"Arthur, you should not have gone out to fight!"
Arthur fixated his gaze toward a spot on the palace floor as Gwen bandaged his arm. His tunic was soaked in blood. Uther continued to berate him, saying, "You were not fight with the knights. You were a liability in protecting the kingdom, and worst of all, you could have been killed."
Arthur looked up, watching Gaius tend to Sir Leon and the others. It had turned out the opposing band of knights had been attempting to cross the border in secret, and those who were still alive were being imprisoned until further negotiations were made.
Arthur wasn't sure how any of it worked. There had of course, been a time when he had, but he supposed all that knowledge was long gone now.
What he did know was there had only been one casualty on their side, but a casualty nonetheless: one of the young knights, according to Leon. Sir Evyn. He had been newly betrothed. Arthur tried not to think about it.
That was easy enough, though, because there was one particular thought his mind kept wandering back to: that he probably would be dead himself, it it hadn't been for his manservant. Merlin had saved his life. With magic.
His first thoughts after watching the sparks of yellow-gold flow through Merlin's outstretched hand was to tell his father. But the cold look in Uther's eyes, his rigid expression and the sharp sounds of his voice kept Arthur quiet. In the last few days, Arthur had learned only one thing about his father: that he believed magic to be inherently evil.
"I'm afraid these wounds may take quite a bit of time to heal, my Lord," Gaius commented from a little ways off, breaking Arthur's concentration.
Uther sighed agitatedly. "Where is that foolish serving boy, Merlin? Shouldn't he be assisting you as well, Gaius?"
"I haven't seen him, Sire."
Arthur tried to hide a flinch.
"There you are, Arthur." Gwen stepped back, looking him over. "Are you feeling all right?"
Frankly, Arthur wasn't for a number of reasons. But he forced a smile, touched Gwen's arm in appreciation and gingerly stood up to head off to his chambers.
"Arthur?" Uther snapped, "Arthur, I am not finished speaking to you yet-"
Arthur turned, walked over and bent his head before his father as he'd seen so many others do. "Father. I realize now that our relationship is strained with something I cannot name. It pulls us farther and farther apart." For the first time, he saw Uther look genuinely surprised. "You are cold, Father. I wish that weren't so."
He whirled round on his heel again, catching briefly through the corner of his eye the shocked expressions of servants and knights alike. He was almost out of hearing distance of the group when he heard his father say,
"If it is indeed sorcery that has taken his memory . . . " He sounded-hurt? It was the most emotion Arthur had heard in his father's voice, "We must battle it as fervently as ever. It took his mother away from me. I'll not have it take him, too."
Arthur stopped in mid-stride, his heart pounding, suddenly feeling very sick.
Sorcery killed my mother. Magic caused her to die.
This, Arthur realized, was what made his father so bitter. Loss. Sheer loss, and Arthur felt it then, gripping at his heart and twisting at it.
Arthur went to find Merlin.
Ferociously scrubbing at one of Arthur's many boots with a worn brush, Merlin tried to control the tremor in his hands.
Arthur wasn't supposed to have found out this way.
He thought of running. Telling Gaius a solemn goodbye and fleeing Camelot, to watch and protect the Prince from afar. But Merlin wouldn't-couldn't do that. If anything, his biggest obstacle was himself.
He heard the doors click open and froze, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Sure enough:
"Merlin." Arthur's low voice rang through the silence of the room.
Merlin looked down at the leather boot in his hands, scrutinizing the dullness of the toe and the small hole toward the heel. "Sire," he said-or tried to say. It turned into a cracked whisper by the time it left his lips.
"Sir Evyn is dead," Arthur went on, "And really, I should be, as well."
Merlin said nothing, continuing to buffer the shoe as if it were the only thing he knew how to do.
"For God's sake, Merlin, forget the boot and listen to me."
Once a prat, always a prat, Merlin couldn't help but think. He placed the boot down and stood up, staring down at his roughened hands.
"You're a sorcerer. You said a spell to save my life tonight."
Merlin squirmed a bit at Arthur's abruptness and nodded meekly, "I had to. You were outnumbered."
"Yes," Arthur agreed, beginning to pace. Merlin let his gaze follow the shadow of Arthur's moving frame on the wooden floor. "And untrained. And you knew that. So you came to assist me." He chuckled a bit. "If that's not dedication to one's job, I don't know what is.
"My father says magic is the most threatening presence in this kingdom. That it corrupts. That all who practice it are servants of evil. And . . . " He took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Magic is what killed my mother. Am I right?"
Merlin gaped at Arthur for a moment, eyes wide, before his expression softened into one of utter sadness. He couldn't bring himself to speak.
"How?" Arthur's voice was broken, and Merlin felt like crumbling at the sound of it.
"Arthur, it's not my place to-"
"How," Arthur's voice is cold, determined, "did it happen? I want to know."
Merlin knew he could no longer hide the truth from Arthur. He had no choice.
So he leaned against the table, eyes cast to the floor, as he provided an explanation he'd been hiding from Arthur for a very long time:
"Your father . . . badly wanted a son. So he enlisted the help of a sorceress, Nimueh, to help your mother conceive one. But . . . you see, the world-nature-can only thrive if it is in balance. For a life to be created, one must be taken to restore-"
"My mother died for me." It was more of a statement than a question.
And Merlin replied softly, "Yes."
He could see in Arthur's expression, brow furrowed and jaw rigid, that he was conflicted. Confused. In these past few days, Merlin realized, Arthur had learned more about the world around him, about his own life, than he'd ever been allowed to know before. And for someone who had no recollection of his life before this, for someone who was essentially starting anew, Merlin could only think how utterly overwhelming it all must be.
"So," Arthur finally spoke up again, breaking the wall of silence between them, "Magic is what's made my father so bitter. Magic gave me life and killed my mother. And magic is probably what's doing this to me."
This was going to be the part, Merlin thought, where Arthur explained he told his father about Merlin's secret. This would be when Sir Leon or a trusted knight of the King came in to arrest him. Prepare him for his execution.
Merlin wrung his hands, waiting for the terrible blow to his heart, the crushing words he knew were coming. Then:
"Show me."
Merlin blinked stupidly, finally looking up at Arthur and seeing the fires of curiosity in his eyes. ". . . What?"
"Show me again. I want to see . . . I want to see that I wasn't imagining things."
Shaking his head violently, Merlin clasped his hands behind his back, hoping fervently that if they were out of sight Arthur would forget the whole thing entirely. "I can't do that, sire."
"I'm . . . ordering you to." The words were in Arthur's voice but were not accompanied by the fierceness Merlin was accustomed to. But somehow that made them all the more powerful.
So Merlin took a deep breath, held out a shaking hand, and spoke an incantation in an almost-whisper. Gradually, one of the candles in the corner of the room began to levitate, making its way toward Merlin. When he moved his hand, the candle moved with it in a circular motion around Arthur, who stood watching, dazed.
Merlin placed the candle back in its spot near the bedside table, and averted Arthur's eyes once more.
Silence.
He stared down at his hands once again, and waited for Arthur to speak.