A/N: The super-long one shot is here! And it ended up being thirty pages on word- the longest one in this series so far, easy. Happy reading!
P.S. Thanks to Chatterbox818 for the prompt.
Quick Info: Mogana is good, Uther is King, Merlin's magic is a secret
Drabble 21- Flip Flop
Oh, how had everything gone so wrong so quickly? It had been like any other day- one of the rare times when no threat was hanging over Merlin's head, and he just had ordinary responsibilities to juggle. And he'd ruined it. It was his own fault, too, which just added insult to injury.
He hadn't expected things to get this bad so quickly, though. It had been one dumb, misspoken spell. And now here he was, watching helplessly as his secret was revealed unintentionally by those who were closest to him.
Arthur knew. Arthur knew, and he only had himself to blame.
Oh, how had things gotten so bad so quickly?
"What are you doing, Merlin?" Gaius' thinly masked disapproval hinted that he knew exactly what Merlin was doing and he didn't care for it, thank you very much.
"Practicing," Merlin grinned cheekily, looking up from his murky pot of mystery goop. "You're the one always saying I need more control."
"Controlling your magic by doing more magic is not what I had in mind." The pointed comment was accompanied by an arched eyebrow.
"Technically, I'm not doing magic. I'm making a potion."
"That's magic."
Merlin scoffed, but didn't offer another argument. Gaius knew this to be Merlin's stubborn way of admitting the physician was right. Regardless, the warlock showed no sign of stopping. Merlin sat on the hard floor of the physician's main chamber, hunched over his magic book with a small pot of who-knows-what tucked against his side with one arm. In his other hand he held a wooden spoon, splattered with black potion, which he used to alternate between stirring his concoction and waving at his mentor for emphasis.
"It's a harmless little potion," Merlin tried, switching tones hopefully. "Just changes hair color."
"Harmless, humph," Gaius sniffed. "And what good can come from it?"
"It's under this whole section of disguise spells and such," Merlin explained, gesturing with his spoon to the open spell book on the floor. "I'm hoping practicing a small one will help me get the harder ones if I need to use them in the future."
"Very well," Gaius sighed. "Just be careful. You're sure Arthur won't walk in and see you?"
"Nah, he's stuck in meetings so I have the evening off," Merlin grinned. "I'll be careful, don't worry!"
"I'll worry," the physician said flatly. "I suppose that means you're too occupied to take Morgana her sleeping draught?"
Merlin smiled sheepishly up at Gaius.
"Very well," the older man grumbled. "I'll take it. Make sure you clean up your mess when you're done."
"Thank you!" The ward called after Gaius' retreating back. Then the elder was gone and Merlin was left to his work.
He sat in silence, content to let his hands do their magic (no pun intended) while his mind wandered peacefully. He supposed Arthur's meetings were almost done, but he was almost done too, so even if Arthur decided to drop by there'd be no trouble.
Merlin had had a good week, all things considered. No all-important treaties to stress Arthur out, no powerful enemies, no looming armies or citizens hell-bent on revenge against the paranoid king or his son. It had been a rare period of normalcy.
"Let's see…" Merlin mumbled to himself, scanning his spell book. The last step involved a quick incantation. "Forma tuum transibit!"
Immediately he knew something had gone wrong. Merlin's stomach lurched and his vision blurred. His breath seemed to catch in his chest.
"Ah-" He gasped, scrambling for the book. What had he done? But no, it was too late- the building tension in his chest seemed to reach a breaking point and pop, and his vision melted into black.
When Merlin opened his eyes, he was met with the view of a confusing crooked array of stones.
"What the..." He mumbled. The side of his mouth pulled against the cold stone, and he realized abruptly he was lying on the corridor floor. Suddenly it hit him; the misspoken spell. Where was he? What had he done?
"Sire! Sire, are you alright?"
Hands were pulling at him, yanking him up, and the stone spiraled in a ninety degree twist. He was faced with several anxious knights, who held him on his feet as if scared he might fall again.
"What? What happened?" He asked. The knights looked at each other in concern.
"We were leaving your meeting with your father and you just collapsed, sir," one said carefully. "You sort of doubled over, too, like you were in pain."
"My father?" Merlin echoed, stunned. "My father is here?" How is that possible?
The knights stared at him for a moment. One let out a slow, worried breath. "Sire, I think you should see the Court Physician."
"Gaius. Yes, that's a good idea," Merlin agreed, relieved. Gaius would know what was going on.
"This way, milord," the second knight said, still holding Merlin (rather unnecessarily, in the servant's opinion) by the arm. Milord?
Suddenly very, very worried Merlin spun to look into the corridor window. Arthur Pendragon's reflection stared back at him.
Arthur woke slowly and groggily. His back ached, and after a moment he realized he was slumped against a lumpy bookcase. Straightening, he looked around in confusion. He was… in Gaius' chambers?
He shifted to climb to his feet, but was stopped by a loud clatter. Looking down, he saw he'd knocked a large bowl of… something… over. The black goo sluggishly spilled onto the floor, inching across the stone.
What in the name of the gods-?
"Did you fall asleep?" Asked a familiar voice. Looking up again, Arthur realized he was no longer alone. In the entrance to the chamber stood Gaius, looking exasperated. "Goodness, boy, I was only gone for a few minutes."
"What's going on?" Arthur asked finally, looking around in bafflement.
"I'll tell you what's going on-"
"Please do," Arthur interrupted. The physician shot him a look the prince couldn't interpret.
"You're spending too much time running around saving to world, that's what."
"I- excuse me?"
"You heard me," Gaius grumbled. "You're running yourself into the ground. I don't care if this week has been slower, you're sleep deprived. Emrys or not, your magic is only going to carry you so far. You need to make an effort to take care of yourself."
Arthur reeled back, colliding with the bookshelf again.
"Magic!" He cried. "What nonsense- just tell me what's going on! Who's Emrys? How did I get here?"
"What?" Gaius asked, eyebrow sinking low in concern. "Are you okay?"
Just then the door swung open and Arthur found himself looking at… himself.
In the doorway stood Arthur, or at least, a man in the spitting image of Arthur. The impostor was even accompanied by two knights, who he waved away almost pleadingly.
"Go, please, I'm fine," the newcomer said before spinning to Gaius. "Gaius! I need your help, I accidentally-" He broke off as his eyes landed on Arthur, the real Arthur. Even from across the room, the prince could see the newcomer pale and gulp for air.
Merlin, for his part, was trying desperately not to pass out again. In his worst nightmares he'd never dreamt something like this could happen. Looking at Arthur, trapped behind Merlin's own confused eyes, the warlock felt his chest tighten again. This time no spell was to blame.
There suddenly wasn't enough air in the room. "Hi, Arthur," he offered weakly.
"What the hell is going on?" Cried Arthur, jumping to his feet. "Who are you? Imposter! Guards, guards!"
"No! Arthur, it's me!" Merlin cried, hurrying forward. "Merlin!"
"Oh my," Gaius gasped, looking from face to face. "Oh no." He sat down heavily on his bench.
Just then, Arthur caught sight of his own reflection. With a yelp, he jumped away from the looking-glass, eyes wide.
