This is the second part to "Colors"; a one shot about Merlin discovering color in his soulmate, Arthur. "Hues" was really fun to write because it allows us to not only return but dive deeper into the story, and from Arthur's perspective.
HUES
The very first color Arthur ever saw was gold.
Arthur Pendragon knew Soulmates once existed. Long ago Albion was a vibrant realm of Soulmates. Love and happiness could be found in man. Arthur knew Soulbonds had faded from existence years before his time. When humans started denying the Bonds the Bonds became unsatisfied and displeased. They weakened drastically and eventually died away. Arthur also knew his father, King Uther of Camelot, hated the very thought of Soulmates and magic with all his heart. Arthur knew anyone with even the slightest possibility of maybe having an ancestor ten generations before them harboring a Bond or a tidbit of magic would be sentenced to death without trial.
His father ruled an unjust kingdom. This Arthur knew. But he could only stand by and watch his people suffer at the hands of his father.
Arthur knew his childhood was very different from the other children's. While they all played, he poured his attention over laws and taxes and treaties long into the night. While they all danced, he trained with weapons until his bones ached and hands bled. While they all slept after a hard day of performing tasks and chores, Arthur's only rest was sitting besides his father in painfully boring council meetings upon a painfully hard chair.
Unlike their fathers', his was as distant and as cold as the icy mountains in the north. Uther never once tucked him in at night or told him he loved him. He would tear up Arthur's gifts and demand his son to focused more on his studies. The only praise or affection the King bestowed upon him was a small nod whenever Arthur would disarm his opponent in combat training.
How the son craved the small nods from his father.
Unlike them, Arthur had no mother or motherly figure in his life. He would watch children return home to open arms, soft smiles and a warm meal made of love and tenderness. If Arthur ever sought such affections he would be reprimanded and reminded that he was a Prince, a royal, a warrior who did not need hugs and songs while he had steel in his hand.
And unlike the entire kingdom of Camelot, Arthur could not see color. At the beginning he did not know he was colorblind. Living in a world of gray seemed as natural as breathing air for the young prince. Whatever red or orange or yellow was, they mattered little to Arthur when he was fending off imaginary foes.
But as he grew older, people would compliment his "brilliant blue eyes" and "thick golden hair". It was frustrating to peer into a mirror and find nothing but gray. Where was this blue and gold they all spoke of? Why couldn't he see it? Why did they get to see while he could not?
Arthur knew he couldn't confide in anyone with his secret. From a young age his father had drilled that abnormality was weak, and Pendragons were never weak. So the prince quickly learned to mask his weakness with laughs, shrugs, and wild guesses. He memorized the typical colors of the things around him. His boots were brown, his teeth were white, his eyes were blue, his hair was gold, his sword was silver, his shirt was red. He found it rather easy to live a constant fabrication... so long as he convinced himself that it was the truth.
But it was the changing of the fruits and the leaves during the different seasons that threw Arthur off. He would receive odd looks, such as when he guessed a basket of strawberries were red while they were really green from fuzzy mold, or the foliage of the oaks were green when they were really orange and brown.
He realized it wasn't as easy as he thought — living a constant falsehood.
It was a miracle, really, that he wasn't discovered sooner than he was. Arthur was a terrible liar. His excuses put the stable boy's measly fibs to shame, and that was after nine cups of ale and mead. Gaius, having harboring his suspicions after living with the royal family for over twenty years, found Arthur one afternoon.
"What color is this?" He asked, holding a cup.
"Silver."
"And this?" He pointed to a book.
"...Brown."
"And how about this?"
"Gray?" Arthur guessed helplessly as he eyed the shield. Wasn't metal always gray?
"That is wooden and rusted," Gaius told him with a grave look upon his pale face. "Listen to me. You are not like everybody else. You are a prince, yes, but you are also colorblind."
"Colorblind?" Arthur exclaimed. He now had a name for his ailment. "But what is color?"
"You know of Soulmates, no? You, Arthur Pendragon, are one of two Soulmates. For now you are colorblind, but it is temporary. In time you will gain the Sight of color once you have met your other half."
Although the physician's words were comforting, they provided more answers then questions. The man forgot to mention how exceedingly long Arthur's wait would actually be, and as days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months in years, the Crowned Prince of Camelot found himself caring less about color as life continued to ebb and flow in various shades of gray.
