merlin asked. He set down the utterly dry stuff he'd just grabbed and pat his palm down on the fire pit. No hint of moisture caught him. He already knew this would be the case, but he had to humor Arthur. "Well maybe we can find something else to make it light?"
"Don't be stupid. You can't make fire from wet sticks, and this flint isn't going to cut it. We'll just… have to go without the fire," Arthur decided. All this because he couldn't admit he was scared?
Merlin fell onto his bottom and dangled his hand off his knee. Arthur reclined on the grass, flint stones still in hand. He had a short sword poking out of his bag two feet off just in case of emergencies. That was definitely something Arthur would do. Merlin had gotten into the habit of carrying one whenever he left the city as well, but in this time he had no access to swords and Arthur had only brought the one. That was fine. Merlin still had his magic to protect Arthur with.
Arthur's body was lithe, much smaller than the one Merlin had come to know. The muscles were there but not as pronounced. The seriousness had not yet hardened into his eyes. His hair was a might bit too long. It was definitely Arthur, but at the same time it definitely wasn't. Merlin looked at the skinny prince and was almost sad that life would change this innocence into hatred.
"Arthur, why are you running away from home?" Merlin asked.
The prince glared at the grass and said nothing. The call of two night fowl arched into the woods, causing Arthur to tense. His eyes glanced to the fire pit and the missing fire, a symbol of warmth and security on a trek such as this. Merlin bit the inside of his cheek and then nodded.
"If I told you I could get the fire going, would you tell me why you left?" he asked. Arthur scoffed.
"If I can't make the flint work, what makes you think you can do any better? You'd need a miracle or magic to make it work, and unfortunately we have neither," the blonde said in a hardened tone.
Merlin smiled. "You believe in miracles… and you wouldn't mind if a druid strolled up and lit the fire for us?" Arthur's cheeks flushed crimson in the remaining light.
"Don't be such an idiot. If a druid came up here, I'd probably stick him with my sword before he could even think of using his magic," he said. His tone was negative, but he'd turned away to say it, to hide his expression.
"Do you mind magic, my lord?" Merlin asked, keeping his voice low. Arthur was right on one point. Telling the world that this boy was Arthur Pendragon, out and about without an escort, was asking for trouble. Maybe it would really be best to only call Arthur by the new nickname.
"What?" Arthur asked, turning back to face Merlin. He looked conflicted. "Mind magic? Of course… I mean, I don't know."
"Archie," Merlin began, but Arthur seemed to tense more at the name, and he cut Merlin off.
"Would you stop talking?" Arthur growled. "I swear, you open your mouth and idiocy just spills out. I thought old people were supposed to be wise."
"Are you afraid of the dark, Archimedes?" Merlin asked, voice caring and quiet. His eyes drifted down to the fire pit.
"What?" Arthur asked again. He opened his mouth to make a further comment, probably something about not fearing anything, but the words caught in his throat.
Merlin breathed onto his hand in a language unknown to many people. As he pulled it away, a flame hovered in his hand. Merlin held it gently while he let Arthur take in a full sight of it. The prince's eyes had never been so wide, so transfixed. He watched with greedy wonder. Merlin understood this to be a good sign. Then the wizard lowered his hand to the fire pit and rubbed his palm over the sticks, which instantly caught the flames. Merlin watched until the fire had completely left his hands. He raised his gaze back to Arthur, but found the young man tackling him to the ground instead of watching in awe.
Arthur pinned Merlin down, strong even as a budding teenager. When Merlin tried to lift his head, Arthur pushed it back down with one hand. Arthur looked around, eyeing the dark suspiciously and without the fear from before. Merlin held his tongue. Okay, perhaps that had been a bit too much? What would Arthur do now? Would he forsake Merlin and try to make the journey alone?
"Such an idiot," Arthur hissed, gently pressing Merlin's face into the dirt and then removing his hands so Merlin could at least move his head without obstruction. "What do you think you're doing, showing me that? Out in the open? Do you want to die? What if someone saw you?"
Merlin shrugged. "I trusted you," he said. "You would protect me."
"I would protect you?" Arthur asked in confused awe. "You're the mighty magician, not me. You should be protecting me." He shoved Merlin's head down again and then removed himself from the tangle.
"Every day," Merlin agreed, sitting up and dusting off his hair.
"What was that?" Arthur asked, moving to sit back by his bag of goods. Merlin laced his fingers together and rested his arms on his knees.