"Sorcery!" He spluttered. "I'm- ugh, I'm Merlin!"
"Everyone calm down!" Gaius cried, looking a little desperate. "Merlin- whichever one of you is the real Merlin- what happened?"
"Magic," Merlin offered weakly. His eyes skirted to Arthur's face (well, his own face) uneasily; maybe he could make it seem like this was the work of some other wizard and get out with his secret intact.
"Merlin, I need to speak with you," Gaius said, voice laden with worry. Beneath his table, the old man's hands shook. Merlin moved closer, keeping a wary eye on Arthur, who seemed to have gone into shock. He'd sunk down to the ground and was crouched there, eyes staring blankly at the door as he tried to process everything.
"I'm afraid I may have said something careless," Gaius whispered uneasily.
Merlin's heart sank to the pit of his stomach and he felt his throat tighten. "Careless how?"
"Merlin has magic," Arthur said slowly, then mouthed the words a second time silently, as if trying to acquaint himself with the epitome of impossibility. "Magic." He looked up and his eyes found Merlin's; the warlock flinched back at the anger and betrayal he saw there.
"I'm so, so sorry, Arthur," Merlin crocked. "I never meant for you to find out like this-"
"Were you ever going to tell me at all?" Arthur snapped, jumping to his feet. "I should have known! I knew there was something about you." Arthur's narrowed eyes and venomous tone grated against Merlin painfully, and he took a step back.
"Now Arthur-" Gaius started, but stopped short when the prince spun to face him.
"Don't you start," Arthur hissed. "You knew. Everything my father stands for you were prepared to go against. I should have you arrested."
"You don't mean that," Merlin protested weakly.
"I'm sure," Arthur spat. "You'd know all about honesty, wouldn't you? Guards!"
Merlin blinked hard, trying to hide how close to home that comment hit. Meanwhile, Gaius had had enough.
"You're a servant, Arthur, the guards won't respond to you," Gaius interjected severely. "But if you want to be a prince again I suggest you start by acting like one. Get a hold of yourself."
Arthur turned red with indignation. "Change me back," he ordered Merlin.
"I don't know how," Merlin said helplessly. "It was a new spell."
"Try." Arthur ground out, fists clenched tightly.
"Okay," Merlin took a deep breath and walked over to the spell book, scooping it up shakily. It's normally familiar weight felt bulky and uncomfortable in his new hands. "Um… okay, there's a counter spell."
"Get on with it."
"Right," Merlin mumbled, glancing over at the still-fuming Arthur. "Ad corpus et animam!" Everything in him recoiled at doing magic in front of Arthur, and he had to reach for his talents.
Then nothing happened, and he realized the problem went deeper than that. "Oh no," he gasped, panic filling him. "It's gone! My magic is gone!" He spun towards Gaius, desperation bubbling over. "How could it be gone?" He cried, almost hysterical.
"Everybody calm down!" Gaius commanded again, tone stern and expression leaving no room for argument. And, despite the impending crisis, both younger men listened.
"I have heard of this before," the physician continued. "Though I never imagined it might arise here"- here he paused to shoot a reprimanding look Merlin's way-"I know the problem. Arthur, I'm afraid you have magic."
"What?"
"When you two switched bodies, the magic stayed in Merlin's physical body."
Arthur suddenly looked like he might be sick, but Merlin was more worried by Gaius' expression, which warned there was more bad news coming. "He should be able to just say the spell, though, right?" Merlin asked hesitantly. "I mean, if he has my magic-"
"I'm afraid it's not that simple. The magic shouldn't have stayed behind, it's a part of what makes you Merlin. If you'd been more focused, it would have come with you. But this wasn't your intended purpose, so the spell was only half-complete. Your magic is stuck in between. What Arthur has is an echo of your power.
"Don't panic," Gaius added, seeing the two men on the verge of doing just that. "You're strong, Merlin. Arthur still has some magic. But he'd not powerful enough to just sling out an incantation and expect anything to happen."
"Get to the point," Arthur interrupted. "How do we switch back?"
"You're going to have to let Merlin teach you magic," Gaius finished with finality. For a moment, silence filled the room. Then:
"No. No way. I'm not doing magic," Arthur spat, like the word was the worst curse he could think of.
"Then you'll be stuck in Merlin's body forever," Gaius countered without missing a beat.
"I'll go to my father. He'll know what to do," Arthur said finally, a hint of challenge in his voice as he looked at his companions, as if daring them to argue.
"He'll think you're me," Merlin refuted half-heartedly. His whole visage was defeated, broken; he didn't seem to care what Arthur did, as long as it was done with quickly. It was hard to tell if his loss of spirit came from losing his magic or Arthur's anger.
"He's right, Arthur," Gaius chimed in. "You look like a servant. Your word means nothing."
"There must be a way to prove I'm me," Arthur argued. "I could demonstrate my knowledge of the castle, or name every noble in Camelot, or-"
"Or make Uther think you're an arrogant spy with a dangerously complex knowledge of Camelot? I should think not," The physician chided in his biting tone. "Uther would sooner have you arrested then believe you."
Arthur deflated for a moment at that, before spinning on Merlin again, re-energized and angered anew by the seeming hopelessness of his situation.
"This is all your fault!" He yelled violently. The furious expression looked out of place on Merlin's normally cheerful face. The real Merlin, in the meantime, offered no defense. He didn't have his magic, and he didn't have anger to hide behind like Arthur. Merlin was left with nothing but a crushing guilt and emptiness that gnawed painfully away at his insides like a disease.
"Arthur," Gaius snapped. "Calm down. This is not Merlin's fault."
"Not his fault-!" Arthur echoed, red with outrage.
"He made a mistake."
"And I suppose he accidentally learned magic and accidentally lied and acc-"
"Enough." Gaius demanded, standing up and fixing Arthur in place with his piercing glare. Merlin still stood off to the side helplessly in his miserable silence. "Your anger is helping no one. The damage has been done. If you want to do anything productive, I suggest you go to bed, Arthur. It's getting late. Things will look better in the morning."
The prince grudgingly moved towards the exit, but stopped when Gaius cleared his throat and nodded towards Merlin's room, one eyebrow raised. When Arthur looked like he might argue, Gaius interjected:
"What will happen if a guard sees a servant staying in a royal's rooms?"
Grumbling, Arthur stalked back to Merlin's room and vanished behind the worn wood. Once he was gone, Merlin turned to Gaius helplessly.
"My magic- and Arthur-" he stammered out in broken syllables. Poor Merlin looked on the verge of a meltdown.
"You should go to bed, too," Gaius said, a little more gently. "Arthur had to find out sometime. I'm just sorry this happened because of me."
"If I hadn't made that stupid potion-"
"There's no fixing that," came the firm reply. "The best thing you can do right now is get a good night's rest. You're going to need your energy."
Miserably Merlin turned and headed out the door. Just before he left, Gaius added, "things will get better, my boy." If the warlock-turned-prince heard him, he didn't acknowledge the comment. Instead he vanished, leaving the old physician in his chambers alone.
Sighing, he sat back down on his bench, looking at the black potion still pooled on the floor. After a moment, he slowly and methodically began to clean it up. What a mess.