"Why haven't I gained Sight?" He demanded one afternoon. "I married my true love. Surely she is my Soulmate!"
Gaius, now much older and haggard from caring for both his ward and the prince, shook his head thoughtfully. "Two people do not need to be in love for their Souls to Bond. Trust me when I say your time will come. Have faith, Sire, and remember to have an open mind and forgiving heart."
Despite all the faces Arthur saw during his quests and met on his travels, despite all the people he invited to feasts danced with at balls, he never gained his Sight.
So he dreamt of colors. Late at night while the castle was still, when the moon was high and the stars were bright, when the shadows alive and the minds at rest, Arthur let his mind wander. He would imagine the beautiful fabrics of Guinevere's gowns; conjure brilliant images of the celebrations in the Great Hall; wonder if the scents of the royal gardens were as lovely as their petals would be of vibrant shades. He questioned if the sunsets and sunrises were as beautiful as people claimed; if the tapestries hanging upon every wall were really as magnificently woven as their praisers' disclaimed. He wondered if the world would be all that different were it in color, and if so, by how much?
After years of pretending Arthur almost convinced himself he could See.
He could've sworn there was a flicker of difference in the eyes of Merlin from time to time... preparing for the fight at Ealdor... drinking from the poison chalice... weeping over the Dragon Lord... readying for the Battle of Camelot... winning at cards in the tavern... sitting proudly at the Round Table... sneaking food from the kitchens... making faces during council meetings...
But whenever the King glanced a second time at his manservant's eyes, they were no different than any other's, and Arthur's heart constricted as the familiar (and quite unnecessary) feeling of loss washed over him. Father would never have allowed a Soulmate to work in the castle, he reassured himself as he forced the disappointed down into the pit of his stomach. Merlin is my friend. We are as close as brothers. He would tell me if he was my Soulmate.
"What is color like?" Arthur questioned during a hunting trip. Night came upon them and they were forced to make camp in the woods. Merlin was the only other person besides Gaius who knew Arthur was colorblind. Not even Gwen or the Knights of the Round Table knew of his secret.
"Liberating, but also terrifying... beautifully breathtaking, yet horrifically terrible," Merlin replied after a moment of thought. "I didn't understand at first, what they said about color. But I know now that color is not just a visual to the eye. Color can be felt, it can be heard, and it can certainly be seen."
He glanced at Arthur, pity in his supposedly blue eyes. Arthur grounded his teeth. He hated pity. "What is gray like?"
Arthur briefly wondered if he was mocking him, but the younger boy seemed genuinely curious.
"It is suffocating," Arthur said. "It is frustration, isolation, weariness, and hopelessness. Gray was my paralyzation as I watched my father rein. Gray was knowing better than to trust, yet feeling betrayal over and over again when I did. Gray was the hopelessness of Camelot's fall, the haziness of the pain, the grief of mourning brothers in battle—"
"—and the wish to close your eyes and never awaken when everything becomes too much?"
Merlin's voice was the darkest Arthur ever heard. His hands curled into firsts, drawing blood from his palms, and the boy didn't even flinch as his skin welled with blood.
Arthur's throat was tight as he croaked, "Precisely. It is like you are holding your breath for something that will never come."
And for another false moment, he imagined a glimmer of something in Merlin's eyes.
But Arthur continued. "To know everyone is different than you and having no control over that difference is more painful than you could ever know."
And Merlin's face fell, gray as ever. "That is what color is like too," he said lifelessly. "The loudest, brightest, and busiest places are oftentimes when you feel the most alone."
It was a wicked war. Adrenaline coursed through Arthur's veins as he struck, sliced, punched, whacked, hit, stabbed, and plunged Excalibur into the bodies of his foes. The sickening cries of the wounds — the wounds inflicted by him — was torture to Arthur's ears; a haunting melody that would continue to play long after the battle was over.
Arthur would not rest until every single heathen was dead and Camelot was safe. He fought for his kingdom, his future, his wife, his friends. He fought for the innocents, the unwell, the young and the old. The dead and the soon to come, for the very spirit of man himself.
A slice through the neck. This was for a father he never had; the father he loved, the father he missed, the father who never loved back. Blood splattered across his face like mist from a water fall.
A pierce to the ribs. This was for a friend who gave his life; a friend who broke his heart and shattered his trust. The sound of cracking bones echoed and rang. It was a song of agony.