"Until the end of time, I will protect you," Merlin said. Arthur set a steady gaze on him, and Merlin smiled easily. "I was told it was my destiny."
"Shit destiny. Do you have any idea what you're signing up for?" Arthur asked, voice bored. He rubbed his hands together to get the dirt off and then scooted closer to the fire.
"I think I have an idea," Merlin said. "Don't worry."
Arthur turned his head to look into the forest, ignoring Merlin for a good while. It occurred to Merlin that he was hardly ever like this with an older Arthur. He felt so close, so bonded to his prince, and yet if he spoke like this to Arthur every day, Arthur would undoubtedly laugh at him and grow tired of it. It was an awfully wise and aged way of speaking, and it reminded Merlin almost of the elder druids or the great dragon himself. Merlin had always hated it from the dragon but understood it from the druids. He wondered if Arthur disliked it. Merlin was so close to Arthur, and yet he wasn't sure. He wanted to say Arthur would appreciate it. The prince had welcomed Merlin's council on a few occasions. However, he'd probably grow annoyed by it quickly if Merlin did it every day. Would there ever be a day when Arthur thought there was more to Merlin than being a silly servant?
When would the day come when Arthur admitted aloud that Merlin was a friend, not just to Merlin but in public? Would the day come when Arthur could tell the knights that Merlin wasn't his servant? On that note, when would the day come when Merlin wasn't a servant anymore? He hadn't come to Camelot to be a servant. He'd come to learn about magic and himself. How long until Arthur knew the truth, accepted him, and understood him? Merlin wanted nothing more than he wanted to stand beside Arthur as someone the king trusted and loved unconditionally. He could not wait until that day.
"Listen," Arthur spoke up, drawing Merlin back. "I know my father says magic is evil, but why? What has it ever done to me? When I was little, my nanny used to use magic. She never hurt me or anyone else… so why should I hate magic?" Arthur pushed himself to a straight up sitting position and hung his arms on his knees in a similar fashion to Merlin.
The warmth inside of Merlin was tinted in ice. Arthur didn't hate magic. He didn't understand the hatred, and that was such a nice thing to hear. And yet it was cold. The Arthur that Merlin met and bonded with in the future, that Arthur did hate magic. That Arthur wasn't ready to know he'd had a magician beside him for years. Merlin wasn't sure when he'd be ready, but he wasn't yet. All Merlin could hope for was that he wasn't part of the reason Arthur started to distrust magicians… because being the cause of Arthur's hatred definitely didn't fit the bill of fulfilling his destiny, and he would hate to hurt Arthur like that.
"Magic is a dangerous thing," Merlin said. Arthur locked his young blue eyes on Merlin's shadowed form and saw the way the light danced against him. Merlin looked him straight in the eyes. "In an angry man, magic can cause terrible things to happen. Fields can spoil. Water can turn to sand. An angry man plots revenge… but a frightened man… A frightened man is much more dangerous."
Frightened like Mordred and Gilli, like Alice… Frightened like Morgana. Merlin frowned and stared into the fire, suddenly unable to hold the young prince's gaze.
"A frightened man," he continued quieter, humbler, "is capable of frightful things. Out of fear and desperation, a sorcerer can kill a dozen men without meaning to."
"So magic is something to be feared?" Arthur asked, his tone saddened. Merlin shook his head and wiped at his dry eyes.
"No," he said. "No, magic is a thing to be taught and trained. Magic is something that takes great concentration and will power. Magic is not a choice but a birthright, and I did not choose to have it anymore than you chose to be a prince."
"I would not have chosen to be prince, or if I had, I would have chosen a different king," Arthur murmured, and Merlin watched as the boy's eyes rimmed with water and he quickly hid them in his folded arms.
"Archie," Merlin sighed and stood up. He moved over to Arthur and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You want to know why I left?" Arthur asked, muffled by his sleeve. He sniffled and lifted his eyes, sad and determined and angry, to look at Merlin. "I left because of that man. I will not serve under a king like him."
Preview, Chapter 5 – The Grudge:
"Are we talking about your ideal king or giving me a moral lesson?" Arthur asked.
Merlin gasped as he was chucked forth into the knee deep water. He came spluttering to the surface and held onto the side of the bank for support. Arthur was most definitely giggling in a very unkingly manner.
"This," Merlin said and pulled from his pocket a glittering red stone. He held it up between them so Arthur could see it properly from his position on Merlin's chest.
"I'll have your head!" he exclaimed in pure disbelief. "I'll hunt you down!"
"Caught you," Arthur declared, also breathless.