When Merlin woke up the next morning he felt disoriented and sluggish. Despite the comfort of Arthur's rooms, with his feather pillows and crackling fireplace, the warlock had tossed and turned all night. He'd woken later in the morning then he was used too, as well; it seemed sleeping habits stuck with the body, not the mind. Arthur was nowhere to be seen.
Pulling himself out of bed, Merlin stumbled over to the table and sank into one of the chairs, propping his head against the heels of his hands and letting a slow sigh drag its way to freedom. His eyelids felt like they had weights attached to them, and they dipped blurrily shut and open again. He was used to having a cold room to wake up to, but Arthur's room was deceptively warm, as if urging him to jump back between the covers.
He felt calmer this morning, if not a little hollow. The shock of being discovered had worn off, leaving Merlin to grapple with an impossible question: now what?
The simple solution was to teach Arthur magic, something Merlin knew the prince's pride would stubbornly resist. It'd have to be done, eventually. Once they'd switched back, new problems would arise- Merlin foresaw being arrested and executed- but those were problems he would have to worry about then. It was too much to think about that now.
In the meantime, he'd have to… what? Impersonate the prince? He couldn't tell Uther the truth. Arthur would certainly hate having Merlin act as a royal. And yet Merlin couldn't see any alternative.
Merlin was jolted from his thoughts by the smooth drag of wood on stone as the door opened. He was greeted with his own familiar face; Arthur had arrived.
"Good morning," Merlin offered. Arthur's stony countenance didn't waver. He silently shut the door behind him, eyes sweeping over his room as if to make sure Merlin hadn't destroyed the place overnight.
Arthur, for his part, was also feeling calmer. He'd shut away his shock the night before- no sorcerer deserved his pity or distress. He was determined to treat this entire mess factually and quickly, and deal with the consequences later.
Looking around the room, he noted several things quickly. For one, Merlin looked exhausted. Dark purple circles hung under his tan skin, and his blonde hair was unkempt. Judging by the spotless table, he hadn't managed to eat. Arthur stuffed down the twinge of vicious satisfaction at these obvious manifestations of Merlin's unhappiness.
The second thing he noticed was that his room was virtually untouched. Someone- likely another servant- had started a fire and drawn the curtains so that sunlight filtered across the gray stone floor. The bed hadn't been made. Besides that, everything was exactly as Arthur had left it. Merlin would not be able to say the same when he saw his own room, which had been the victim of some through snooping.
"I'll teach you the spells," Merlin said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "This can all be over by tonight."
"I know," Arthur replied tersely. He still hadn't moved from the door. "But you don't have time. You're meeting with my father for brunch, and training knights at noon." His face contorted when he said the words, like he'd eaten something bitter. It seemed he'd reached the same conclusion as Merlin about carrying the charade on, at least for a little while.
"Oh. I'm not royal."
"Obviously," Arthur retorted snidely. "And you'll never pass as royal if you don't sit up straight." Merlin shifted obediently.
"Just don't embarrass me," Arthur grumbled, walking over to his desk and pulling a stack of papers towards himself. Silently, he began to review them. A few more moments passed in silence. When Arthur looked up again, his face contorted into the now-familiar expression of anger.
"What are you still here for? Go!"
Merlin was only too happy to oblige. He all but fled the room, glad to escape the stifling environment. On his walk to the King's court, he tried to compose himself.
It's just Uther. You've talked to him a dozen times, the optimistic part of him said.
It's never ended without the king thinking I'm an idiot, the pessimistic side grumbled back. Arthur's gonna love that.
What does it matter what Arthur thinks? He's mad already. You can't make this worse.
"Sire," interrupted the voice of a saluting guard. He respectfully opened the door for Merlin, bowing as the "prince" passed.
"Thanks," Merlin said awkwardly. The sturdy guard looked familiar- he was pretty sure it was the same man who'd pushed him down the stairs his first week as a manservant. Unfortunately not every knight saw Merlin's sass towards Arthur as innocent banter.
"Arthur," greeted Uther's booming voice as Merlin entered the room. The king looked pleased to see him, motioning for Merlin to sit down in the seat next to him.
"Good morning, father," Merlin replied, trying hard to mimic Arthur's formal diction.
"Eat," the king commanded. The table was impressively spread, laid out with fresh bread, fruit, and enough meat to feed a family for a week. Combined with the warm sunshine gleaming through the windows and the privacy allotted to the royals, the whole brunch had a familiar, comfortable atmosphere. Merlin wasn't used to associating such an impression with Uther; it wasn't unpleasant, but it certainly was a little unsettling.
Merlin almost reached for the food himself, before catching himself. "Meat and fruit, please," he motioned to one servant, who quickly and obediently arranged a platter for the false prince. "Thanks," he added somewhat awkwardly. Did royals say 'thanks'? It didn't seem like Arthur ever thanked him, that was for sure.
"Have you read over the border proposal from Elric?" Uther asked in a conversational tone over his scone.
Merlin froze. Have I read the what? "Uh…"
"How many times have I told you that stuttering isn't regal? Control, Arthur. Confidence," the king chided.
"Yes, sire," Merlin replied, struggling to imagine how Arthur would respond in this scenario. "Um- sorry- I mean, I thought Edric-"
"Elric."
"Right, Elric's proposal was… interesting."
"Interesting how?" The king prodded, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands together thoughtfully.
"Well, are his-" desperately Merlin wracked his brain for any term he'd heard Arthur throw around often in legal talks "-conditions really reasonable?"
"What conditions? He offers the land as a gift."
Shoot. "Right," Merlin conceded, feigning confidence. "But there's no such thing as free." He added, quoting his mother.
"True," Uther mused. "So you don't trust Elric?"
"I would like to know what he stands to gain before we take land," Merlin offered.
"What do you think he stands to gain?" Uther prodded again, making Merlin inwardly groan in exasperation.
Gods, he's interrogating me! I don't know! "Royal favor?"
Uther frowned. Uh-oh. Wrong answer.
"I was hoping for something a little more thought out than that," Uther reprimanded disapprovingly. "Royal favor is a given."
"Sorry," Merlin mumbled. For a moment Uther waited to hear more; when Merlin didn't continue, he heaved a disappointed sigh.
"I thought we'd gotten past this, Arthur," he said, growing irritated. "You're not a child. If you want to be king you have to think and speak like one." His words were biting and pointed.
"Yes, sire," Merlin mumbled. For a moment all was quiet. Servants silently refilled the royals' goblets. Muffled voices floated from beneath the door and faded as the knights and nobles walked past. Then:
"Where is your manservant?"
Probably reviewing Elric's proposal right now, Merlin complained to himself. "Sick," he answered aloud. "Came down with a head cold."
"Unfortunate," Uther frowned again. "Regardless, you should push your servants harder."
"Harder, sir?"
"A head cold isn't the end of the world. The boy is here to work."
"That seems a little extreme," Merlin countered.
"When you are king you'll have to learn that you can't always play nice," Uther huffed, visibly irritated now. Merlin wasn't sure how the king had spiraled out of good humor so quickly.
"The boy is your inferior," Uther continued, waving his fork at Merlin for emphasis. "It's as important for you to know that as it is for the servant." Merlin shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how many servants stood silently in the shadows of the room, watching.