A stab in the arm. This was for the man he confided in; for the family misled, the sins of the uncle. Blood oozed in thick rivers; turning the ground to marshland as it was stained.
A blow to the face. This was for a boy he saved; a boy he thought a fellow knight, a boy he thought his friend. Teeth flew from the gums in a whirl like snowflakes.
A hand to the throat. This was for a man determined to save his sister; a knight who died too soon, a warrior gone before his time. Life fled the eyes like a feather in the wind.
A slice to the achilles heel. This was for a sister he once knew; a sister beyond redemption, beyond help; the product of Uther's hatred. Flesh fluttered in tattered ribbons.
A kick to the shins. This was for a woman he so desperately loved; the woman who had him weak and a fool and at her complete mercy. A body fell to the ground. Then another. And another.
A plunge to the heart. This was for the mother he never had; the woman who was killed for power; the mother who had abandoned him with Uther. A gasp, a moan, a gurgle as they choked on blood. Then silence.
Arthur fought for hours with but one purpose in mind: to save Camelot. The sun rose and fell and along with it went a thousands of lives. The King grew cocky towards the end, thinking a mask of blood and a single sword was enough protection from Mordred.
How wrong he was.
It was hazy, the aftermath of exchanging strikes with his formal friend. Arthur recalled strong arms carrying him as if he weighed no more than a babe, cradling him as they departed the battle field. Arthur remembered sun framing the trees... leaves dancing in the wind... blankets swathing his limp body... the pain blooming in his abdomen... the thirst clawing at his mouth... the burn in his muscles... He heard horses galloping mightily and he couldn't decipher if he was upon the stallion or if he was the stallion.
Time blurred together in a cacophony of sounds, sights, wind and pain. He closed his eyes, disoriented and murky, and immediately slipped into unconsciousness.
When he regained his sight he was laying on the forest floor. A bed of leaves support his back, his head rested on a log, and a slim figure crouched at his feet.
Sorcerer.
Magic.
Merlin.
Those words did not fit together, but somehow they did. Arthur was injured, Merlin was sobbing, and both had nearly survived a fierce battle. And now Merlin claimed he had magic.
"Here, look." The boy turned and lifted a hand over the small fire.
Arthur almost called out, almost begged him to stop. He didn't wish to see. He didn't want it to be true. He didn't want his only remaining friend to have lied to him their entire friendship. Was their friendship even a friendship? Had that all been a pretense, too? A falsehood? For who's ambition? What crime has Arthur committed to have anyone he has ever trusted to betray him in such a gut wrenching manner?
How much more could a man bare? He wanted to scream.
But Arthur's voice lodged in his throat as a small dragon was conjured from the flames.
Merlin had magic.
Merlin was a sorcerer.
Merlin had lied.
"You—" Arthur began, his thoughts and emotions in a jumble of confusion. But as the servant faced his king, both were silent.
Merlin, tear stricken Merlin. Sorcerer Merlin, warlock Merlin. Manservant Merlin, clumsy Merlin. Obnoxious Merlin, stupid Merlin. Loyal Merlin, magic Merlin.
All these aliases and Arthur knew only one. He was the boy with a kind heart, good intentions, a deceitful tongue and—
"Merlin!" Arthur gasped. "Your eyes."
"They aren't grey," Merlin sniffled. "They're blue."
"No, they're... they're..."
Arthur Pendragon couldn't form words, for he had none to describe Melin's eyes. Color, he realized. It was like a punch to the gut. Color. This was color. And he could finally breathe.
The very first color Arthur ever saw was gold.
Gold was ancient hexes and forgotten runes, riddles of time and prophecies of the yet to come. Gold was the language of beasts, the commanding of dragons, the kindness of man, the courage of a child. It was was goodness ripped and forced and twisted and taken; kind deeds punished and sacrifices of the imaginable; the aching of a broken heart and the dreams of united peace. Gold was the oil of shoe polish, the subs of soap, the blood of a servant and the tears of a friend. It was the chanting of witchcraft, the reciting of spells, the singing of sorcery and the casting of charms. Gold was the unbearable weight one bared alone and all the burdens one carried and made.
Gold was strange. Gold was strong. Gold was beautiful and alluring and wicked at the same time. Arthur wanted to dive into a sea of gold and never emerge, but he also feared what he might find at the bottom.