"Yes, father," Merlin mumbled after a moment when Uther looked at him with pointed expectancy.
"Good," the elder Pendragon nodded. Despite his words, he didn't look pleased. Merlin had the acute feeling he'd disappointed Uther, but everything had happened so quickly that he wasn't sure how.
The rest of the meal passed in tense silence. Merlin ate quietly, watching the sun inch across the floor with a syrupy slowness that seemed to draw the whole uncomfortable affair out. When Uther finished, he stood abruptly and left the chambers.
"Don't forget to go straight to the training field," the king said curtly as he left. "Hopefully you'll have remembered how to think by the time there's a sword in your hand." The remark was brusque and while Merlin was used to such sarcastic abuse, he couldn't help but image a younger Arthur sitting uneasily at the receiving end of Uther's disappointment.
Merlin tried to put the thought from his mind and though he was no longer hungry, he sat at the table alone as long as he could. If training would be anything like the rest of the morning, it would not go well.
Arthur was deep in the depths of complicated legal documents when a knock on his door interrupted his train of thought.
"Come in," he called, trying to hide his irritation at being interrupted. Naturally he wouldn't be able to be left in peace on this one day when his schedule was cleared. This better be important.
"Hello, sire. I was just wondering if you'd seen- Merlin!" Gwen broke off with a smile. "Just the man I was looking for. Why are you at Arthur's desk?" She added, after a confused pause.
"Oh. Arthur asked me to… alphabetize these papers," Arthur lied, jumping to his feet. "How can I help you, Guinevere?"
"Guinevere?" The maid echoed with a laugh. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Gwen," Arthur corrected himself. "I'm feeling great," he tried to add in one of Merlin's trademark beaming grins at the end, but worried it looked more like a grimace. "How can I help you?" He asked again.
"The kitchens sent me; they said you need to pick up Arthur's lunch. It's getting cold," Gwen informed the other politely, a small smile playing around her lips. Arthur relaxed at her easy smile, before immediately bristling again: is she always this friendly around Merlin?
"Oh. Right. They couldn't have sent it up with you?" Arthur asked, burying his annoyance.
Gwen raised both eyebrows in disapproval.
"Me?" She reprimanded. "I'm not Arthur's manservant, thank you."
"Right. Sorry," Arthur mumbled. Then, louder: "I'll get right to it."
"Are you sure you're feeling alright? You're not acting like yourself," Gwen reiterated, much to Arthur's chagrin. He thought he was doing a very good Merlin impersonation. He looked like the man, for heaven's sake; what else was there to do?
"Fine, thanks," Arthur replied, a little too waspishly. He tried to balance his tone with another awkward smile, without much success. "See you later, Guinev- Gwen." He quickly left the room before she could probe further, leaving a very confused maid behind.
As he walked to the kitchens, he grumbled to himself. Of course Merlin has useless chores to distract me. It's just like him to make sure I don't get anything of value accomplished when I have the time to. Useless. Thinking of Merlin, his thoughts strayed to his father. I wonder how their meal went. Hopefully the idiot didn't make a complete fool out of me. And, of course, the now-familiar anger followed in this thought's wake. With difficulty, Arthur tried to switch gears as he strode down the familiar hallways.
Except they weren't so familiar anymore. He knew the kitchens were somewhere in the north wing of the castle, so he'd absentmindedly headed in that direction. The trouble was he'd never actually been to the kitchens. Maybe once or twice as a boy, but even then the years fogged his memory and sense of direction. Ah! You've got to be kidding me! Lost in my own castle, what a joke.
"You there!" He called to a lone guard strolling a few meters down the hall. Except for Arthur and the guard, the wing seemed deserted. "I mean, excuse me," he backtracked unconvincingly when the guard turned his way, scowling. In one hand he held a freshly baked bun. The soldier in question probably could have done without the extra carbs: he was a large man, with a heavy, low jowls and a red face. To Arthur, he looked like a bulldog with a bad temper.
"Could you point me in the direction of the kitchens?" Arthur asked.
"Don't know where they are," the guard sneered. Arthur vaguely recognized him; he was one of his father's guards. Jovin? Julin? Try as he might, no name came to mind.
"Really?" Arthur asked, looking pointedly at the bread in Jovin's (?) hand. "So what, that just strolled from the oven and jumped into your mouth?"
"I don't like your tone, servant," the guard growled, dropping the bread to the floor and grinding it to crumbs under the heel of his boot. "Or didn't you learn your lesson last time?"
"Are you threatening me?" Arthur hissed, his pent up frustration making him forget himself.
"I'll do more than threaten, you dimwit," Jovin snapped back, hands curling in fists.
Uh-oh.
When Jovin attacked, he moved with the sluggish confidence of a typical cocky guard. Arthur could take him down easily. His fighting was sub-par, and that was a generous analysis.
Except… Arthur wasn't himself at the moment. And while his mind knew all the right moves and recognized how poor Jovin's skills were, his body didn't want to cooperate. The fist seemed to come out of nowhere, and next thing Arthur knew he was on the cold stone ground, pain shooting through his jaw and vision fuzzy.
He gasped in pain and tried to roll away, but his limbs appeared to have retained Merlin's customary clumsiness. The hard toe of Jovin's boot struck Arthur's ribs, cracking painfully and ripping the breath from the smaller man's chest. His head smacked the wall with the force of the blow, and his already unsteady vision flooded with spots of black. Warm blood trickled from his nose and splattered on the floor, the red a dizzying contrast to the gray.
"You're a slow learner," the guard leered. "Maybe we should go over the material again-
He was cut off by Arthur's foot, which connected solidly with Jovin's knee and sent him stumbling backwards. The bigger man swore in pain, clutching his injured leg with both of his meaty hands.
"You boot-licking pain in the ass!" the man cried, fury etched in the lines his square face. A smooth shnick filled the halls as the guard drew his sword. Arthur reared back, an unfamiliar panic filling him. Surely this guard wouldn't kill him?
Arthur scrambled to his feet, the hall spiraling in swooping loops around him. He felt like he might throw up- some removed, idle part of him wondered if he had a concussion. His cracked ribs protested the sudden movement, make each breath a sharp pain.
He tried to run, but his stomach heaved dangerously and he only made it a few steps. The guard limped after him, yelling all the while, but Arthur couldn't distinguish the words from one another. His ears were ringing.
Suddenly the guard's red face filled his vision and Arthur saw the sword swinging towards him. As if from a great distance, he heard the guard hiss something- something about being missed- or not being missed? Acute terror filled Arthur, unfamiliar and unwelcome. He was going to die.
Something recoiled up in him, lashing out in self-defense. Warmth flooded through him, temporarily easing his pain. The guard flew backwards as if he were a puppet being yanked violently away on an invisible string. He struck the wall and slid to the floor, temporarily stunned. For a moment Jovin just stared at Arthur, fear replacing his arrogant cruelty.
Then he got to his feet, screaming something (magic? Who had used magic?) and fled, limping slightly all the while. The danger gone, the warmth left Arthur. The pain returned with full force, and he collapsed over the nearest potted plant and hurled up what little he'd eaten that morning.
Stumbling to his feet, he managed to take a few shaky steps. Then he sank back to the ground and leaned against the wall, the cool stone a pleasant contrast to his overheated, throbbing injuries.
Just a moment. I'll just rest a moment, he thought to himself, eyes slipping closed. Then I'll find Gaius. And my father. The guard said someone was using magic… my father will want to know who was using magic… and with that thought, Arthur faded into oblivion and knew no more.
Merlin tried not to look too worried as he hurried to the dungeons. He'd been pulled from training by a servant, who'd wanted to "inform his majesty that a sorcerer has been caught on the premises." With the constant onslaught of magical attacks Camelot seemed to be plagued with, it could be anyone- or so Merlin tried to convince himself. A guard had apparently reported the attack, which made Merlin anxious. He knew from experience how sadly inept the guards were at catching magical attacks.
Pulling out his thick brass key ring, Merlin fumbled for a moment, scrambling to find the right key to unlock the heavy door that led down to the cells. Eventually he did and hurried down below the castle, taking the uneven stone steps two at a time in his haste. The dungeons smelt like mildew and rot.
Reaching the main block of cells, Merlin's heart sank when he saw Gaius in the far cell, bent over a familiar head of black hair.
"Gaius?" He asked, walking up to the physician. For all his earlier haste, he didn't want to look at his own bent form locked away. He felt like he was having a bizarre nightmare.
"Merlin," Gaius greeted grimly, looking up from his work. Arthur looked terrible. Blood trickled down from his temple, where a horrible purple and blue bruise had formed. His skin was translucently pale, and coupled with his unconsciousness, he looked as if he could have been dead. Gaius had the patient's shirt hiked up as well and was binding Arthur's ribs; Merlin could see the dark, painful looking outline of a boot. The warlock tried to fight down the boiling anger that was bubbling up in his core.
"What happened?" Merlin asked.
"That guard who used to torment you," Gaius said stiffly. His resentment was obvious. "Arthur is not used to holding his tongue."
"But- he used magic?" Merlin asked hesitantly, voice dropping to a whisper.
"It would seem so," Gaius sighed. "Arthur will be surprised, no doubt, to find how much of your power is instinctual."
"Have you treated the guard yet?"
"The guard will be fine," the physician snapped, before taking a deep breath to calm himself. Merlin waited for him to continue, but the older man had pressed his lips into a thin, white line and seemed determined not to say any more.
"Gaius," Merlin said gently. "That's not me you're treating."
"It's your body," the physician retorted. "Arthur should have been more careful. You're the one, ultimately, who will be hurt by this."
"Arthur is not to blame," Merlin countered, sliding down the wall of the cell until he was sitting opposite of Arthur and Gaius. "If anyone deserves your anger, it's the guard."
"Yes, I know," the physician seemed to wilt for a moment. "I'm surprised you're not more upset, Merlin. Arthur was attacked."
"No," Merlin shook his head. "I was attacked." This may not have been the complete truth, but in these rare times when even Gaius was biased, it was up to Merlin to keep a clear, rational outlook.
"Besides," Merlin continued, trying to be optimistic. "When we switch back, Arthur will be safe and unharmed."
"Humph," Gaius grumbled. "And what will happen to you, Merlin?"
"I'll figure something out. I always do," Merlin sighed. His anger was slowly draining away. He'd been the subject of too much emotional abuse- both from himself and Arthur- to retain any strong response now. Instead he felt helpless. As himself, he could stop this and heal Arthur. But right now? He was a sitting duck. And Merlin was so, so tired. He was tired of being the bad guy, and he was tired of being the victim of circumstances outside his control.
So as Gaius collected his things and left, Merlin sat still and waited patiently, with an empty spirit, for Arthur to wake up.
When Arthur did come around, it took a minute for everything to rush back to him. Where am I? The stones looked dirty, and it stunk- what- the fight! Arthur sat upright in one startled motion and immediately regretted it. The room swam in his vision, and his empty stomach contorted dangerously.
"Careful," he hear someone say. Then hands were on his shoulders, gently propping him up against the stone wall so he could sit upright and regain his breath. As Arthur's wits returned to him, he found himself looking at his own worried face.
"Merlin," he mumbled. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, I was very curious when I found out I was to be executed," Merlin tried to play the comment off lightly, but Arthur could sense the other man's concern.
"I don't understand," Arthur winced at the pain in his ribs, shifting against the wall. He racked his brain for details from the fight. "I… I used magic?"
"Apparently."
"But I don't know any spells. I thought I couldn't do magic unless you taught me?" Arthur was past confused, past upset. He was utterly and completely lost.
"Well," Merlin shifted uneasily. "You can't control my magic without spells. But the instinct is still there."
"The instinct?" Arthur echoed, frowning. "Magic isn't an instinct. It's a skill."
"Normally," Merlin conceded. He hesitated; Arthur got the feeling his companion was picking his next words very carefully. "My magic is special."
"Special how?"
"Well… um, I'm not sure how to explain," Merlin stammered. Arthur had never seen the man so on edge.
"Merlin. Spit it out," he ordered. The dull throb in his ribs and his pounding headache was making his already short temper shorter.
"I didn't learn magic," Merlin admitted finally. "I was born with it. Aspects of it- especially in self-defense- have always been instinctual to me. And now they are instinctual for you."
"Born with it?" Arthur echoed, stunned. "That's not possible. You're trying to trick me."
"Why would I do that?"
"I don't know!" Arthur cried. "To hide your guilt."
"Arthur, if I wasn't able to do magic naturally then how did you do magic without knowing any spells?" Merlin countered. Silence filled the cell.
"You're telling me you never chose magic." The injured man eventually stated flatly. Merlin didn't respond, but his muteness was all the answer the prince needed. "You idiot. Why would you come to Camelot?" His voice dripped with incredulous disbelief.
"I had to learn how to control it," Merlin sighed. "The only thing more dangerous than magic in Camelot is magic that has no limits."
"But you can control it now, right? And yet here you are."
"Here I am," Merlin agreed. "I know I've lied to you about a lot, Arthur. And I'm truly sorry for that. But I've never lied about being your friend, or believing in the future you will build. I stayed to try and give you a chance to build that future."
Silence once again filled the cell as Arthur turned over Merlin's words in his head.
"You've been protecting me," he said finally. His tone made it clear he wasn't asking a question, but reaching an ultimate conclusion. "You. All this time?"
"Yes," Merlin said. The warlock seemed uncertain- it was clear he didn't know if Arthur was about to start yelling again or not.
"Give me an example," Arthur commanded.
"What?"
"An example," Arthur repeated. "What's one thing you've done for this kingdom that I didn't know about?"
"Oh." Merlin said, surprise etched on his face. "Um-"
"C'mon, it can't be that hard."
"I fought Nimueh," Merlin offered hesitantly.
"You fought Nimueh?" Arthur echoed incredulously.
"Well, yeah," Merlin said, sounding a little offended. "When you got bitten by that monster and were gonna die, I had to go bargain for your life with a high priestess, which she was, coincidentally. I assure you, I was very impressive," he added, hoping to get a rise from his friend. No luck.
"You bargained for my life," Arthur repeated flatly. "How did you do that?"