"Gold? Yes, they glow whenever I cast." Merlin studied Arthur's expression. "You can see them? The colors?" A grin broke across his face. "Arthur, that's wonderful! You must be so happy! You've waited so long..."
The boy — no, young man — took a deep breath for composure and twisted his hands in his lap. It was now or never. "Like you, eyes were the first things of color I saw. Your eyes."
Arthur could only stare at the young man with large ears. Did he possibly miss that Merlin was a sorcerer and his.. and his... and his...
I didn't understand at first, what they said about color.
"Our first meeting. You were trying to kill that poor lad, remember?" Merlin laughed pitifully. "I was just about to give you a piece of my mind when you turned around and I saw your eyes. I saw your eyes. Arthur, I had never seen color before meeting you. It took my breath away... all the different sights and shades... I was elated and frightened and filled with exhilaration."
"Yet a Soulbond didn't silence your mouth," Arthur commented dryly.
"No, it didn't." Merlin's gaze was far away and unfocused, somewhere searching in the past. "And just like that our destinies were intertwined. Everything I did after was for you, Arthur. Everything. It was all for you."
"Was the magic for me as well?" Arthur couldn't help the bitterness that laced his tone.
"Yes."
He scoffed. Sure. "Why?"
Merlin blinked owlishly. "Pardon?"
"Why use magic? Magic is the very foe Camelot has battled during her entire existence. Why..."
"Why couldn't it have been different?" Merlin said. "Believe me when I say that at the beginning, difference was all I ever wanted. I never asked to have magic. I was born with it. It is as much apart of me as the crown is for you: it is my destiny. Still, now, I never wanted to lie to you. But can't you see? I had no other choice. Uther would've killed me in a second."
"You never gave me a chance to accept you! Even when I took the throne!" Arthur cried, betrayal written clearly on his face. Did Merlin really think that little of him to automatically assume he would execute his bestfriend?
"There were no altercations made when you took the throne," Merlin hissed. "You saw how the druids coward and ran for survival. You didn't need me to decree magic legal yourself. It was your sole decision to keep magic outlawed. Just like your father."
"All I've ever seen is sorcery used for evil," Arthur said stubbornly. "Lady Helen, Valiant, the Arvank, the troll, the Baset, the Dragon, Morgana, Mordred, Morgause, my father, my wife. Sorcery was their vital tool to harm my family and my kingdom. I am responsible for the safety of my people's lives. I can't put them in harms way by legalizing magic in our land if it is only ever used as a destructive weapon."
"What about the magic that's saved your life, that's been used for good?"
"Name one example."
"Excalibur," Merlin said without hesitation. "Forged in a dragon's breath, stuck in the stone for only the true king of Camelot to retrieve."
"Exc—"
"Me." Merlin's eyes were dead above his tight-lipped, sardonic smile. "You have no idea the number of times I've saved your royal ass, only to be rewarded with blows upon the head and a mile's long list of chores. Many nights of rest were lost when spent protecting you and keeping your foes at bay."
"You still lied to my face and betrayed my trust," Arthur argued, refusing to succumb to his guilt.
Merlin looked as if he had been slapped. A dark, twisted part of the king hoped the warlock felt as hurt as he did.
"Magic isn't wicked," Merlin said last. "It is the wielder's intentions that soil the power of sorcery."
Gold was a color Arthur might have seen but it was something he would never truly understand.
"Leave me," he said flatly.
It was good to see Gaius upon his arrival, but his presence brought no comfort to Arthur's troubled mind. "I suspected this much," the old man said after Arthur had angrily rencountered the previous events. "I knew Merlin had magic. I knew all along. Why, the very first moment I met him he used his magic to save me from falling off a ledge and dying."
But what about all the magic that's saved your life, that's been used for good?
"I also suspected Merlin to be a Soulmate. He never confirmed it — but I thought as much."
"Then why didn't we Bond when we first met? Why now for I, and then for him?"
Gaius sat back on his heels, eyebrow raised in contemplation. Birds chirped in the distance and a soft wind rustle the trees. The very earth felt as though she was holding her breath and waiting for something grand to come.
"When did you gain your Sight?"
"After Merlin revealed his magic," Arthur spat.
Gaius smiled sadly. "Your Souls Bonded not a moment before because you did not know Merlin's true self. Soulbonds are the purest kind of magic to ever exist. It makes great sense that it took the reveal of his grandest secret to finally trigger the Bond."