"The old religion has this thing- a life for a life. I went intending to trade mine for yours, but then Nimueh tried to take my mother's, and then Gaius'. It was a mess," Merlin mumbled.
Arthur frowned, musing. "Let's say I believe you. I'm still alive," he said finally. "And so are Gaius and your mother. Who died?"
"Oh. Nimueh," Merlin answered. "You didn't think it was odd she never bothered us again?"
"I never thought about it," Arthur blinked, stunned. "You're telling me you managed to kill a sorceress that powerful?" His doubt was obvious.
"Yes."
Arthur raised a skeptical eyebrow. However, when Merlin didn't waver, Arthur slowly sank back in silence.
"You killed a sorceress that powerful," Arthur said again, softly.
"I didn't go intending to kill her," Merlin added quickly. "Things just got out of hand."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Now that I can easily believe."
Several long moments passed in almost comfortable silence; it was the closest they'd come to normalcy since the accident. Merlin tried to contain his cautious optimism. Maybe things will be okay after all.
"I'm still mad," Arthur said, as if reading Merlin's mind. "But," he added with a sigh, "I can see I haven't heard the whole story. It seems we have a lot to talk about."
"Yes," Merlin agreed. "But not now. First we have to get you out of this cell."
"You're going to have to talk to my father," Arthur warned. "It won't be easy."
"Nothing ever is, is it?" said the other.
"In the meantime," Arthur ground out, looking faintly nauseous again, "I think it's time you taught me some magic."
When Merlin told Gaius how the conversation had gone, it was clear the older man was just as uncertain how to proceed as Merlin himself was.
"I'm glad Arthur seems to be coming around," the physician said slowly, drumming his fingers against his desk thoughtfully. "But however will you convince Uther he's innocent? You can't use magic, and neither can Arthur; he doesn't have time to learn."
"Maybe I can make out like the guard was drunk?" Merlin suggested uncertainly. As he spoke he paced back and forth in long, worried strides in front of his mentor.
"Even if you could, I doubt that would sway the king," Gaius pointed out. "He's executed people over less. Besides, in his mind having one less servant is likely worth the risk of getting rid of a sorcerer, even if that comes at the cost of innocent life."
"I could create a decoy," the warlock mused. "That's worked pretty well in the past."
"Who would you say had really used magic?" The physician countered. "You can't change up your appearance and hand-wave this one away, and you have no other evidence."
The warlock stopped pacing and set down heavily across from Gaius, frustration etched into every line of his face. He ran a hand over his eyes wearily.
"Maybe if the guard were to disappear…" Merlin trailed off and turned his face away; even the suggestion had an ugly taste in his mouth. How could he swear he used his position only for good with one breath and then threaten a man's life with the next? Gaius was silent, before shaking his head.
"I hardly think you'd seriously consider that route," he said gently. "But regardless, any harm that came to the guard would likely be marked down as a revenge scheme by the all-powerful sorcerer in the dungeons." A hint of irony crept into his voice.
"You know Uther better than I," Merlin said finally. "Would he take something as simple as my word over the guard's? He does think I'm his son."
"That has never worked in the past," the older man mused. "He's more likely to think you're enchanted; the two of you spend too much time together. No- what you really need is help, some sort of counter-witness who isn't seen as often with you."
"How would that help?"
"If someone Uther loved where to testify to Arthur's innocence, the king might be swayed."
"Who does Uther love and trust more than his own son?" Merlin groaned. "Where am I going to find that kind of help?"
To punctuate his words, the door to Gaius's chambers swung open with a loud bang. In the doorway stood Gwen.
"Arthur," she demanded, "what's this about Merlin being executed?" At the servant's shoulder, looking just as furious, was the Lady Morgana.
"Father," Morgana said, as sweetly as a woman so headstrong could manage, "could we-" she broke off to motion to herself, Merlin, and Gwen- "have a private word, please?"
Merlin wasn't sure if Uther's meeting had been important (it had certainly looked important, with so many old nobles packed into the throne room) but regardless Uther had immediately had them leave at Morgana's request.
In the end, it hadn't been hard to convince Morgana and Gwen to tell a white lie for Arthur's sake, if it could even be called convincing at all. They'd come with the intention to help, and had waved away Merlin's concerns as they left his lips. The warlock had been deeply touched to see such loyalty in his friends- but that could be addressed later, when he was himself again.
"Yes, Morgana?" Uther asked, his voice echoing slightly in the now empty room.
"Father, I-" Morgana broke off to swallow uneasily, shifting as if she was afraid.
"Speak freely," Uther frowned. "You know you can confide in me, child." Merlin had to commend Morgana's abilities as an actress; they were impressive as they were scary. The warlock thanked the gods silently she was on their side.
"Well- it's the servant Merlin, sire," Morgana burst out, taking a half-step towards the king. "I know your decree is law, but-"
"But?" Uther's eyebrows arched upwards. "The boy is a sorcerer."
"No, milord!" Morgana said earnestly. "I think we have been deceived."
"How so?" Uther prompted expectantly, leaning forward.
"The boy could not have attacked the guard. He was with me," the Lady replied firmly.
"With you? Why," Uther asked flatly, "would he be with you? You had best not be lying to me, Morgana. I was told the boy was on his way to the kitchens; that is where he was arrested."
"Yes sire, he was," Morgana soothed. "My servant and I had been taking a turn around the castle, when a cook flagged down Gwen to remind Merlin that Arthur's breakfast needed to be collected. We found him together, cleaning Arthur's rooms, and walked with him to the kitchen- he and Gwen are close friends." She added this last bit in a confidential whisper, looking sidelong at Gwen, who did her best to look down bashfully.
"I see," was the king's only comment. "And then?"
"Well, we did see a guard. But I cannot imagine where he conceived he'd been attacked; we were almost past him, when he cried out and struck Merlin. Sire, I'm convinced he was drunk," she delivered this last line scornfully.
"It was his break, and he'd overindulged," she continued, "and in his paranoia he saw enemies where there were none. Poor Merlin tried to defend himself, but he's only a peasant. What could he do? He'd already been knocked unconscious by the time I and Gwen had fled, afraid of the man's unstable temper."
"I see," Uther leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful if still a little doubtful. "Jovin has been a loyal guard from many years."
"Yes, sire," Merlin interjected. "But his temper is no secret. He was on break, so a drink wouldn't have been the end of the world- and the cooks can confirm he snatched something from the kitchen, though they didn't see what."
"I don't know that I can take a cook's word over my guard's," Uther said, abet reluctantly.
"Oh! A cook!" Morgana cried indignantly. "You could take my word!" Merlin flinched inwardly, sure the other had gone too far, but in the end she'd struck the right chord.
"You're right," Uther soothed. "Of course I can. Even so, my decisions have to be final."
"Your kingdom will see you as strong for considering facts, and not emotion," Merlin added. "And your staff will respect your mercy and generosity."
"They will respect strength more," Uther frowned at Merlin. "You will learn that when you are king."
"King! You're a father, too," Morgana said low, her voice choked with tears. Merlin eyed her, amazed. She took another step forward, kneeling at the base of the king's throne and grasping his right hand in both of hers.
"I know I'm not your daughter by blood," she said softly. Uther shifted uncomfortably. "But I have always felt I could love you as my own relation."
"You can!"
"Then please, do this for me. My maid feels very strongly for the boy, I owe this to her. You know he's innocent, and your subjects will sing your praise for both saving an innocent life and teaching keeping a promise to raise me to your best ability."
"Protecting you from magic does fulfil that promise," Uther argued gently. Morgana's face contorted briefly, and then her mask was back in place.
"He does not have magic, sire," Morgana begged tearfully. "Spare him, for the love of your subjects and me. I promise they will see your strength in your intolerance of anything but the truth."
There was a long, heavy silence in the throne room. Then, reluctantly:
"Very well. But Morgana- be warned. No more favors." The crinkled suggestion of a smile around his eyes undermined this threat.
"Oh, thank you father!" She cried, raising and throwing her arms around him. "I mean- sire," she corrected, flushing. With a curtsy, she made to take her leave, as if embarrassed. Merlin and Gwen fell into step behind her and followed her out, the former pleased and the latter two struck dumb.
"How on earth did you manage it?" Arthur demanded when Merlin came down, key in hand, to free him.
"Thank Lady Morgana," Merlin replied, unlocking the cell. "She's a wonder."
"Ah. Trust her to play my father like a harp," the prince said dryly, rubbing his wrists where they'd been shackled. "She's something else."
"You have no idea," Merlin said, letting out a deep breath. "She made herself cry- did you know she could do that?"
"Yes," Arthur rolled his eyes. "She picked that trick up when we were children."
"It's very effective."
"I know," the prince agreed. "Normally I would complain about the favoritism, but in this case I suppose I owe it my life." He fell into step next to Merlin as they left the dungeons, walking together back to Gaius' chambers.
"How big of you to refrain from complaining," Merlin commented scathingly in reply. "I'm sure that took a lot of effort."
"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur grumbled. "I'm still your superior."
"You did do a superior job of trying to get me killed. What were you thinking?" Merlin hadn't meant to berate Arthur, but now that the immediate crisis had passed he couldn't help it. He had no idea what would happen if Uther killed Arthur while they weren't in their own bodies. Would Arthur die with the body he was in? Would the death of one reverse the spell and ultimately save the prince at the cost of Merlin's life? Or worse, would the execution have killed them both? Merlin shuddered, eyeing Arthur sidelong in disapproval.
"I wasn't," Arthur admitted after a long silence. "I shouldn't have risked both our lives like that. I'm sorry."
"Come again?" Merlin stopped short in the middle of the hallway, staring at the prince in open amazement.
Arthur stopped as well and turned to face the other man. For a moment he looked irritated, and Merlin thought he'd brush the apology off and carry on. But the prince hesitated, and with some struggle seemed to think better of it.
"I've always said I would rule fairly," Arthur admitted, reluctantly but sincerely nevertheless. "But when I found out you had magic, I didn't even wait to let you explain. I assumed the worst, even though you've been nothing but loyal all these years. I was reckless in my anger. I'm sorry. Not-" he added quickly, holding up one finger to halt whatever reply Merlin was about to make "-not that I'm not upset. You still lied to me. By after being sentenced to die for something instinctual, I'm ready to hear you out and pass judgment later."
Merlin didn't cry, but the dangerous lump in his throat suggested he might. He hadn't realized how heavily Arthur's condemnation had lain on his spirit until it was gone.
"The chance to explain is all I've ever wanted," Merlin managed finally, voice low. "Well- that, and for you to see me as myself. I haven't liked lying."
Arthur only nodded once, and then continued walking. Merlin fell in step again besides him, and for the first time since the accident things felt almost like normal.
"How is your pupil doing?" The dry tone of Gaius' voice suggested he knew the answer already. Merlin glared daggers at the older man; his blond hair was mused, his eyes were lidded with lack of sleep, and a bruise was forming on one side of his jaw where he'd accidentally been struck by a flying pot.
"Not well," Merlin ground out through clenched teeth. It had been three days since Arthur had taken his first magic lesson. His upbringing had revolted against any extensive learning, of course, so the Pendragon had wanted to just learn the counter-spell and be done, but both Merlin and Gaius had advised against this course of action. After all, Merlin had no power to fix a serious mistake; Arthur had only one chance to get the spell right. It was better to start off small, and work up to it.
At first, Arthur had been a moody, reluctant student. He only gave half his attention to Merlin's instructions, and made the most unfortunate faces while reciting spells. Simple incantations to light candles and levitate pots became dangerous weapons under this carelessness, and Merlin's patience had been sorely tested.
However, Arthur had eventually grown impatient by the lack of progress as well and settled down himself (much to Merlin and Gaius' relief). Then, after he'd mastered his first small spell, he'd almost- almost- become enthusiastic about learning. The younger Pendragon mastered his distaste by magic by treating it as a dumb competition ("After all, if Merlin can do it, how hard can it be?") To Merlin's horrified amazement, eager Arthur proved to be more dangerous than careless Arthur.
"Duck!" Arthur cried now, and with no hesitation Merlin dropped to the floor. A candle, entirely on fire from wick to wax, went hurtling past where his head had been just seconds before and impaled itself in Gaius' bookcase like a spear. The physician quickly dumped a pot of water that had been set aside just for this purpose over the books, before they could catch on fire.
"Small movements, Arthur," Merlin said in exasperation as his picked himself up off the floor. "And you need to enunciate your o's more."
In response, Arthur formed his mouth into the wide shape of an o, silently mouthing the sound. Said prince was currently sitting on the floor in Gaius' chambers, surrounded by a messy ring of books and assorted trinkets to practice on. Gaius and Merlin stood a few feet away, talking quietly to each other and eyeing Arthur's work skeptically.
"Okay," Arthur said. "I'm done with that one."
"Which one? Forbane?" Merlin echoed incredulously. "You didn't master that; you're supposed to light the candle, not try to kill me with it."
Arthur shrugged. "The candle was on fire."
"Yes. All of it," Merlin said pointedly, but his complaint fell on deaf ears.
"There's no pleasing you," Arthur said flippantly. "You told me to light the candle on fire, and I did. You just don't like that I'm so good at this."
"Agh!" Merlin cried, turning away. "I give up! You teach him!" He pointed a finger at Gaius, who was using one hand to not-so-subtly cover his smile.
"Now Merlin," his mentor chided, a suspicious glint still in his eyes. "Who better understands your magic than you?"
"Which spell should I try next?" Arthur asked, reaching for Merlin's spell book.
"No," Merlin said firmly, swooping down and collecting the thick volume. "Stick to forbane. We can't afford mistakes."
"You're paranoid."
"You're over-eager," Merlin hissed. "Magic is an art, like swordplay. And doing it wrong is just as dangerous."
"Oh, don't you lecture me on swordplay," Arthur rolled his eyes. "You could hurt yourself with a toothpick."
"Who needs toothpicks when you make such fine weapons out of candles?" Merlin snapped. "Try again!"
"You're so tense!" Arthur cried in exasperation. "You're the one who said your magic is instinctual!"
"Instinctual doesn't mean faultless," Merlin retorted. His voice was strained. "You can't treat something you don't understand so facetiously."