Gaius left the young King to ponder this by himself. The newly found information was a great deal to process, as were the colors that bombarded Arthur's originally gray world.
Green was the leaves on the trees, the grass on the ground, the ivy on the trunks and the weeds in the dirt. Emerald was the jealousy that coursed through Arthur's veins as Merlin fondly spoke of Gwaine, or Lancelot, or any of the knights with a wistful expression on his face. Jade was the shy touches and concealed smiles and the timid embraces and tentative laughs. Viridescent was the new growth and mending the broken; replenishing relationships and forming better ones.
Blue was the vastness of the sky, the force of the river, the current of the stream, the delicacy of a raindrop. Navy was the smoldering of tale eyes as he re-enacted a story; the flash of Arthur's own cloak as he wound himself tighter; a story told from both sides at long last. Teal was the making of new memories as the King and Warlock, and the recalling of the old as the Prince and the Manservant. Cobalt was the dewdrops on petals and the perspiration on flesh, the tears of nature and the disposal of man.
Pink was the flowers Merlin mashed into a salve and the scars on Arthur's skin as he began to heal. Fuchsia was feeling flustered when he was teased about Sophia, the mortification of recalling his donkey ears, the embarrassment of Lady Vivian. Magenta was his sides aching from laughing too loudly, his jaw too sore from grinning so widely, the bubbling of his insides from bursts of zeal.
Black was stargazing late at night and the feeling of suffocating. Unlike gray, to feel the presence of darkness and sky was soothing and calming and pleasant. Ebony was screams in the dark from Merlin's faithful night terrors, silent sobs that racked Arthur's dreaming form, and the trembling that had both men shaking side by side. Raven were the jewels of Merlin's knife, the cuts on his forearms every morn, and the guilt of the King when his gaze couldn't meet the Warlock's. Black was Arthur knowing his friend was hurting but unable to offer him aid because he scarcely knew how to help himself.
Red was the murmurs over a campfire and an entire lifetime of lies and half-truths whispered through the burning flames. Crimson was in Arthur's cape, in his crown, in the blood of his kills and in his eyes and his heart as he heard of Merlin's trials and pain. Scarlet was the tint in the cheeks as a cold wind nipped, the welling blood of the bitten lip, the hurt of the throat from a hot sip.
Silver was the wisdom that infiltrated Merlin's words, the love lacing his fondest memories, the wistfulness of the past and the hopes of the future. Silver was the metallic taste in Arthur's mouth as both men spoke of their families and the losses, regrets and pain that they shared.
Orange was the sun's births and deaths that Arthur could finally witnessed in color; the remorse and sorrow as the world was drowned in darkness; the anticipation and the relief as the world was bathed in light. Amber was his revere as they stood on the ledge, breathing in the morning air, silent and stoic during his ruminating. The lines of Merlin's face as he contemplated the time ahead.
Purple was the stones found in the riverbanks, the sparks created by Merlin's hands and the weariness of loosing another kill. Lilac was the cloudiness that Gauius' tonic brought to free him of pain as they journeyed to Avalon and the crease of Merlin's brow as he blasted the Saxons ten feet back. Lavender was the petals that fell as unnatural wind were called to conceal hoof prints. Indigo was the handkerchief Merlin gave him for a token of luck; of unspoken promises, dying dreams, uncertain futures and terrifying realities.
Brown was the dirt the horses kicked into puffs as they fled and the tremor in Merlin's voice as he defied Morgana. Mocha coated Arthur's hands as he reached for his sword, it smeared his chainmail as he prayed helplessly on the ground.
Yellow was the sun's kisses, streams of light, pools of warmth and slivers of jubilation.
White was the clouds in the sky as Merlin held his trembling form. Ivory was the sun. Twas no longer gold, but instead a sphere of light; an orb of welcoming and good. White was the purity of Merlin's heart as he struggled to move, the bite of Arthur's shirt as it scraped against his wound. White was realization, acceptance, and the claws of destiny as they came to claim their prize.
"Do not despair," Arthur rasped as his friend cradled him to his chest. "We were given a gift we could only dream of: a time together spent not in deceit or fear, but in truth and acceptance. Be at peace, now, and embrace the joy of having found your Soulmate, and being accepted for who you are."
The very first color Arthur ever saw was gold. But the moment he closed his eyes, Arthur Pendragon saw color no more.