Arthur groaned and leaned back against the wall, eyes shut. "I just want to get to the counter-spell and be done with, already," he complained.
"Tough," the warlock ground out between clenched teeth. "You didn't learn to fight overnight, did you? This is going to take a little work, too. Again."
And so the lessons progressed. Every night after Arthur's chores were done and Merlin could escape Uther's rigorously royal schedule, the pair would meet in Gaius' chambers and struggle through another mundane spell. The lessons were difficult, to say the least.
Merlin had never given much thought to having an apprentice, since that inherently required being a known magician and he'd like to crawl before he could walk, thank you very much. Still, he'd always prided himself on his patience. That patience was failing him now. He couldn't shake the feeling that Arthur was intentionally terrible at magic. He'd seen the prince's careful dedication towards everything else he put his mind to- they should've had the problem solved ten times over.
And yet they hadn't.
A few times, Merlin had tried to take a stab at whatever the problem was. He'd tried to subtly remind Arthur that magic wasn't normally instinctual and "this isn't a competition, we're on the same team." That hadn't gone over well.
"Can't you see I'm working on it? I think I'm rather good. Don't be such a prick, Merlin," and so on, and so forth. Merlin couldn't address the problem until Arthur did, and Arthur seemed determined to pretend this was his 100%. It was infuriating.
It wasn't until they were walking together to Gaius' chambers late one night and stumbled across the king that Merlin finally found some insight.
"Sire," Merlin had greeted, stopping short in surprise and bowing quickly to mask said emotion. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Arthur do the same.
"Son," Uther greeted icily. His breath smelt like wine, but he didn't seem intoxicated.
"It's late, father," Merlin hinted. Through the corridor windows, night had fallen over Camelot. The flickering torches on the wall were the only thing that illuminated the small circle of men, bubbling them away from the rest of the castle like they were in their own world.
"I could say the same thing to you," Uther said, raising both eyebrows. "Regardless, it's good you're up. I wanted to speak to you."
"Now, sire?"
"Yes. The knights tell me you haven't improved in training. What's going on?"
"I-" Merlin stammered and came up empty. "Just stressed. I'm sorry. I'll try to get back in my… groove." He cringed inwardly.
Uther's eye's narrowed. "You're 'sorry'?" He asked scathingly. "My son makes me look like a damn fool on the training field, but gods, at least he's sorry!" Merlin's eyes widened. He sensed more than saw Arthur shrink back into the shadows besides him.
"You're going to be king one day, Arthur! You have responsibilities! It's time you started acting like a leader," Uther carried on.
"Father, I- I understand," Merlin amended mid-sentence. But Uther was on a roll.
"Show me that I can trust you with my life's work so that one day I can die in peace," the king hissed, low and venomous before stalking off.
"…wow." Merlin said finally after the king had left, letting out a long breath. "What was all that about?"
"Obviously you haven't been trying hard enough," Arthur snapped, walking on.
"Wait, what?" Merlin's eyes widened again and he half-walked, half-jogged to catch up. "I'm not a knight! I've been 'trying' by teaching you magic! Besides, you can't tell me that was a proportional reaction. 'My son makes me look like a damn fool'? I mean-"
"You're talking about your king!" Arthur hissed, spinning on Merlin with one index finger stuck in his face. "I can't expect you to understand the pressures of grooming an heir, nor the enormous responsibilities he has to pass on to me…" Now Arthur trailed off, face contorting briefly as he drew back.
"I don't understand responsibility? Really?" Merlin echoed incredulously.
"You don't have the weight of a kingdom on your shoulders! It's not your responsibility alone to bear!"
"It has never been your responsibility alone!" Merlin thundered. "I have been there every step of the way!"
"Yes," Arthur said suddenly, withdrawing with dizzying suddenness. "Yes, I suppose you have. No lesson tonight. I'm going to bed."
"I- what?!"
But Arthur was already disappearing around the corner.
Arthur wasn't too surprised to hear the door to his chambers creak open an hour later. He was sitting at his table, staring intently at an unlit candle.
"I don't suppose you'll ever learn to knock," he said dryly. Merlin said nothing. He could feel the warlock's eyes boring into the back of his head.
"Magic is hard," Arthur said after a long moment. "I get that now, believe it or not. But… it has been… well, not nice exactly, but…" The knight trailed off helplessly.
Merlin still didn't say anything, but he did circle around to sit at the table across from Arthur. The candle sat in its unlit glory between them.
"I've never been so insulated from my father, or so wrong about anything he's felt so strongly about," he gestured vaguely to Merlin as if to indicate magic in general. "It's been nice to have some space to figure out how I feel about things, for once. By myself. Servants go so unnoticed."
"Are you saying you like being me?" Merlin echoed doubtfully.
"No," Arthur shook his head firmly. "I would like to be myself again. I'd just like to know what I'm going to do about everything when I am, too."
"You don't have to know everything," Merlin shrugged. "You're not alone in this, Arthur. We'll figure it out."
"Not just about the magic," Arthur sighed. "I mean not being myself- even if it meant I had to be you- gives me some perspective. About myself, my father, my future. I don't know how to incorporate everything I've learned all at once."
"You don't. No, seriously," Merlin added when Arthur looked ready to interrupt. "You'll find your place again, but take baby steps first. It is overwhelming to see your position from someone else's shoes," the warlock smiled wryly.
"Speaking of positions… I've been meaning to ask you about something. When we first switched, Gaius called me- or you, rather, Emrys."
"Oh," Merlin shifted uncomfortably. "Let's stick with baby steps. That's not baby step information."
Arthur held up one hand. "I already know who Emrys is."
"You do?" Merlin asked, stunned. "How?"
"After our talk in the cells, I went to the library and did some reading. Took me forever to find, but there was one book in the restricted section with some muddled legends and such. Irritatingly metaphorical, but I think I get the idea.
"Anyway," Arthur continued, "I'm going to have to come to terms with you being some sort of Druid savior- no, don't argue, I read the book- but I did want to say thank you. I know you're powerful, and I know how difficult power is to manage. So… thanks for managing it." Arthur met Merlin's eyes for the first time. The other man looked shocked.
"I- you're welcome?" Merlin asked, confused. "We've both known pressure. And power." The conversation in the hall came, unwelcome, to memory.
"Yes," Arthur agreed. There was a moment of silence.
"Arthur," Merlin sighed. "I've lost your train of thought a little bit here. Talking about magic and your father and legends- but you do know that you don't have to use this disaster as a time-out, right? You're strong. When things get back to normal, you'll be able to handle it."
Arthur looked away uncomfortably, but nodded.
"You're not one to run from a fight," Merlin added, more gently. Uther came to mind again; maybe, as a child, Arthur had never had the choice to be anything but strong.
"No," Arthur agreed. He looked at the candle and whispered, "forbane." The flame, manageable and hot, spluttered to life on the wick.
"You've been practicing," Merlin grinned. The prince shrugged, looking embarrassed. "I think I can manage the counter spell," Arthur said.
He sounded serious, confident. He sounded like a leader. Merlin thought he sounded ready.
The warlock told him the spell, and Arthur's eyes glowed gold.